Two Wheels, Two Months, and a Thousand Stories: Our Motorbike Journey Across Europe
Between Mountains and Sea: A Ride to Remember
After years of talking about it, we finally did it—we both took two months off work, unpaid, to dive headfirst into the kind of holiday that leaves a mark. Not just a quick escape or a week of sightseeing, but a proper, soul-filling, unforgettable adventure. The kind you look back on for years to come.
We set off at the end of March, boarding the shuttle train to France with our shiny new Suzuki V-Strom 650 and hearts full of anticipation. The freedom of the road was finally ours.
Our first leg took us through France and Germany, the landscapes shifting gently as we cruised eastward, until we rolled into Switzerland. It wasn’t just another stop on the route—it was a chance to catch up with family and an old friend, to reset and ease into the journey. We spent our days exploring Zürich, the peaceful lakeside town of Wädenswil, and the rolling hills behind Muri. It was a calm and beautiful introduction, like an appetizer before the main course.
But the road was calling.
From Switzerland, we blasted through the Austrian Alps—a thrilling ride of sharp turns, snow-dusted peaks, and pure mountain air—then crossed into Slovenia through the northern border. That’s where the real magic began.
Our base was a cosy Airbnb in Zasip, a small village just outside Bled. It was an absolute gem—perfectly located with views over Lake Bled and its fairytale castle, framed by mountains. A postcard in real life. We attempted to visit the famous Vintgar Gorge, but it was still closed for the season, so instead we hiked to the Šum Waterfall, which was still well worth the effort.
Lake Bled itself was unforgettable. We climbed to the viewpoint above the lake—pro tip: don’t do it in full bike gear like we did! The path was steep, but the view from the top? Breath-taking. We ended up staying there until the sun dipped below the horizon, chatting with a friendly traveller from Australia.
One challenge of traveling slightly off-season, though, was the lack of open shops and restaurants. Most local cafés and kolibas were still shut, which meant we had to prepare our own meals. Grocery prices were surprisingly steep—we found ourselves wondering how locals made ends meet.
Before leaving Slovenia, we added one more gem to our list: the Mostnica Gorge. It was a spontaneous detour that turned out to be one of the most stunning hikes of the trip. The trail followed a narrow, twisting gorge carved by centuries of rushing turquoise water, with little wooden bridges and moss-covered stones lining the path. The waterfall at the end was a perfect reward—tucked away in the forest, framed by steep cliffs and the soothing roar of water echoing through the canyon. It was peaceful, wild, and completely unforgettable.
From there, we took the scenic route: the Vršič Pass and down along the Soča River. This stretch was the undisputed highlight of Slovenia. The pass was still clinging to winter at the top—snow-covered, with skiers swooshing down slopes under the spring sun—while below, the emerald waters of the Soča carved their way through valleys. We stopped for a coffee in Most na Soči, a peaceful little town perched over the river, and soaked in the moment.
Our next stop was more of a pitstop—a noisy and overpriced Airbnb just on the Croatian border—but it served its purpose. The next morning, we crossed into Croatia and were greeted by yet another stunning coastal road, all to ourselves.
We followed the winding roads down to the island of Pag, a place neither of us had been to and didn’t know much about. That only made the experience more surreal. The landscape was unlike anything we’d seen—harsh, rocky, almost lunar. Sharp stones jutted out of the earth, sheep grazed on sparse patches of grass, and we barely saw another soul. It was otherworldly.
We hiked for hours through this raw terrain, right down to the sea, and didn’t cross paths with a single person. We dipped into the chilly, calm water, letting the silence wrap around us. It was serenity in its purest form.
Pag town itself was an odd mix—part sleepy tourist village, part working harbour, with buildings that melted into the golden hues of the surrounding landscape. It was quiet, peaceful. With the season yet to begin, only a few cafes and ice cream parlours were open. But that just meant we got to see the town’s real rhythm—locals fixing up their homes, chatting in the streets, getting ready for summer.
By the time we left Pag, we felt like we’d already lived a hundred small stories—each road, each stop, each unexpected moment along the way.
And this was just the beginning.