12 Years in Ljubljana: A Local Tells You What She Wishes Tourists Knew
Tjaša Kovač came to Ljubljana for a literature degree in 2012, fell for a city she calls "a village pretending to be a capital," and stayed — she's hardly alone in falling for a small, easily walked European city, the way visitors fall for Bruges. She works in publishing now, lives in a flat near Tivoli Park, and meets me at , a coffee bar barely bigger than a wardrobe near the market. She orders a flat white and tells me, before I've even asked a question, that the milk is from a farm she can name.
Cafe Čokl
What follows is our conversation, lightly trimmed.
So everyone arrives and goes straight to the Triple Bridge. Fair?
Fair. It should be your first stop. Plečnik built half this city and the Triple Bridge is his signature — three bridges where one would do, which tells you everything about the man. But please come back after dark. In the day it's all tour groups. At night the stone lights up and you can hear the river. Tourists photograph it at noon and miss the whole point.
The dragons. Tell me about the dragons.
(laughs) The Dragon Bridge. Yes. It's our mascot — four copper dragons, Art Nouveau, very dramatic. There's a legend they wag their tails when a virgin crosses. We don't believe it. We just enjoy watching tourists pretend to walk extra carefully. Shoot it from the riverbank downstream, not on the bridge itself.
What do visitors get most wrong?
The castle. They all queue and pay sixteen euros for the funicular like it's the only way up. It is a 60-second ride. The walking path through the trees takes ten minutes and costs nothing, and you arrive having actually seen the hill — the same reward you earn walking up to the castle in Český Krumlov. Slovenians are walkers. Use your legs. The view from the watchtower is the same whether you paid for the funicular or not.
Biggest practical mistake?
Sunday. People plan a big market morning and arrive to find the Central Market closed and every shop shuttered. Central Europe still takes Sunday seriously here — supermarkets, shops, the market, all shut. Restaurants and cafés stay open, so you won't starve, but if you want to buy honey or cheese or anything at all, do it Saturday. The market on Saturday morning is the best version of this city anyway.
You mentioned the milk machine.
The mlekomat! At the market. A vending machine for fresh raw milk. Bring a small bottle and a euro. Tourists film it like it's a spaceship. To us it's just milk. But yes — go.
Where do you actually eat?
Not the riverfront terraces with the laminated menus, that's for you, no offence. I eat at Klobasarna — a Kranjska sausage and štruklji for six euros, standing up, perfect. For a proper sit-down I send everyone to Druga Violina on Stari trg. It's a social enterprise, they employ people with disabilities, and the ričet and goulash are exactly what my grandmother made, around twelve euros. If someone's celebrating, Monstera Bistro for Bine Volčič's tasting menu, or Strelec, which is literally inside the castle tower. Book those.
A hidden spot you'd hesitate to share?
(pauses)Cobblers' Bridge. Another Plečnik, upstream, with the stone pillars. Forty metres from the chaos and almost always empty. I go there to read. Don't all of you go at once.
The thing every guidebook pushes — Lake Bled. Worth it?
Yes, but. Bled is genuinely beautiful, the island and the church and the cream cake — the kremšnita is not optional, eat it at Hotel Park where they invented it in 1953. But everyone goes, and they all go at the same time. Take the first bus, it's about seven euros and an hour. Be on the lake by nine. Add the Vintgar Gorge if you can, it's better than the lake and half the people. By midday Bled is a car park with a view.
Metelkova. Safe? Worth it?
Both. Metelkova is our old army barracks that artists took over and never gave back. Covered in murals. By day it's free and quiet and a bit eerie, go for the street art. By night it's where students drink and there's live music — if you've done the ruin bars in Budapest, you'll know the energy. It looks rough and is completely safe — this is one of the safest capitals in Europe, you can walk anywhere alone at night. Just normal pocket sense in the evening crowd, same as anywhere.
The Ljubljana Card — buy it?
Depends. Thirty-six euros for a day, forty-four for two. It pays off if you're doing three or more paid museums and the funicular and a boat. But honestly? The best of Ljubljana is free. The bridges, the squares, Tivoli Park, the castle walk, the market, Metelkova. I have friends who visit and spend money only on food and coffee. Don't buy the card just because it exists.
Beyond Bled — any day trip people overlook?
Postojna. Everyone does Bled and stops there. But an hour southwest you've got Postojna Cave, where you ride an underground train into a five-kilometre cave system, and in the water you can spot the olm — our blind cave salamander, the 'human fish', it's wonderfully strange. Then Predjama Castle nearby, built right into a cliff cave, home to a robber baron centuries ago. A combined ticket is around forty-three euros and a shuttle links them. It's a full day and most visitors never make it. They should.
How do you get around without a car?
I walk everywhere — the centre is tiny and car-free. When I need a bus I use my Urbana card; the drivers won't take cash, which traps every tourist at least once. And there are these free little electric buggies, the Kavalir, that potter through the old town for anyone who's tired. In summer I'll grab a BicikeLJ bike along the river. You genuinely don't need a car here.
One thing tourists never do that they should?
Drink the tap water. Refill at the public fountains — it's some of the best water in Europe, free, and watching people buy plastic bottles here makes me a little sad. And go to Odprta Kuhna, the Open Kitchen food market, if you're here on a Friday between March and October. The city's best chefs cook at stalls on Pogačarjev trg. That's where the city actually eats. That's the thing I'd want you to see.
She finishes her coffee. "Write that Ljubljana is small," she says, standing. "People treat that like a flaw. It's the whole appeal."
