Hiking Slivnica Solo: A Story of Perseverance

Solo travel isn’t just about the places we visit—it’s about the lessons we learn along the way.

When I created To Be Explored, I knew I wanted this space to be more than just my own experiences. Travel and mental health are deeply personal, yet universally shared journeys. That’s why I’m so excited to introduce Her Journey, Her Voice, a space where real women share real stories—about adventure, resilience, and everything in between.

Today’s story comes from Nicole, whose solo trip to Slovenia was more than just a getaway—it was a test of perseverance, independence, and self-trust. Her experience hiking Slivnica solo—navigating wrong turns, self-doubt, and unexpected challenges—is a powerful reminder that the best travel lessons often come when things don’t go as planned.

Have you ever had a travel experience that challenged you but made you stronger in the end? Drop a comment below and share your thoughts. And if you have a story to tell, I’d love to feature you in this series—head over to the Community Page to submit your journey!

Now, let’s dive into Nicole’s experience.

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Hiking Slivnica: A Solo Travel Story of Perseverance

In March of 2022, I took my first truly solo trip in five years—seven days in Slovenia. While I had traveled alone previously, I had been tethered to my partner at the other end of my cell phone since 2018. By the time we finally broke up, the pandemic lockdowns were in full swing, and it took a while for both the restrictions and my depressive complacency to lift enough to consider traveling again.

There are so many vignettes I could highlight from that wonderful week—from meeting German tourists, to singing with some musicians at Bled lakeside, to chatting with the sweetest local art and jewelry vendor who sold me my favorite necklace. And then there was “the bench challenge,” where my temporarily adopted companions and I attempted, one by one, to wind ourselves through the back of a busted-out bench somewhere in Ljubljana. (I failed epically.) 

But the day I’m the most proud of—the day that reminded me of my ability to persevere—was the day I hiked Slivnica mountain.

The Journey Begins: A Detour Before the Hike

This (usually) short, beginner-friendly hike was one of the few my hostel’s receptionist felt comfortable recommending to a relatively inexperienced hiker with somewhat worn boots and no other gear. The trailhead was supposed to be a short walk from the bus stop.

That is, if you get off at the right bus stop.

One of the public transit quirks I’d grown used to as a rural American living in urban Germany was the clear signage and announcements of upcoming stops. In my adopted home city of Essen, for example, there is a screen at the front of the bus listing all the stops on the line. The upcoming stop is then enlarged, brought to the center of the screen, and announced over the loudspeaker as you approach—leaving you ample time to press one of the “stop here” buttons on the bus.

As of March 2022, Slovenia had not yet adopted this technology on its longer-distance buses. There were no screens listing the stops. The bus driver would announce the upcoming stop, but the pronunciation differed from what I thought it would sound like, so I was never entirely sure where we were. Trying to read the names of the bus stops was also a challenge, because they either did not display a name sign, or there were so many people standing in front of it, I couldn’t catch it until after we departed.

This led to an increasing level of anxiety that culminated in my getting off the bus a stop too early and then walking four kilometers round trip into the neighboring village for information—right past the bus station I was looking for.  While I had managed to enjoy the beautiful, mountainous Slovenian countryside in this process, my morning was now gone.

A Decision to Keep Going

I briefly considered giving up on the hike. Since I was already at the (correct!) bus stop, I could have easily taken the next bus back to Ljubljana and found something else to do there. But after pausing for lunch and some reflection, I decided to press on. The hike was only supposed to take an hour or so each direction, and I still had plenty of time for that and to make the last bus out of the village. I bought a coffee from the café across the street and walked up to the trailhead.

The first part of the hike was all I had hoped for—fresh air, sunlight, beautiful nature, and a renewed sense of optimism. Until I reached this sign:

The trail marking is the red circle with a white dot in the center. As far as I knew, there were no other trails on this mountain. Also, sign is not of a bird, but a witch with a lengthy nose, because Slivnica is also known as “Witch Mountain”.

I’ve shown several people this picture, and there has been a split on which direction they would choose. Some of them chose the path on the left, and they would have been correct. Others, like me, were misled by the green man and arrow and unknowingly committed to a greater adventure.

Lost on the Wrong Trail

I don’t remember when exactly I realized I’d chosen poorly but it was probably at least half an hour past the sign. Eventually, I pulled out Google Maps. It showed I was still on some kind of trail, but it was either inconsistent or improperly marked.

After another thirty or forty-five minutes of struggling, I eventually sat down on the side of the access road I was following at that point and cried. Now an hour and a half into the hike, I was nowhere as close to the top as I was supposed to be. At this rate, I wasn’t sure if I would make it to the top and back in time to not be stranded in the village overnight. I seriously considered giving up—taking the risk of retracing my steps down the mountain, catching the next available bus, and going back to my hostel.      

And yet.

While I hadn’t yet decided I would in fact be moving back to the States about six months after this excursion, part of me knew with complete certainty I would not be coming back to this place any time soon—if ever. And another part of me knew with complete certainty I would regret not trying to reach the top. After checking the time and the bus schedule, I decided I had enough time to keep going.

Finding the Right Path

Shortly after this moment of truth, my persistence paid off. Whatever makeshift trail I’d been following merged into the main, marked, path. Hallelujah!

For a little while, I was able to relax and enjoy the trail. I passed the “witches’ hut” (currently closed for the off-season), a cute reindeer cutout by one of the trees, and apparently, what I later learned was another crossroads. At this point, though, I could tell I was close enough to the top and had a clear enough path there that I didn’t care if I was on the “correct” route anymore.      

Friends, I made it.

After enjoying the view, some water, and a protein bar, I began the work of heading back down the mountain. Google Maps (with whom my relationship was less harmonious than it had been at the start of the day) got me to the mountain lodge where the actual trail was supposed to end and return from. But no matter how many times I stared at the line on my phone, I could never match the moving dot of me up with the start of it.

A Local’s Helping Hand

After pacing back and forth across the patio three times, an older, beer-bellied Eastern European man walked over and threw his arm around my shoulders as I approached. “Where are you from?” he asked in a thick accent. I genuinely don’t remember which country I gave him, but I explained where I was trying to go and showed him my phone.

He took three steps towards the end of the patio, and he pointed to a set of stairs I had already passed more than once. On the downhill slope beneath, there were trees marked with red and white circles as far as I could see. I thanked him and set out again.

This trail is incredibly well-marked as long as you pass the test in the beginning, and also steeper than whatever route I had taken earlier. Between the markings and the direct, downward momentum, the return trip lasted about an hour, which put me at the bus station with two hours to spare before the last bus to Ljubljana.

Reflection: A Lesson in Perseverance

The bus station conveniently had a bar, a decent bathroom, and some curious locals who struck up a conversation over beers. They seemed surprised that a younger, foreign woman would travel so far to hike alone in the offseason but were willing to buy her a couple of beers in exchange for the conversation and the English practice.

I’ll always remember one of them telling me (after I shared I was considering changing my major to library science), “I don’t see you checking out books. I see you writing them.”

While life has taken me in a much different direction since that conversation, and I sadly haven’t managed any longer solo trips since I’ve moved back to the US, this entire day was, in a way, a turning point for me. Although it was objectively the worst day of that vacation in terms of stress and inconvenience (other than perhaps the journey back to Germany—a travel adventure of its own!), it’s the day I am the most proud of and talk about most often.

I proved to myself I could persevere and find my way—even if it meant a longer, inefficient, less straightforward path.

A lesson I can carry with me no matter where I am.