Day 8 – We’re not sailors, but we know how they feel . . .

The fact that I no longer take pleasure being spun around in a tea-cup may have something to do with my age. Or possibly my stomach. And although Beastie has a certain rock and a certain roll, which is especially true on the many uneven windy roads to get hither and thither, our constitutions have remained more or less in tact, even on the most uneven of surfaces.

Seven days on the trot sees us cross the border and make it onto Kamp Koren, just a ten minute walk from Kobarid. The site is perched alongside the Soca river, in the Julian Alps.  Beastie needs a rest. So do we. Two nights booked. It takes time to get our land legs back. Along with straighter backs. At times my brain is prone to a sudden retake. Thinks it’s still being rocked and rolled along. Passes the impression on to me. For a split second I’m being bounced along again. Even though I’m lying horizontal and it’s four o’clock in the morning!

The walk in takes us across the famous and now rebuilt Napoleon Bridge which spans the gorge at its narrowest part and was destroyed by the Austrians during WWI.

The aquamarine water below, a playground for kayakers.

In our short time here we’ve had to quickly get used to being dyslexic. Most combinations of letters making it totally impossible to pronounce hardly a Slovenain word. Just how would you get your tongue around a five letter word containing four following consonants? Just as well we don’t need to ask for directions!

Though still a relatively small town, Kobarid played a major part in WWI. The brilliant museum presentation is an eye opener. It’s difficult to imagine this beautiful Soča Valley was once the site of WWI’s Isonzo Front, where over one million soldiers were either killed or mutilated.

We walk back to camp in sober frames of mind. That is until a home grown Gold lifts our spirits slightly . . .