THE border-policeman eyed my passport with suspicion whilst fiddling with his moustache – as if he was a renowned detective on the cusp of revelation.

Try as he might, he just couldn’t locate my entry stamp into the country. I attempted to help by flicking through a few pages and pointing at it, only to be slapped away with great force by his leather-gloved hand.

This was a swift reminder indeed that I was in Eastern Europe, where intimidating Cold War-era officials still lurk – yet it never fails to surprise me.

Equally, it also gives me that little culture-shock thrill I’ve become so hooked on. It was, of course, in complete contrast to the the hospitality I encountered on the rest of my backpacking trip – Croatia and Slovenia are warm and friendly places.

Appeased, the ill-tempered officer carried on his way down through the rest of the train carriage, striking fear into the hearts of those who met with his icy glare. Which would be everyone.

I sat back and relaxed in front of my 70” widescreen entertainment system for the remainder of the two-hour journey from Zagreb to Ljubljana (and by this I mean I stared out of the window).

The green and fertile plains, undulating hills and raging rapids we passed reminded me why train journeys are my preferred mode of transport – I actually felt like a traveller, and the scenery was jaw-droppingly spectacular.

I arrived in Ljubljana – capital of Slovenia – to cloudless blue skies and an air of tranquility, despite the hustle and bustle of vibrant city surroundings.

The first thing I did was check into my accommodation – the famous Hostel Celica. A quick Google search will confirm that it’s been awarded many accolades, including winning a place in the Rough Guide’s ‘25 Ultimate Places to Stay in the World’ list.

Nestled into the cultural mecca that is Metelkova – the old Yugoslav regime’s army barracks – and converted from the old military prison, I could almost taste the heritage in the air.

After claiming my bunk in a designer five-bed dorm, I headed out towards the castle that sits atop a fairytale hill overlooking the city centre. I took the funicular – like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’s great glass elevator – to the top.

I arrived at dusk to be greeted by natural beauty in its most impressive state. The moon sat full to the east between two mountains, reflecting the sun like a luminous orange that had been doused in petrol and set ablaze. In the far distance a snow-capped mountain range completed the view, like sugar-dusted chocolate fudge icing.

And I know from experience that when scenery starts to look edible, it’s your body trying to tell you that dinner is long overdue – so I grabbed myself some new friends back at Hostel Celica and set out with them towards the central square in search of sustenance.

The next day I found myself on the bus to Lake Bled, an hour-and-a-half's drive north from Ljubljana. A small, middle-aged Slovene lady sat next to me and began talking to me in broken English about God. I realised that I was receiving the Jehovah's Witness spiel, but that was fine by me.

Having things explained to me in softly spoken detail triggers my brain – for some bizarre reason – to drop a dosage of endorphins into my bloodstream. So I got a gratis cerebral massage, and she thought I was a new convert. Everyone was happy.

When I got to Bled, there was fog so thick that I couldn’t even make out the famous island on the lake or the castle on the north-east cliff. It was miserable, and it didn’t help that one of the guys I had met the previous night had invited himself on to this trip.

There is no room for other people on a Ben McKechnie sightseeing excursion – especially if they’re boring like this one was!

Partying in the evening is another kettle of kittens entirely. This is when I love to be surrounded by other folk. But I must admit that pushing him into the lake and letting the swans peck at his bits was a thought that did cross my mind.

The following morning, the skies were perfect once more and it was warm enough to forget about my jacket. Matey-boy thankfully caught the bus back to Ljubljana, and I had a 50-minute bus ride further into national park territory to Lake Bohinj.

I alighted at a village called Ribcev Laz, to the south-east of the lake and ate lunch at Pension Rozic. I sat out on the veranda in the warmth of the sun with a great view of the mountains, and the friendly old waitress took my order of mushroom soup followed by the speciality of the house – pancakes filled with cottage cheese.

She brought a giant silver trough of soup with a ladle and another bowl for me to eat from. I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to just help myself to one bowl or if it was in fact all for me. I settled for the latter possibility and had five bowls.

She removed my bowl whilst I was still eating (which I thought was hilarious) and placed a pan with three enormous pancakes in front of me.

But they were covered with squirty cream, sugar and cinnamon. It was a dessert, despite clearly being on the English menu sandwiched between main courses. Slovenes obviously have a good sense of humour.

Nothing could have prepared me for the sight of Lake Bohinj. If everybody died and went to a bespoke, personalised heaven, mine would be there (except Freida Pinto – the adult Latika from Slumdog Millionaire – would be there with me).

It’s a place of dramatic natural beauty. Mountains on the north shore appear so large that it looks as though you might be able to reach out and touch them, and the surface of the lake was completely frozen over. But most importantly, in an area of national park that measures roughly 5km x 2km, I was the only person there.

Can you picture it? I had the most beautiful place that I had ever seen in my life all to myself.

I was overwhelmed and shed a few tears – and I’m not embarrassed to share that with you.

Another joyous experience came the next day when myself and two girls, named Catherine and Susan, chartered a boat and captain to take us from the eastern shore of Lake Bled to the idyllic island.

Inside the island’s church, we were allowed to take it in turns to ring the ‘Wishing Bell’.

I pulled with all my strength – which was completely unnecessary as my bell rang out for minutes rather than the intended 3 times – and made the obligatory wish that I would like to return to Slovenia as soon as possible.

It really is that incredible.

Drop what you’re doing and go now.