Klemenča Cave and the Twin Summit of Planjava

A day trip into the Kamnik-Savinja Alps.

Klemenča Cave — and I still wonder whether the missing “ev”
in the name is intentional. (In Slovene, you would normally expect a “ev” there – Klemenčeva, so it sounds slightly incomplete to me).
Trivia aside, this alpine hut rests less than an hour’s walk
from the valley floor of Logarska valley,
cradled between the towering walls of Krofička and Ojstrica.

Two giants of the Kamnik–Savinja Alps,
guarding the entrance to one of Slovenia’s most breathtaking valleys:
Logarska Valley.
Under morning light, words fall short.
Some landscapes are simply beyond description.

Morning Encounters

A few early hikers were welcomed by Lili,
a six-year-old mountain dog.
No photo — GDPR, you know

But the camera did capture something wilder:
a group of ibex crossing a scree slope
with effortless alpine confidence.
A fleeting, perfect moment.

Towards Škarje and Planjava

The route toward Škarje — not overly sharp despite the name —
and onward to the twin-headed summit of Planjava
is not entirely innocent.
But it will deepen every hiker’s smile lines.

Around 1,000 meters of elevation gain await,
cleverly disguised by varied terrain and a well-maintained trail.
The kind that makes you silently thank the trail markers
for their dedication.

Further toward Okrešelj and Orlovo Gnezdo (Eagle`s nest),
last year’s floods left visible traces.
Some sections still require attention.

Yet none of this diminishes the experience.
The Logarska Valley remains majestic,
and the Kamnik–Savinja Alps continue to offer
that rare combination of effort, beauty, and quiet satisfaction.

In the autumn of 2023 and the spring of 2024, the Adria Animals Band, together with local friends played a series of concerts we will never forget. In cities of Škofja Loka, Medvode, Kranjska Gora and Prevalje. In places where, in August 2023, devastating floods left deep scars behind.

Our mission? To raise funds for those who were among the very first to step in and help when it mattered most — firefighters and mountain rescue teams.

We organised, played, connected — and felt that this was simply the right thing to do.

From TD Solzice Ravne and the Žerjav Local Community, we received the honorary title “Guardians of the Solzice” — a deeply moving recognition that quite literally left us speechless. If we had to choose just one word to describe how we felt, it would be gratitude.

Let our bassist have the final word:

“We went because we felt it was the right thing to do. And in return, we received an invaluable gift — sincere THANK YOU straight from the hearts of people whose lives were almost wiped away by nature on that fourth of August.”

Thank you to everyone who sang with us, helped, carried equipment, danced, and believed.
This title is not just ours — it is also, and above all, yours.

Dubai – Where the Sky Is Only the Beginning

In two words: mind-blowing.

I lost count of the architectural giants before realizing
this is only a fraction of a relatively small emirate —
about 1,400 square kilometers in total.
The city itself covers roughly 35 km²,
yet its ambition feels limitless.
Together with its neighbors, it forms the UAE —
a name synonymous with scale.

Reaching for Orbit

In Dubai, earth seems to merge with the sky.
If development continues at this pace,
the skyline might soon compete with the International Space Station.

Burj Khalifa still holds the title of the tallest building in the world,
though challengers are already rising nearby.
A billboard captures the city’s mindset perfectly:
“Sky is the beginning.”

At sunset, glass towers glow in gold and rose tones,
accompanied by orchestrated city lights.
Yet beneath the glamour lie quieter stories —
migrant workers whose contributions often remain unseen.

Desert winds mix with the humid air of the Arabian (or Persian) Gulf,
creating evenings of around 31°C and heavy moisture.

Dubai truly comes alive after 9 p.m.
Public spaces fill with life and energy,
lasting almost until sunrise.
For some, work schedules or Ramadan define the rhythm.
For others, it’s simply jet lag.

A Symphony of Contrasts

Dubai blends tradition with hyper-modernity.
Newly built streets styled with historic charm
sit beside spice-scented markets and fast-food stalls.
Just steps away, luxury hotels and supercars dominate the scene.

Capital sets the tempo here —
hundreds of billions of dirhams fueling
a near science-fiction metropolis.
Oil reserves are said to sustain prosperity for another 150 years,
while shopping malls stretch across tens of thousands of square meters.

I expected something flashy.
Dubai is more nuanced.
It’s where capital meets creativity, vision, and bold ambition.

Not everything that shines is gold.
Yet the city radiates like a supernova —
disciplined, controlled, efficient.
The result is a feeling of safety and seamless coexistence.

A Portuguese acquaintance once told me
that cities like Dubai lack “soul”
compared to European capitals.
“Something is missing,” he said.

After my first visit,
I’m not so sure.
Dubai has its own rhythm, its own identity.
And it’s no accident that it’s become so popular.
At least this time of year,
it feels like the perfect dose of commercial exoticism.

After three days, we confidently greet everyone with a cheerful “marhabi” –
don’t worry, I’m your friend. As Haris likes to remind us, we are not tourists here.
We are locals. And the people around us are not hosts – they are friends.

Our morning wake-up call? Definitely not something you’d download as a ringtone.
At exactly 5 a.m., the call to prayer rises through the dark – louder and far more persistent
than any phone alarm. Long before the first rooster even considers doing his job

Konya Under Watchful Skies

Konya had welcomed us the day before – quite literally under escort.
Six military helicopters hovered above in perfect formation.
There’s a NATO base nearby, where pilots regularly train.
And, as we jokingly said, perhaps keep an eye on us as well

With nearly two million residents, Konya isn’t exactly known for its nightlife.
More than 99.5% of the population is Muslim, yet the streets feel surprisingly calm
for a city of that size. Official unemployment hovers below two percent –
and judging by the steady pace of life, people here clearly know how to make things work.

“In this city, everyone works,” Haris says with a knowing smile.

And there might be truth in that. Konya is the largest city in Turkey by surface area
and boasts more than 3,300 mosques. Some of them are architectural gems –
elegant minarets rising like pearls from the concrete of modern apartment blocks.

Tastes of Konya

Only a handful of restaurants serve Turkish rakı, yet statistics say
this region leads the country in alcohol consumption per capita.
Appearances can be deceiving.

But Konya is not about alcohol. It’s about flavor.
There’s “şalgam,” a deep-purple fermented turnip juice with a sharp kick,
and “salep,” a thick, comforting milk drink flavored with ground orchid root –
something between vanilla pudding and a winter hug in a cup.

And then there’s baklava. Anyone who has tried it knows it’s practically a meal on its own.
According to Haris, after a proper portion you could climb a wall without breaking a sweat

After Ramadan, production numbers skyrocket into the tens of thousands of tons.
From Gaziantep – the sweet capital where baklava originates –
up to 52,000 tons are distributed across Turkey in just four days.

After a feast like that, perhaps the only logical next step is to buy a rare local dog breed
for €14,000 and spend three days walking it through the surrounding hills.
In Konya, even exaggerations somehow feel believable.

iyi akşamlar – good evening!

Back in the land of spices and warm evening air. Even the hotel room seems to carry a faint scent of the East.
After a slight delay, we finally drifted away from the gigantic man-made wonder that is Istanbul Airport and headed toward Antalya,
resting on the southwestern coast of Anatolia, just south of the Taurus Mountains.

From above, the mountain range briefly revealed itself through thick clouds that looked almost Arctic from the sky.
Beneath that white blanket stretched a rugged, earth-toned landscape scattered with small settlements.
Antalya, the largest among them, unfolds like a true Mediterranean metropolis — ending dramatically in cliffs above the sea.

At the airport, surrounded by an endless fleet of buses, finding ours felt like a small expedition of its own.
Thankfully, the coordinator kept the instructions simple: “Past the Ice Cream sign and all the way to the end.”
He conveniently forgot to mention just how far “the end” actually was.

Meeting Our Guide

It didn’t take long to realize our guide wouldn’t be overly formal.
Before even starting the official briefing, he introduced himself with complete seriousness:

“My name is Haris. I will confess something very important.
I’m Montenegrin — but I actually enjoy working.”
(In Balkan folklore and jokes, Montenegrins are stereotypically portrayed as extremely relaxed — even lazy. It’s a playful regional stereotype rather than a serious belief, and it’s often used in self-irony.)

Towards Cappadocia

Over the next few days, he will lead us through the lunar landscapes of Cappadocia —
a geological wonder that almost feels otherworldly. More about that when the time comes.

For now, following Haris’s wise Balkan advice, we might start with a welcome cocktail or two.

Škrlatica – Finally Meeting the First Lady of the Julian Alps

It seems I wasn’t the only one who chose today for a first encounter
with the mighty northern face of Škrlatica – the elegant “First Lady”
of the Julian Alps, standing proudly above her rugged neighbors.

Early Morning Chaos in Vrata Valley

Just before 6 a.m., confusion ruled the parking area in Vrata.

“You won’t be able to park here.”
“But the sign down below said it’s open.”
“It is open… just full.”
“What about the roadside?”
“That’s a fine from the national park.”

For that kind of money, I’d rather invest in a proper lunch later.
So the hike began with an extra 45 minutes of walking on quiet asphalt,
morning sunlight filtering gently through the forest.

On the Way Up

The trail was lively. Plenty of young women charging uphill —
mountain gazelles, perhaps.

“My boyfriend and friend went to climb the north face of Triglav.
I’m heading to Škrlatica instead — meniscus injury.
Eco-style, with a wooden stick. Like Jacob… just a few thousand kilometers away.”

Two girls from Tolmin were moving fast.

“We’re in a hurry — we need to catch the bus.”
“The free one from Mojstrana.”

At 2,740 Meters

At the summit, two hikers were claiming every inch of space
for that perfect photo. Whether they got it remains a mystery

“First time,” said several Slovenians proudly.
“Yes, yes, first time, very nice weather,” added an older Polish gentleman.
“Da, prvi put,” smiled a climber from Zagreb.
And then a familiar face from across the valley — “Oh hey, we meet again.”

The route is one of the most beautiful in the range —
rocky, dramatic, with a short via ferrata section near the top,
surrounded by sharp limestone towers of the Julian giants.
Some you recognize. Some you once did.

The summit delivered heat, a drone buzzing overhead,
and — strangely enough — news about Slovenia losing a handball match.
Seriously… does the connection even work up here?

Later in the day, dark clouds wrapped the peaks in a grey veil,
making the descent a little more demanding.

“This Is the Year”

Škrlatica was always the mountain I talked about.
“Next year I’m going.”

Well, it took until 2024 to make it happen.
Sometimes it takes time to commit to the bigger stages.
But honestly? It wasn’t nearly as intimidating as the warning signs —
and the internet — would have you believe.
Or maybe I simply had a good day.

Either way, I’m glad I finally met the First Lady.
I doubt this was our last conversation.
Perhaps the next one will just take a few years.