Day 11 – Descent to Mojstrana

Right from the start, this day was under a rather negative sign: 30 kilometers of descent in just under five hours, down to the village of Mojstrana, from where the ascent to Triglav was to start. The plan was to descend around 2,400 meters in altitude – but in the end it felt as if I had climbed an additional 1,000 meters in altitude, maybe because I actually did.

The route was mostly along the ridges along the Austrian border. At one point I wasn’t quite sure of the route and followed a herd of cattle downhill. Spiked with mud and smelly sputum, I had to dodge it again and again. In the forest, the sun had not yet evaporated the night’s rain, so I had no choice but to lean on my poles and jump from island to island with acrobatic skill. At some point, the trail ended at a steep slope with fences. As turning around is not exactly my strong point, I fought my way back up the grass-covered slope to the actual trail.

The usual anticipation of soon arriving in a village with fresh provisions and delicious food spurred me on to top form. I rushed down the mountains as fast as I could. Every step burned in my thighs, my calves felt as if they were about to tear apart and my knees were barely holding on to their hinges. During breaks, I squatted down briefly to stretch them. The pull of fresh food and a shower was stronger than the pain and pulled me further and further down into the valley.

I made a short stop at the hut where I had planned to arrive the day before, but hadn’t made it before the thunderstorm. My breakfast was very sparse: I polished off the last bits from my rucksack in a meadow – two wraps with some hummus, peppers and red cabbage. Not a feast, but surprisingly satisfying. By now, it’s almost like my faithful companion, supporting me as reliably as my walking poles.

When I arrived in Mojstrana, I headed straight for the tourist information office. I wanted to find out whether my newly planned route made as much sense as I had imagined. It did. I also wanted to find out whether I needed climbing equipment for Triglav and whether I could rent or buy it. Renting was possible – but not an option for me, as I wouldn’t be coming back to Mojstrana after the climb. Buying was also not possible anywhere in the village. The recommendation was to take the bus to the next town – which, to be honest, I didn’t feel like doing at all.

At least I got all the provisions I needed for the next week at the supermarket. I then checked into the hostel and ordered a huge pizza and a big salad. The pizza was steaming, the cheese was stringy and, together with the fresh salad, it was a feast after days of muesli bars and wraps. I also had a non-alcoholic beer – my body had been crying out for carbohydrates and vitamins for days.

The hot shower in the hostel was a real blessing. The dirt just flowed off my body. There was even a bar of soap in the shower, which I quickly pocketed. I had to wash my feet twice to make them more or less socially acceptable again. There is hardly a better feeling than being full and freshly washed.

On a less pleasant note, there were no facilities to wash my clothes. The woman at reception couldn’t even give me a bucket for hand washing. Recommendation: There was a launderette in the neighboring village. Great. As I no longer had a clean T-shirt, I quickly bought a tourist shirt – which in retrospect I don’t dislike at all.

Looking out of the window, I saw the laundry hanging in the neighbors’. I plucked up my courage and simply asked: “This is a little bit of a strange request. I’ve been hiking for ten days and couldn’t find a laundry service anywhere. Would you mind if I use your washing machine?” The man smiled and immediately agreed. When I held the freshly folded, wonderfully fragrant laundry in my hands an hour later, I wanted to hug him. He even wanted to put it in the dryer for me – I declined with thanks and instead gave him a jar of honey as a small thank you.

Unfortunately, I wasn´t spared a trip to the next town. Even the buses wouldn’t take me anywhere. One with a suitable display told me he wasn’t going there – why he then displayed it remains a mystery to me. Well, the tried and tested thumbs out: After three cars, I was sitting in the VW of an elderly local couple. The woman spoke perfect, accent-free English, which she had learned almost 50 years ago. At the end, she said with a warm smile: “If you’re back here in half an hour, we’ll take you back with us.”

This encounter opened my heart – a day that began with hurdles ended with moments that weigh more than any summit: a hot shower, fragrant laundry and the kindness of strangers.

PS: I didn’t end up buying a whole Via Ferrata kit, just a skateboard helmet. As it turns out, I’m just carrying it around on my back without really getting any use out of it.

Day 12 – Rain, peace and quiet and a conversation that sticks

Rain all day. My roommate leaves early to get away dry. I hear the splashing outside, turn around again – no desire to get my feet wet. My destination: Koča na Doliču, the starting point for tomorrow’s ascent of Triglav.

From Mojstrana, the path first leads through dense forest, always along the stream. Ten kilometers of silence, damp moss, the steady murmur of water. The rain is bearable under the trees, they catch most of it. Later, I keep switching to small roads – no traffic, just the squeaking of my soaked shoes. I’ve experienced worse on other trips.

At the Aljažev dom v Vratih hut, I actually just wanted to have breakfast and a coffee. It ended up being half a morning. I dry my clothes by the stove, write a few lines and watch as the other guests slowly emerge. No one really wants to go out.

The rain doesn’t let up until the afternoon. I pack up and set off. The ascent on the north side of Triglav is pleasant – technically easy, but steadily ascending. At the top of Koča na Doliču, the atmosphere is relaxed. I sit down with a few hikers and quickly strike up a conversation – especially with Marc, a German who now lives in Switzerland.

He is walking the Via Alpina, 2000 kilometers across the Alps. In winter he works in ski huts, in summer he hikes. A like-minded person you rarely meet. We talk about trails, equipment, being on the road – and at some point also about relationships, highs, lows and being alone. It’s liberating to talk so openly, without a shared past, but with real understanding.

Dinner is delicious, the apple pie a dream – warm, sweet, just the thing after a day in the rain. And then, just before sunset, the sky opens up. The clouds reveal the surrounding peaks and the valley is bathed in golden light. Everyone rushes outside, laughing and breathing a sigh of relief. After so much gray, this moment feels like a gift.