In an old fishing town’s square lined with baroque facades, on the Slovenian Riviera with an Italian hangover, lounging under an umbrella outside an eatery, sipping cool beer and watching little children being, well, children. The Adriatic too, has been lulled into lassitude. It does not feel the need to rock the boats packed like sardines in the marina and the barest balmy breeze warmed by the noon sun drifts in over it. This is life! Oh Pirano… it is a pleasure to finally be here.
Piran has been ruled by the Romans, the Austrians, been briefly part of Napolean’s empire but it stayed the longest under Venetian rule before becoming part of erstwhile Yugoslavia and then finally Slovenia. It might not have the star power, the battlements (Okay, it does have the remnants of ancient walls, one with a commanding view.) or the digital footprint of Dubrovnik, my A-listed place on the Adriatic even before GOT put it on the map, but being the exact opposite of all that commercialism, is where it’s charm lies. While searching for a seaside place for our Slovenian sojourn we chanced upon this tiny town sitting in a cove at the base of a rocky spine ending between a namesake and the Trieste Bay. The tiny peninsula looks like a crooked finger pointing towards it’s erstwhile ruler for almost five hundred years, the sea in between notwithstanding- Venice.
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On Land, By the Sea
The bus journey from Ljubljana takes us past charming little villages, through thick conifer forests draped over hills and undulating countryside before we careen onto an elevated road which gives us a bird’s eye view of medieval looking towers in a quaint village. We drive though Slovenia’s only international port town- Koper, crossing gnarled olive trees growing on slopes that end in the Adriatic and the touristy beach town of Portoroz, to halt at a bus-stop by the sea.
In the adjoining jetty, it’s entrance guarded by a red and a green guard post, sailboats are tied cheek by jowl. A much welcome breeze sploshes water onto the steps and the boats bob around. We drag our luggage past a handful of touristy shops that line the only road leading into old town.
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It touches the oval shaped Tartini Square, named after the Italian composer and violinist Giuseppe Tartini born here. The square, made over a reclaimed inner marina, is fairly deserted in the afternoon save a few chairs occupied by late, or rather early drinkers, all seeking the shade offered by the umbrellas outside the restaurants. Canopied wooden stalls sit in a line near the statue of Tartini holding his bow. Our accommodation is in an alley going up the hill and it’s facade, like all others around, looks like it is getting on in the years but the interiors are airy, bright and charmingly modern. Just ahead of our stay, a room bridges two buildings facing each other with very Venetian windows gazing down at us.
The manager is warm and friendly and I am sold on the place the minute we are told to help ourselves whenever we want to the divinely aromatic coffee and snacks kept near a niche seating! Unfortunately, we are here just for an overnight stay so we head out to the square, and join the crowd to watch the afternoon unfold.
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Promenade, Pyr and a Prayer
When the sun mellows, we explore the promenade that loops around this narrow fishing town fanning down the hillside. There is no ‘beach,’ just a concrete platform and then boulders piled over each other that separate the settlement from the calm waters giving an impression of an infinity pool. Bathing ladders leading into it complete the feel.
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We come to the furthest point after crossing colourful houses-buttercup yellow, mauve and peachy pink, supporting each other up. In comparison, a rather dour-faced Church of St Clement sits with it’s back to the squat lighthouse. By one account the name Piran comes from the Greek word Pyr, meaning fire. Around the bend the promenade runs along the bottom of the ridge. We dive into an alley leading up to the massive church straddling the seat of the ridge.
The 16th century Church of St George with its renaissance facade has a lush lawn spread at its feet, apparently laid over a graveyard. Hmmm…very fertilised. The belfry towers behind and beyond a dip, the newest (though still a few centuries old!) town wall stands tall. The old town is crowded below on one side, the terracotta roofs looking warm and timeless in the golden hour. On the other side beyond a sheer drop, a dog paddles playing fetch in the pebbled crystal-clear shallows. Are those snow-capped peaks in the haze across the Trieste Bay towards Italy?
We stroll past the church and make our way down to the plaza through a narrow winding cobblestone path crossing another tiny church with a Roman façade and intricate iron grills, an artist’s studio with renditions of the sea in it’s many avatars on display, on a sienna wall an open window with wooden slats thrown open reveals pretty lace curtains, flower pots on a narrow windowsill ….I wish we could explore every pathway in this labyrinth!
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Appetite for a View
In the quiet chill of an early morning while the streets are still deserted, we walk to the top of the hill. The view keeps getting better as we climb. Starting from the 7th century, walls were built to protect the town and they kept moving up the hill as the town expanded. The last one is mostly intact and open to visitors.
We climb a tower for a grandstand view of the terracotta tiled town and Cornish blue sea beyond. A large secluded house sits in the shadow of the wall surrounded by an orchard. What a view it must have! On the slopes cypresses grow gracefully tall amid the newer, spacious homes. The angel with a patina balancing on top of the belfry seems to bless a shop coming into port.
We have, by now, built up an appetite and head down for breakfast. We cross the tiny Minorite Monastery which is often a venue for musical evenings, before heading to a small restaurant behind the square, with whom our stay has a tie up. In an adjoining lane a blue building beckons, we take in it’s arched windows and tiny viewing balcony and sigh like lovelorn admirers!
A colourful fresh market bustles near the restaurant which has it’s own bakery. The breakfast is an artful smorgasbord, a feast for the eyes as much for the tastebuds. When someone said ’you eat with your eyes first’, they must mean a culinary experience like this. We linger over coffee but too soon it is time to part with Piran.
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I stroll through a back lane to the bus-stop taking in the pastel buildings. I cut across to the marina passing an olive tree growing in a giant pot. A striated brown and orange jellyfish glides in slowly between the boats, up the steps covered by water. Its colours and movements are mesmerising. What a perfect farewell from the sea!
Fact File–
Getting there- It takes an hour and a half by bus from Ljubljana.
Staying- We stayed at Momento B&B.
The Town Walls have an entry fee and timings.
