Sometimes the places that stay with us the longest aren’t the grand cities or famous sights, but the quiet moments. In this post, I’m sharing the story of my solo hike in the Julian Alps and spending a night tucked away in a rustic mountain hut.

The Call of the Wild: Why I chose a solo hike in the Julian Alps

I don’t remember exactly when the longing started, but I know that 2019 was the year I fell in love with hiking. I had completed a marathon walk for a charity which I had signed up to on a whim, not really knowing what I was getting into, but somewhere between mile 18 and the finish line, something shifted. I caught the hiking bug…hard. Since then, I’d been searching for trails across Europe that would push me out of my comfort zone, help me expand my skills, and immerse me in nature in a way city life never could.

Slovenia calling

Slovenia had been tugging at my mind for months. Wild, underrated and crisscrossed with pristine trails. When the chance of a solo trip finally came, I didn’t hesitate. What followed was a journey of self-discovery, a wild adventure where every step brought me closer to understanding myself in ways I never had before.

I travelled in August, just two days before my birthday. I didn’t want cake or candles or the noise of celebration. I just wanted silence and solitude. A raw kind of peace you can only find where the world feels untouched. 

Discovering Slovenia’s Hut Culture

I did a lot of research on hiking in Slovenia and stumbled upon the country’s rich hut culture, a tradition that fascinated me instantly. Slovenia’s hut culture is a deeply rooted tradition in its rugged mountain regions, especially across the Julian Alps, Karawanks, and Kamnik-Savinja Alps. These rustic planinske koče (mountain huts) and domovi (lodges) offer a welcoming, communal atmosphere for hikers, often featuring basic but functional accommodations. They provide an affordable alternative to hotels. Many huts are run by local alpine clubs and are a part of long-distance hiking routes, such as the Slovenian Mountain Trail. While some huts can be booked in advance, others allow for spontaneous stays, especially in less trafficked areas. 

I explored my options and settled on a hut perched on Mount Vogel, which I found on Booking.com
and which came highly recommended for its breathtaking views. The plan was to go up the mountain, spend the night and go on an all day hike the following day before returning to Ljubljana in the evening. 

I decided to hike on my birthday. I spent the day at the iconic lake Bled , wandering its postcard-perfect shores. I had scrolled through countless photos of the lake, but none of them came close to capturing the breathtaking perfection of the real thing. Shimmering blue water, framed by endless stretches of trees, winding forest paths and towering mountains. Bled felt less like a destination and more like a dream made real. I hiked for most of the day then stopped at a cafe which had a terrace overlooking Bled castle and treated myself to coffee and a little birthday cake-  Bled cream cake, kremna rezina, a delicate square cake made of puff pastry, cream and custard. Heavenly delicious.

The Journey Up to Mount Vogel

Later that afternoon, I made my way to the Vogel cable car station, ready for the final leg of my journey into the mountains.

The cable car runs frequently, usually every thirty minutes during the season, and the ride itself takes only four minutes. As the car pulled away from the station and began its steep climb, the landscape below shrank and shifted. Far beneath me, Lake Bohinj shimmered in shades of silver and blue, nestled among dense forests and rugged cliffs. The higher we rose, the more the true scale of the Julian Alps revealed itself, jagged peaks clawing at the sky, valleys folding into one another. It was breathtaking.

When the doors slid open at the summit, it felt as though I had landed on another planet. There was a whole world up there, perched high above the earth but without the noise, the cars, the pollution. Just outside the station there was a café and a rustic restaurant. I was instructed by the hut owners to retrieve the key to my accommodation from the restaurant and was lucky I arrived just before closure. As I started walking, I could see wooden huts scattered across the hillside and hiking trails threading through wildflower meadows. It was eerily, beautifully still. The only sounds were the whisper of the warm summer air and the distant call of birds. It didn’t take me long to find my hut and when I did,  I stood outside for a long moment, drinking it all in, as the golden light of late afternoon bathed everything in a dreamlike glow. The view didn’t just open up—it devoured me whole, pulling me into the untamed heart of the mountains.

Settling into the Hut

I pushed open the heavy wooden door, expecting the inside to be bustling with hikers playing cards or reading maps. But… silence. The place was empty.

Like, really empty.

A long, bare corridor stretched ahead of me, lit by a single flickering bulb. My room was at the other end of the corridor. The furniture was minimal and rustic, a couple of bunk beds, a wooden table and chair and a  little sink in the corner. The bathroom was communal which meant I had to leave my room in the middle of the night if I needed to visit the toilet. And the main door didn’t even have a proper lock.

Cue internal panic.

Was I the only one here tonight? What if I got eaten by a bear in the middle of the night and no one even knew I was here? I pictured the news headlines flashing across the screen..ranging from a heroic “Woman courageously hikes solo in Slovenia” or, more likely, “Clueless tourist meets predictable fate.”

Thankfully, this was the only bear I met that day

I decided to ignore the voices in my head and went back outside to catch the sunset. My boots crunched against the gravel as I made my way toward the edge of the ridge. Below, the valleys bathed in a soft, dusky amber, while the jagged peaks caught the fading sun. The silence was vast and profound, broken only by the low sigh of the wind. I stood there, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon with the quiet grace of a final bow, leaving behind a sky streaked with fire and a memory I knew would never leave me.

Surprise Company and Alpine Camaraderie

The air was still warm so I decided to take advantage and have my dinner outside. I sat down on the wooden table and unwrapped my sandwich and salad which I had bought earlier that day in Bled. As I ate, the landscape around me seemed to hum with a soft, living quiet. I want to do this everyday for the rest of my life, I thought. My reverie was interrupted by the crunch of footsteps on gravel. A  group of tourists arrived and I immediately felt a surprising wave of relief. I wasn’t going to be alone after all. They greeted me with smiles, and we exchanged a few pleasantries. They were a German family, seasoned hikers and skiers who knew this corner of Slovenia well. They told me that it wasn’t their first time on Mount Vogel and explained that the mountain comes alive in winter during the ski season as crowds of skiers flock to its snowy slopes, a far cry from the near-solitude of this balmy summer evening we were enjoying. 

They made herbal teas and kindly offered me a cup of hot chocolate. We sat together for an hour or so under a sky heavy with stars, sharing our travel stories. Our lives were very different, yet around that wooden table, we were simply travellers bound by the same love for the trail.

Eventually, I retired to my room and with my heart full, curled into my bed and surrendered to a deep, undisturbed sleep.

A Stormy Awakening

I had set my alarm to wake up at dawn as I didn’t want to miss the sunrise but woke up earlier. I was anxious that I might have overslept. A quick glance outside reassured me; the sky was still wrapped in darkness. I quickly dressed, and moving as quietly as possible so as not to disturb my neighbours, crept out into the cold air.

As I made my way to the edge of the mountain, I was jolted awake by a sound so loud it felt like the sky had torn in two.

Thunder.

Not just any thunder, the kind that makes your bones rattle and your heart stop. I’ve been terrified of thunder since I was a kid. I used to hide in cupboards or under tables and cover my eyes. But this time, I couldn’t move. I stood frozen on the edge of this mountain, my eyes wide as lightning cracked open the sky.

It felt so surreal. The kind of dream where you’re both scared and in awe. 

And then the rain came. Heavy raindrops, cold and stinging against my bare legs. Regretting my decision to wear shorts, I considered fleeing back inside to the safety of my hut. But then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the storm softened, the rain stopped and the rumble of thunder faded into the distance. Slowly, the world began to lighten.

A thick blanket of clouds stretched out below me, their shapes rolled like rivers of silk. It felt like I could leap forward and land softly, bouncing on the pillowy surface of a cloud. I stood there, completely still, the air cool against my skin, feeling like the queen of the earth, suspended between two worlds.

I stretched out my arms. I could almost touch the sky.

The fear that had gripped me earlier was gone, replaced by something deeper. A sense of wonder and reverence. The kind of awe you feel when you realise the universe is vaster, wilder and more beautiful than your wildest dreams.

I got changed and headed to the cafe by the station for breakfast which was included in my stay. Then I packed my things and set out to explore, eager to make the most of my hiking day. But a heavy fog had rolled in overnight, cloaking everything in a dense white. I tried to follow an easy trail, hoping it would clear, but after a couple of hours of slow, cautious hiking and barely able to see a few meters ahead,  I realised it wasn’t safe to continue. I crossed paths with a few other hikers who advised me to turn back, as the fog only thickened higher up. 

descent and reflection 

As I made my way back to the cable car station, ready to return to the valley below, a group of tourists was just arriving, eager, raincoats zipped up and cameras in hand. I felt a pang of sympathy for them, knowing they would be greeted by fog and drizzle, not the staggering beauty I had been lucky enough to witness. And at the same time, I felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude that I had been gifted that one perfect evening above the clouds.

I eventually descended from that mountain, but something in me stayed behind. That wild fog, that endless sky, those silent, ancient peaks,  they still live inside me.
The Julian Alps didn’t just give me an adventure, they gave me a glimpse of who I am when all the noise falls away.

I had gone looking for solitude and found an unexpected connection. I sought distance, only to discover presence. I feared being alone and instead found myself surrounded by stories and endless stars.

Even now, years later, when life feels too chaotic, I close my eyes and return to that mountaintop. To that morning of thunder and clouds. To that girl who stood in a storm, frozen with cold and fear, and realised she was braver and freer than she ever knew.