In winter, no human is allowed inside Predjama Castle Cave, as it becomes a refuge for bats

Let’s first clear up its name: Cave under Predjama Castle (Jama pod Predjamskim gradom), also known as Predjama Castle Cave. If you speak Slovenian, this might already be making your brain itch. The literal translation of Predjama is “in front of the cave”. So the true meaning of the cave’s name is the “cave under the castle in front of the cave”. To be even clearer: Predjama Castle is the castle above the “cave under the castle in front of the cave”.

The exit of the Cave under Predjama Castle is, in fact, above the entrance to the fortress. So, it turns out the cave is simultaneously beneath, behind, and above the surreal-looking castle that gave it its name, at the same time the cave gave the name to the castle.

If that made you dizzy, imagine losing your sense of orientation once your cave guide suggests: “Let’s turn off our lights for a minute and stand here in the dark.”

In that pitch blackness, you start hearing your own breath, and then your heartbeat. You count the beats and wonder: will it really take a minute?

Check out the Cave under Predjama Castle tour video on YouTube!

Deep inside this hidden cave system, blind as a bat but lacking the echolocation to match, you feel both safe and fragile. The cave seems like a long-forgotten home, but even more – like someone else’s home. In winter, no human is allowed inside Predjama Castle Cave, as it becomes a refuge for bats.

Welcome to the Cave under Predjama Castle: a living, shifting world of stone, silence, and wings.

What Is the Cave Under Predjama Castle?

The Cave under Predjama Castle is the second-longest Slovenian show cave, spreading over four floors that are all interconnected, except for Erazem’s Hole and Erazem’s Passage on the top level. The total length of all discovered sections reaches 14 kilometers, though tourists can access only a 700-meter stretch.

The cave system under Predjama is part of the vast karst landscape that defines this corner of Slovenia: terrain sculpted over millions of years by water dissolving limestone into tunnels, chambers, and hidden passages.

Some of these were used to spectacular effect by Erasmus of Lueg (Erazem Predjamski). According to legend, Erasmus came into conflict with the Habsburgs after killing the commander of the imperial army. Fleeing the vengeance of Emperor Frederick III, he retreated to Predjama Castle, allied himself with King Matthias Corvinus, and proceeded to raid Habsburg estates across Carniola.

The cave was his lifeline. Behind the castle, a network of secret tunnels allowed the knight Erazem to set out on his expeditions and remain undefeated through a siege for a year and a day. The tunnel system – the very same one we walk through today – is why he never starved. Attackers could surround the castle, but they could not cut off a man who had the entire karst underworld as his back door.

He even used the tunnels to mock his besiegers, reportedly lobbing freshly delivered cherries at his confused enemies from above.

The cave corridors were Erasmus’s secret power until one of his servants, in exchange for gold coins, flashed a light to signal that the knight had gone to the toilet during the night. The enemy’s bullet found Erasmus and finished him on the spot.

Cave Under Predjama Castle Tour

At exactly 11 am, young cave guide Nejc Prinčič welcomes me and two other tourists at the Predjama Castle ticket office. Even though tours can get crowded in peak summer – sometimes requiring two guides for larger groups – today there are just three of us joining the Cave under Predjama Castle tour. In late August, that’s a small luxury.

Before we enter the bat rooms, a quick stop at the bathrooms – at a place where protective helmets are also distributed. Unlike in “Game of Thrones”, we aren’t wearing them to signal lineage while warding off the enemies’ swords. Our real adversaries on this cave adventure would be the occasional low ceiling (considerably harder than our skulls) and the darkness our eyes are simply not equipped for.

We walk the path downward, saluting the fortress that hangs dramatically above our heads. Nejc unlocks the cave doors and turns the key behind us as we step in. This is a one-way tour. We won’t be heading back.

Equipped with headlights, we enter the first chamber of the mountain. We’ll pass the Stables, the Main Passage, the Cave of Names, the Great Hall, and Fiženca – the exit.

As we move through the chambers, each one tells its own story. The Horse Stable was where Erazem kept his horses, resupplying the castle during the prolonged Habsburg siege in the 15^th century.

Archeological finds in the cave testify that people lived here in the Stone Age. Roman remains were found in the entrance tunnel. And in the Cave of Names, signatures dating back to the 15^th century line the walls (the oldest one mentions 1412!). Millennia of humans insisting “we were here”, long before anyone thought of social media check-ins.

Testing Your Life Choices

The ground is rocky but damp. Today, we enjoy the mineral scent of wet stone and faint earthiness, but it’s easy to imagine early explorers slipping on uneven terrain and sliding into drops that would have been impossible to survive. We cross a chasm via a metal bridge. If it had been wooden, I’d knock on it.

When we hit what appears to be a dead end, the guide tells us a story of servants who enlarged the tunnel for their master back in the age, sparing us, future visitors, the indignity of crawling on our stomachs.

On the other side of the tight passage, where even the shortest person ducks, the space widens. Stalactites and stalagmites occasionally fuse into pillars, lone images of stability in what would otherwise feel like a crevice encouraging existential reflection. The claustrophobic devil on my shoulder is whispering the most fearful scenarios.

But the real survival mode switches on after we climb the rock-carved staircase. The only way forward is steep, ladder-like stairs climbing into the darkness, so far that the headlight can barely hint at where they end.

“Any doubts? Any second thoughts maybe?”, Nejc asks, with the cheerful energy of someone who has watched many tourists wrestle with this exact moment. “The stairs are completely fine. Don’t worry about them collapsing.”

I notice rust on the handrail, where dripping cave water has done its quiet work over the years.

“Yeah, but they still hold”, our guide tries to keep the mood light. “Just take your time. No need to rush. Go slowly. One step at a time. The most important thing is that you don’t slip. And keep your hands on the rails at all times.”

Climbing those 40-50 stairs that bridge the cave abyss, with the singular instruction to “not slip”, is a genuine adrenaline rush. One by one, all three of us make it to the top.

The Hidden Residents – Bats of Predjama Cave

After several more flights of stairs (less daunting now that there’s no void below), we reach the upper chambers and learn the reason why the cave is closed for tourists from October to April. Roosting on the ceiling, black dots shift and fidget as our headlights sweep across them. We’re sharing the dark with bats.

Nejc explains why the access to the Cave under Predjama Castle is strictly seasonal: “If you disturb them during hibernation, they may spend too much energy waking up and falling back to sleep. They might not make it through the winter.”

Predjama’s cave system is home to several species typical of the region, including horseshoe bats and long-eared bats. Clinging to the ceilings and walls of their sanctuary, these creatures are perfectly adapted to the cave. Using echolocation, they turn darkness into an acoustic map, perceiving details where we see nothing: distance, texture, movement.

Our guide dismantles the myth that bats could get tangled in our hair: “Bats’ sonar is so precise they can detect each individual hair separately. And yes, they will avoid it.”

As the ceiling drops low, we literally come within arm’s length of them. One adjusts its position, peers between folded wings, and then resumes its resting business. It is both aware and entirely unbothered by our presence. It’s a grounding moment.

We’re witnessing something ancient, a colony of animals that have been gliding silently through this darkness long before tourists started threading their way through guided routes. This place belongs to them. It’s a home to 80 different animal species. An entire ecosystem. Not a theme park.

As the air gradually warms and daylight begins to appear behind the last rock, our tour draws to a close. For roughly 45 minutes, we were permitted to step inside nature’s own timeline, not as the main characters, for once.

Practical Information for Visiting Predjama Cave

When to visit the Cave under Predjama Castle

Unlike the castle above it, which welcomes visitors year-round, the cave beneath Predjama operates on nature’s schedule. It is open from May to September, when the bats are less vulnerable, and conditions are safer for human visitors.

You can’t wander in alone. Visits are conducted via guided tours only, scheduled daily at 11 am. On weekends, public holidays, and during the peak months of July and August, afternoon slots at 1 pm and 4 pm are also available. Each tour lasts approximately 45 minutes.

The Cave under Predjama Castle entrance fee

The Cave under Predjama Castle is managed as part of Postojna Cave Park. The price of the ticket is 19 euros (22 dollars). Tour bookings are available at postojnska-jama.eu.

What to wear in Predjama Castle Cave

The two general rules are:

1. Ditch the sandals. You’ll want shoes with a proper grip. The terrain can be uneven and occasionally slippery, and flip-flops are not the footwear of heroes.
2. Bring a layer. Karst caves maintain a steady temperature of around 8-10˚C (46-50°F) year-round, regardless of summer heat outside. That chill creeps in faster than you’d expect.

For adventure tours, your guide will walk you through any additional gear requirements beforehand.

Rules of conduct

1. No flash photography.
2. No loud noises.
3. Do not touch formations or wildlife.

Age and accessibility

The standard Cave under Predjama Castle Tour is suitable for children aged six and above.

Getting there

Predjama Castle is located in the village of Predjama, approximately 11 kilometers from the town of Postojna. A shuttle service from Postojna Cave to the castle runs in high season, with a journey time of up to 20 minutes.

The cave complex is roughly an hour’s drive from Ljubljana.

Combining visits

The cave pairs naturally with Predjama Castle above it and Postojna Cave nearby. Together, they form the core of Postojna Cave Park. A combined ticket is available and makes for a thoroughly rewarding day.

Adding the cave beneath Predjama Castle to an already full day is ambitious. If you can, split the exploration across two days and stay overnight at Hotel Jama, which is worth visiting in its own right.

Visiting the Cave under Predjama Castle – Conclusion

Travel often gravitates toward the biggest, the highest, the most photographed. The Cave under Predjama Castle doesn’t compete on those terms.

It isn’t Slovenia’s largest cave, nor its most famous. It doesn’t overwhelm you with scale.

Where Postojna Cave dazzles with a polished spectacle of floodlit stalactites viewed from an underground train, the Cave under Predjama Castle demands something quieter and more personal: your attention, your footwork, and a willingness to step into genuine darkness.

If you’re drawn to places that feel a little less mediated, places where nature hasn’t been fully translated into something convenient, and places that don’t eagerly try to impress, this cave is worth your time.

Dark, quiet, and inhabited, Predjama Castle Cave proposes an intimate and raw journey into the unknown

Predjama Castle is a Renaissance fortress that resembles a fantasy someone forgot to tone down. Most visitors stop there – snap the photo, circle the courtyard, absorb a story or two.

But hidden beneath the castle, not manicured for mass tourism, this dark, quiet, and inhabited cave proposes an intimate and raw journey into the unknown.

Its moving winged stalactites, its dripping water reshaping stone, its 80-species ecosystem – these are not the only reasons that make Predjama Castle Cave feel alive.

As you move through the darkness, you’re also traveling through history, your flashlight illuminating centuries-old signatures of those who walked before you, through the same passages a medieval outlaw used to outfox an empire.

That’s not a tourist experience. That’s an adventure.

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Hi from Zagreb!

I have a feeling we’re not in Dalmatia anymore. Don’t you agree, Toto?

I woke up in the Croatian capital after a long car ride through rain and fog, on the day that my hotel on the Makarska Riviera was scheduled to open. If you’ve followed along, you know I started working in guest relations at this high-potential resort back in February. The first guests are arriving today, so shouldn’t a Guest Experience Manager be there to greet them? Surely I’m at the wrong place at the wrong time?

You’ll notice this newsletter missed your mailbox for two consecutive weeks. A tornado swallowed me, and I disappeared. The turbulence was so hard that even Pipeaway‘s regular birthday article was published just two days ago, on April 13 (the website’s anniversary was on March 28!).

The short answer to this mystery is: I quit my job (yes, the one I was so excited about!). Quitting is always a sad piece of news, but after two and a half months of desperately trying to steer my boat toward success, I had to admit failure.

I hate seeing this like abandoning a sinking ship (not-so-fun fact: the hotel’s opening date coincides with the anniversary of the Titanic‘s disaster). But I wasn’t the only one spotting numerous holes in the vessel’s hull. The captain(s) should have already noticed that the ship was rather unbalanced. Instead, it was steered into the storm.

After my last working day, I walked along the coastline that I had started calling home. An 80-year-old lady was sitting by the sea, her wrinkles soaking in the spring sun. Next to her stood the two millstones, once used for the manual grinding of olives, now just a décor. Her house was a stone olive mill before; today, she only rents rooms to tourists.

We exchanged some small talk, and soon I learned that, three decades ago, this lady worked as Housekeeping Manager at my hotel. One day, she was diagnosed with lung cancer and decided to retire early. As she was telling me her life story, a story that painted the breakdown of everything in the ‘old days’ (from her village to the hotel industry to her own body), she pulled out a cigarette and took a drag.

“I ain’t giving up on these”, she said with the dignity of someone who decides to take the steering wheel of their life in own hands.

The chance encounter on my last day at the job made me think. This lady worked in the old hotel, in a system she described in positive superlatives. And yet, when the cancer showed up as an uninvited guest, someone she definitely didn’t want to rent space to, she decided to retire.

After the initial successful medical treatment, thirty years later, the cancer returned to her home. But the housekeeper is still here, breathing by the shores of the Adriatic Sea, determined to shape her life on her own terms.

Now, if it takes lung cancer to leave a great place to work, what makes us stay at unhealthy jobs that suffocate us?

Human and professional dignities are often undervalued. This lady’s heart spoke to me, in the moment when I needed to hear exactly the words “we need to take care of ourselves first”.

We may wish to believe we’re invincible, but in the end, we are made of the same fragile material. Therefore, quitting is not always just fleeing from somewhere; it is also a flight TO somewhere.

I came to my hotel room/home, and before I started packing, I wrote the article on the 9 lives I led, in this reality in which we are not cats.

I lost my father to cancer, and his words before I left for Asia (“Take care of yourself”) sounded very similar to the advice I got from the retired housekeeper.

We’ll never be able to control all the toxins in this world. But if we speak about the workplace, we should always opt for the healthy one. Hopefully, that much we can control.

Have an over-the-rainbow week,

Ivan Kralj    
Pipeaway.com

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The post 🚢 Somewhere Over the Exit Sign – Pipeaway Newsletter #212 appeared first on Pipeaway.

My cat-like hope is that, when I twist mid-air, falling toward a new, unknown job surface, I’ll safely land

In the absence of tourists, surrounded by attention-demanding Dalmatian cats, I find myself thinking about that widespread myth that felines have nine lives as well. These agile creatures survive falls that would injure other animals or finish them altogether.

In 2018, I argued that, actually, humans are no­­­­t cats; that we should follow our path in this only life we can actually prove we have.

Looking at my purring CV now, I realize I relate to the cat’s embrace of the fall more than I ever assumed. Leaving secure career paths behind, squeezing through yet another tight space, has a distinctly cat-like determination. My only hope is that, when I twist mid-air, falling toward a new, unknown job surface, I’ll safely land.

Read previous anniversary articles here:

8 Bizarre Hostel Experiences That Will Make You Miss Your Own Bed
7 Times I Risked Too Much: Navigating Dangers of Travel
Jaw-Dropping Surprises: 6 Biggest WTF Moments From My Travels
Pipeaway's Fifth Birthday: 5 Most Popular Articles Since 2017
Candle Number Four: 5 Things I've Learned in My Fourth Year of Blogging
Candle Number Three: 5 Things I've Learned in My Third Year of Blogging
Candle Number Two: 5 Things I've Learned in My Second Blogging Year
Candle Number One: 5 Things I've Learned in My First Year of Blogging

The Week I Quit

I spent Easter job hunting. If you’ve followed my writing before, this may come as a surprise. Two and a half months after I began working as Guest Experience Manager at a hotel that had earned a spot on Travel+Leisure’s list of the best all-inclusive, adults-only resorts in the world, I decided to move on.

Our lives are already fleeting as they are. Whether you disagree with your employer’s professional standards, find the office culture corrosive, or simply realize that the conditions promised during your interview were quietly forgotten after you signed, it is perfectly reasonable to leave during the probationary period. Companies see these first months as an opportunity to test the employee. But equally, companies are on a trial too.

I weighed the pros and cons, and without going into details, made the certainly-not-easy decision to abandon an intriguing professional challenge I had given my all to.

If we see they might be unattainable for reasons we cannot control, I firmly believe we are allowed to abandon big dreams and choose smaller, but possibly happier ones instead.

My job hunting made me think of Borut Veselko, a Slovenian TV host whose show “Odklop” I loved watching on Kanal A in the 1990s. The awarded actor was trying out a new profession every week, from stuntman to hypnotist. Another Borut, the country’s President Borut Pahor also presented himself in a variety of job roles for the purpose of the 2015 calendar – he was everything from car mechanic in January to hairdresser in December.

Now, I don’t think we should all borutize our working lives, and start changing jobs on a weekly or a monthly basis. Life is not a TV show nor political propaganda, but it should neither be a prison. If you see your job becoming an unhealthy habit, quitting is often the only medicine.

9 Moving-Ons

The number 9, as the final single digit, symbolizes the end of a chapter, a completion, a closure. In Hinduism, it is sacred. In Chinese culture, it represents the emperor (just think of that Nine Emperor Gods Festival!). Norse mythology structures the cosmos across nine worlds, while Dante counts the same number of circles in the underworld. Whether you’re ascending or descending, nine is apparently where things wrap up.

On the occasion of Pipeaway’s ninth anniversary, I wanted to share nine lives that brought me here. These are not the only career paths I sprinted through, but they are certainly the stops that shaped major parts of my professional identity.

1. Journalist

My journalism journey began in my teenage years and never truly stopped. Last year marked 30 years of working in media (print, radio, TV, and online). Journalism is my habitus.

What started with timid knocks on the doors of puzzle and youth magazines evolved into TV broadcasting, from local reports to national investigative journalism. I passed everything from radio news to entertainment TV, from daily columns and art reviews to documentaries.

Before switching to travel journalism in English, my Croatian media path is perhaps best recognized through feature stories, which earned me three consecutive annual awards from the national journalists’ association. My most-remembered work was on the talk show Latinica and the political weekly Feral Tribune.

Even though I received some recognition in documentary photography, I still struggle describing myself as a photojournalist on my business card. On Pipeaway, I report not just with words but also images (still and moving), yet the title ‘photographer’ still occasionally makes me feel like an imposter.

2. Artist

If ‘photographer’ makes me feel like an imposter, ‘artist’ sounds even more terrifying.

My personal inclinations were always toward the arts. Drawing, clay sculptures, and writing poetry were my childhood staples. But I never dove this direction all the way. All it took to drive me off-course was winning the national mathematics championship, and my parents steered my education toward the natural sciences instead. I did once apply to become an astronaut, but let’s be realistic: space travel is the least likely form of travel I’ll experience in this lifetime.

In the visual arts, I can only claim participation in two (unpaid) group exhibitions. But for a part of my life, I was earning money through performing arts.

I acted in amateur and professional theater (including the most prestigious national stage – Croatian National Theater), but also took on circus-based work – from clowning and mime to fire manipulation. After all, to balance different professions at the same time, one needs to learn how to juggle first.

3. Event Manager & Producer

Then came the years when I started producing events myself. Whether for commercial clients, shopping centers, tourist boards, cities, and marketing agencies, or for Mala performerska scena, the NGO I led, I spent 13 years rolling up my organizer’s sleeves for festivals, parties, spectacles, film nights, conferences, exhibitions, and other gatherings.

I also assisted other organizations’ productions, including the Zadar Snova contemporary theater festival, the Dance and Non-Verbal Theater Festival in Svetvinčenat, and the World Theater Festival in Zagreb.

4. Creative & Art Director

This one goes hand-in-hand with the previous chapter. Alongside production, I guided many projects as an art director.

The most notable was Festival Novog Cirkusa, an annual international meeting point of contemporary circus shows that reshaped the image of this artistic field in Croatia. Theater experts considered it one of the country’s most important independent art events, and it was nominated for the Audience Awards for Best Festival by Teatar.hr, and for the Creativity and Innovation Award by MRAK network.

I also creatively directed projects that challenged perceptions of other marginalized art forms and artists: body art (Bestiarum), sideshow (Freaky Friday), street art (Arts to the Streets), cabaret & burlesque (Red Room Cabaret), and inclusive performances (with disabled persons, Roma youth, queer groups, elderly people, etc.).

Beyond events, I channeled my interest in creative design into marketing – producing conceptual promotional tools that turned heads (from ‘gloves for applauding’ and ‘invisible booklets’ to promotional campaigns for non-existent political parties).

At one point, I was even offered a copywriter role at the country’s leading mobile provider. I turned it down for a columnist position at a new daily newspaper, and I still occasionally wonder how differently things might have unfolded if I had continued with marketing.

Speaking of jobs in creative industries, I was also the creative director of one season of a TV reality show.

5. Researcher & Lecturer

Both as a media professional and a circus researcher, I didn’t just publish articles in specialist magazines, but also had the chance to transfer knowledge and inspiration through academic and popular stages.

I was a guest speaker at conferences and panels in Croatia (Academy of Dramatic Art, Faculty of Political Sciences, Student Center, Cultural Information Center, Pogon), the United Kingdom (Southbank Centre, University of Stirling, At-Bristol Science Center), Australia (La Trobe University), France (La Villette), Latvia (Latvian Academy of Culture), Serbia (Faculty of Dramatic Arts), Poland (Teatr Stary), Czechia (KD Mlejn), Sweden (Subcase), and Norway (Circus Village Festival).

It might sound like just CV brag, but conversing with curious minds through lectures remains one of the genuinely enjoyable chapters of my professional life.

6. Publisher, Graphic & Web Designer

There were numerous booklets, fanzines, and one-off publications I signed as publisher and graphic designer, but the most significant of these paper products was probably the book “Women & Circus”, so lavishly illustrated that I had to remove it from my luggage at airport security every time I flew. The X-ray, apparently, could not determine whether its density suggested an art book or a solid metal-like block.

I published a couple more books (a collection of “Scary Stories” by a group of writers, and “Conversations on Circus Teachings” by Tomi Purovaara), but also a yearly cultural magazine, Kupusov list, an extension of the online project Kupus.net, a specialized cultural site that Radio 101 awarded Best Website of 2004.

Later, I built several more websites for my event projects. For the past nine years, however, Pipeaway.com has been my only online home.

7. Waiter

After staying in hotels around the world and writing about them, I became increasingly curious about the hospitality industry. I had some Airbnb hosting (Superhost status!) and Couchsurfing experience (free hosting of travelers) before, but I wanted to understand how hotels and resorts operate from within.

Frankly, I also wanted to keep traveling. When the COVID-19 pandemic arrived, and vaccination became mandatory for international movement, hotel workers were among the first to receive their shots. So, I thought, why not become a waiter for a season? Worst case, I’d be travel-ready. Best case, I’d discover a new world.

I started waiting tables in the summer of 2021 at one of the most prestigious hotels in Rovinj. It was a rapid rise from a complete rookie at the pool bar to serving guests at Michelin-recognized restaurants. After Cap Aureo, I went on to Alfred Keller Restaurant and Meneghetti Wine Hotel & Winery.

These were all amazing learning experiences, though it did sometimes feel like I was living a reverse life. I have run my own businesses from a young age, then left entrepreneurship to chase seasonal summer contracts like a student, just a couple of decades later than most. That said, the combination of summers in Croatia and winters in some tropical destinations worked rather well for me.

8. Bell Boy

Working in fine dining had been an immensely interesting social exercise – a choreographed gastronomic performance – and interacting in this game even brought tips on top of a solid salary.

So when an opportunity to work as a bellboy emerged, the lower base wage didn’t discourage me. By then, I’d learned that hospitality rewards kindness: in the end, I was nearly doubling my paycheck with gratuities.

The summer of 2025 was a welcome holiday for my brain. Being available to guests carried no intense burden of responsibility. It was a simple, if sometimes physically demanding, job where I could expand my guest-relations capacities and patience in being kind – something I started cultivating as a waiter.

9. Guest Experience Manager

As I went about my bellhop duties, someone took notice. The hotel’s Guest Experience Manager had decided to take a sabbatical and travel the world for a year (lucky him!). He proposed me as his replacement. After a few more people recommended me for the role, I was appointed Experience Manager at a larger hotel in the chain, leading a six-person department responsible for everything from guest relations to entertainment, sports, and activities.

The job came with an appealing challenge: raising the quality of these services in a hotel that had struggled in this area. I soon discovered that the challenges had not arisen merely from unfortunate circumstances, but were more deeply embedded in the company’s system.

Faced with the fact that I could hardly control what was given to me as a responsibility, after a series of open conversations aimed at aligning our visions of the way forward, I had to say ‘thank you’ to the opportunity, and leave.

Everything is still fresh and, with all the hours invested, the missed chance to genuinely improve the hotel’s offering still stings. But perhaps our shared chapter, in a company bold enough to promote a porter into a manager, was just not destined to be written right now.

Hat trick or treats

These were certainly not the only nine hats I’ve worn throughout my career. While I’ve been reinventing myself like a shape-shifter, the transformations have always felt natural. The transitions between jobs were never truly abrupt. Most of the roles overlapped, sustained by a workaholic schedule that went beyond 9-to-5.

You cannot enter a new room before closing the door that keeps squeaking behind you

Finishing a certain job episode, opens up both your views on the market, as well as opportunities to use your skills in the most constructive way. You cannot enter a new room before closing the door that keeps squeaking behind you.

For some people, leaving well-paid positions to insist on principles may seem like a disservice to oneself. But with an experience that demanded constant reinvention and never-ending education, I’ve also learned to trust my intuition.

At one moment, that might be walking away from a lucrative prime-time TV contract rather than let political pressure devalue my journalism. At another, it might mean leaving the finest restaurant because your celebrity chef struggles with owning mistakes. My departures, especially given how stubbornly persistent I am by nature, have usually signaled that the system was going putrid, or we were simply mutual misfits. The kindest thing for both parties is a clean exit.

Changing careers frequently is not for everyone. For me, as I try to evolve both personally and professionally, following a known path makes sense until you reach a wall you genuinely cannot scale. Just because someone is feeding you while you stare at that concrete obstacle doesn’t mean there’s no food on the other side.

As I continue navigating the tourism sector from within, I’ll keep publishing on Pipeaway, this nine-year-old kitten that somehow managed to grow while I was simultaneously embracing at least a third of the professions in this parallel-slalom article.

After nine lives of reinvention, thank you for meowing along.

How many career paths have you changed in your life?
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Hi from Živogošće!

I’d love to hear you pronounce that. Diacritical marks, such as the little roofs of Croatian letters ‘ž’, ‘š’, and ‘ć’, are not the only ‘freaks’ in our dictionary. But when they gather in one word, they are surely enough for a foreigner’s tongue twist.

The Croatian alphabet has 30 letters, but for quite a few, you’ve probably never heard of them. For instance, if I were to ask you how many letters there are in my last name – Kralj – what would you say?

The correct answer is: four. And no, it’s not about you counting incorrectly. In Croatian, ‘lj’, the combo of the two letters, is indeed one letter. Well, for your first lesson in my native language, I’ll give you a translation. Not sure if you’ll need it in your everyday life, but my second name is the Croatian word for ‘king’.

I’ve arrived in the tongue-twisting Živogošće not to be a royal myself, but to upgrade the experience of tourists choosing this small Dalmatian village for their holidays.

In three weeks, they will all be expecting the greatest treatment, and my team (under construction) will need to respond.

The spring has just arrived, and for me, it feels like the start of a new year. Nature is waking up, life is entering a brand new cycle, and tourists looking for the Croatian sun will be stampeding to this region like migratory birds. In an otherwise sleepy village, visitors are the harbingers of spring.

I’m looking forward to replacing Dalmatian cats with real humans to hang out with. But hotel operations, the current springboard of my professional career, are a complex business. Even without having guests around, the work is still at full speed.

My afternoon job, sometimes a beyond-midnight job (Pipeaway website), finds me in half-slumber. After I successfully installed a replacement monitor (the laptop’s screen went to permanent ‘sleep’), my brain now needs to fight only the half-shut eyes.

Spring is the period of great cleaning, so I dug deeper into my portfolio of not-yet-published stories. Well, I wrote a lot about the Phuket Vegetarian Festival before, but this brand-new article brings you to the Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine, where entranced vegetarians use skewers to go beyond meat.

Viewers’ discretion is advised. When you visit your local hardware store next time, you’ll look at all those tools with a different set of eyes.

Have an awakening week,

Ivan Kralj    
Pipeaway.com

Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links, meaning if you click on them and make a purchase, Pipeaway may make a small commission, at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting our work!

The post 🌿 Dalmatian Dawn: Notes From a Village Waking Up – Pipeaway Newsletter #211 appeared first on Pipeaway.

In the Sam Kong neighbourhood on the quieter north side of Phuket Town, people usually gather around Chillva Market for quirky accessories, a relaxed dinner, or a taste of local nightlife. Show up at dawn during Tesagan Gin Je, however, and the air feels entirely different: charged, almost electrically. When the Phuket Vegetarian Festival takes the Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine into its embrace, streets pulsate with devotees who display faith that conquers pain.

Some draw the blade across their tongues. Blood squirts over their arms

It begins with sound. Already at the first corner of Yaowarat Road – a street named after Thailand‘s first crown prince – a sharp metallic clang cuts through the morning stillness.

Around thirty barefoot men, dressed only in white trousers and ornately embroidered aprons, swing axes against their own exposed backs, skin already lined with cuts. Some draw the blade across their tongues. Blood squirts over their arms.

Check out the atmosphere in this YouTube short!

 

Those who descend deeper into trance don’t stop at surface wounds. Spikes, swords, sabers, sickles, sledgehammers, and secateurs adorn their faces as they walk the streets of Phuket Town. The tool needn’t begin with ‘s’ – it only has to fit through a hole pierced in the devotee’s cheek. A surprising number of things do.

The procession departs from Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine toward Saphan Hin Park at 6:45 am on the fourth day of a nine-day celebration honoring the Nine Emperor Gods. At one of the spiritually most significant Chinese shrines in Phuket, incense smoke and firecracker haze mingle in the early light, setting the rhythm for an act of disciplined devotion.

But Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine is far more than a festival backdrop. It is a living spiritual center, woven deep into the island’s Chinese-Thai heritage. This centuries-old Taoist temple rises magnificently from a thoroughly ordinary neighbourhood of food shops, schools, and flower stalls. That contrast makes the shrine feel otherworldly. Step through the dragon-wrapped columns, and the everyday will stay behind.

Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine History

Over a century before the axes came out at dawn, there was just a patch of land, a cement floor, some zinc walls, and a thatched roof on wooden posts.

Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine – variously spelled Lim Hoo Tai Soo or Loem Hu Thai Su, and also known as Sam Kong Shrine after its neighborhood – has served as a spiritual anchor for Phuket’s Hokkien Chinese community since its construction in 1914.

The temple’s congregation consists of descendants of migrants who left Fujian province in southern China during the 19th century, drawn to Phuket by the promise of work in the island’s booming tin-mining industry. They built businesses, planted roots, and, just as importantly, brought with them the temples, rituals, and religious traditions of home.

In an unfamiliar and often unforgiving environment, shrines weren’t a luxury. They were a lifeline: protective spiritual centers where communities prayed for health, prosperity, and the kind of stability that comes from feeling watched over by familiar gods. A number of these shrines took root across the island.

The land of Lim Hu Tai Su was donated in 1914 by Luang Sunthon Chinpracha, a member of a prominent Chinese-Thai family. Five years later, he formalized the gift, issuing a land title deed in the name of Muen Sam Kong, also known as Tan Boon-seng.

In the 1940s and 1950s, the original structures were expanded, renovated, and improved – first to corrugated zinc, then to tiled roofing – before being completely demolished and rebuilt from scratch in 1994.

Shortly after the renovation, the shrine’s caretaker summoned Hiew How, the sacred fire from China’s Kung Sai province, and with that ritual act, Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine formally became a full participant in the annual Nine Emperor Gods Festival, beginning in 1995.

Today’s complex reflects a blend of traditional southern Chinese temple architecture and local Thai influences: an elaborate ceremonial gate at the Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine entrance, curved tiled roofs, stone lion guardians standing watch on either side, and intricate serpentine golden dragons coiling around vivid red pillars.

Who Is Lim Hu Tai Su?

The shrine takes its name from its principal deity: Lim Hu Tai Su, a divine figure believed to hold power over illness. Its sacred statue occupies the main altar, surrounded by venerated images of other Chinese gods, including Nezha, the child-god of young rebels, and Guan Yin, the goddess of compassion.

According to local lore, Lim Hu Tai Su was once human – a former servant of the Chinese Imperial Palace, which explains an intriguing quirk recorded in the shrine’s history: when devotees first attempted to communicate with the deity through a spirit medium (ma song), nobody could understand a word of the responses. The deity, it turned out, was speaking in the formal regal dialect of the imperial court. It was only when the conversation switched to Hokkien, the mother tongue of Phuket’s Chinese-Thai community, that things began to flow.

Originally, the possessed medium would write medical prescriptions on golden paper, place them in a clay pot, and wait for nine joss sticks to burn completely before adding water. The patient would then drink the infused liquid.

Sacred texts that once documented the deity’s magical techniques in detail are said to have been lost over time, adding a layer of mystery to the shrine.

Nevertheless, many people still come to Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine specifically to pray for good health. A common ritual involves bringing traditional Chinese herbal medicines purchased from local shops and presenting them at the temple altar, asking the deity to bless them with healing properties before use.

Nine Emperor Gods Festival – When Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine Comes Alive

Throughout the year, Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine hosts Taoist ceremonies, merit-making events, and communal prayers. But it is during the ninth lunar month (typically falling in October) that activity intensifies dramatically.

The annual Nine Emperor Gods Festival – known locally as Tesagan Gin Je  – transforms Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine into one of the most compelling ritual spectacles in Southeast Asia. During those nine days, streets fill with white-clad devotees, spirit mediums walk on hot coals and pierce their flesh without apparent pain, and curious visitors from across the world stand on sidewalks with their mouths open, wondering what exactly they stumbled into.

The origins of the festival in Phuket trace back to the early 1800s. The most widely told story involves a troupe of Chinese opera performers who fell gravely ill while on the island. In a desperate bid for recovery, they adopted a strict vegetarian diet and prayed fervently to the Nine Emperor Gods for nine days and nine nights. When they recovered, they kept their vow by establishing a festival in honor of the gods, a tradition that has grown into one of Phuket’s most iconic events.

Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine’s formal integration into this festival is a more recent chapter. Before the shrine’s restoration in the mid-1990s, Lim Hu Tai Su worship during the festival was conducted from Bang Neow Shrine.

The Nine Emperor Gods Festival in Phuket was born in 1825. It all started at Kathu Shrine – learn more about it!

Festival Rituals at Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine

During the Nine Emperor Gods Festival, the atmosphere around the Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine is electric.

The temple grounds and surrounding streets fill with vendors selling vegetarian food, identified by the yellow flags bearing the red เจ symbol that mark every je stall.

The smell of incense, the pop of firecrackers, and the sight of crowds in white cotton are constant companions from dawn until well after midnight.

Each year, the Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine serves as the starting point for a ceremonial street procession that winds through the neighbourhoods of Phuket Town before finishing at Saphan Hin Park. Devotees line the streets to welcome the passing deity palanquins, makeshift altars appear in the doorways of homes along the route, and firecrackers shatter the air to usher in good fortune.

Among the most extraordinary aspects of the festival is the practice of spirit mediumship. Chosen devotees enter trance-like states, acting as vessels for deities, and performing feats of ritual self-mortification. They pierce cheeks and tongues with items ranging from skewers to umbrellas, as an act of faith believed to absorb pain and misfortune from the wider community.

Unlike the opening piercing rituals at the smaller Jor Soo Gong Naka Shrine, where photographers elbow each other to get a better shot, the fourth-day ceremony at Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine seems much calmer, allowing ma songs to breathe.

Besides enduring body piercings with elaborate metal implements, these spirit mediums, believed to be temporary carriers of deities, will not just join the moving corridor of sound and smoke through the town. Before the festival ends, they’ll also participate in a firewalking ceremony, crossing beds of hot coals, and climb a bladed ladder as another sacred act of purification and faith.

Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine – Practical Visitor Information

Getting There

Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine is located on Yaowarat Road in Sam Kong, a neighbourhood of three hills in Phuket.

It is a ten-minute drive from central Phuket Old Town. Chillva Market is just a three-minute walk away, while reaching the shrine from the Lotus’s hypermarket (a convenient place to park a car) will take 13 minutes on foot.

Entrance Fee

The shrine is free to visit, though donations toward renovation and charitable projects are welcomed and warmly appreciated.

When to Visit

The shrine is open daily (6:30 am – 8:45 pm), and can be visited year-round.

Weekday mornings are quiet and contemplative, the kind of visit where you can actually hear the incense burn.

The experience is atmospheric after dark as well. The amber temple lighting and drifting smoke transform the space into something genuinely magical.

For the full spectacle, time your trip to coincide with the Nine Emperor Gods Festival in October. Come prepared for crowds, noise, and the very real possibility that something you witness will be difficult to explain to people back home. Book accommodation well in advance, as this period is one of Phuket’s busiest.

Dress Code

Modest clothing is essential. Shoulders and knees should be covered. During the ceremonial periods, many participants wear white as a symbol of purity, though visitors aren’t strictly required to do so.

Remove your shoes before entering any inner sanctum. Do not point your feet at any deity or sacred object. In Thai and Chinese temple culture, the feet are the lowest, least sacred part of the body, and directing them toward something holy is considered not just impolite but disrespectful.

Photography and Respect

Photography is generally tolerated in public areas, but discretion is critical. Never obstruct a ceremony to get a better angle.

Never touch ritual objects. Maintain a respectful distance from spirit mediums and their assistants unless invited closer.

This is not a performance staged for visitors. Treat the shrine like a living sacred space.

Where to Stay near Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine?

Sam Kong isn’t Phuket’s most tourist-heavy neighborhood, but if you’re looking for a convenient place to stay near Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine, you’re in luck. Formerly known as L’atelier Poshtel Phuket, Shade House – Phuket Downtown is a hostel-style property that offers a range of accommodation options – from a Grand King Room with a bathtub to bunk-bed dormitories.

Compare Shade House rates for your chosen dates on Booking, Agoda, Trip, and Expedia.   

As you walk a wooden boardwalk to the hotel entrance, framed by thick nautical ropes, you might wonder whether you’ve boarded a pirate ship or stumbled into an earthly embassy of the Borg Collective. A dramatic, narrow tower, painted matte black and adorned with a grid of ornate terracotta panels, gives an industrial-gothic feel. What a stark contrast to the Sino-Portuguese buildings being renovated next door!

The edgy aesthetic doesn’t stop at the black façade and the dark gravel front yard. From walls, chandeliers, and medieval-tarot-style illustrations on arched doors, to bedding, towels, and toothbrushes, it all celebrates the color of the coal. In this striking universe, shaded in dark gray and pitch black, the somber feel is counterpointed by the meows of curious house cats and a lush green corner with a backlit 3D moon sculpture.

I stayed in a Double Room with Mountain View (number 404), a simple, cozy 25-square-meter top-floor chamber that offered an unexpectedly lush view I loved watching during the rain. Raw, unfinished plaster walls gave this compact but characterful space a “brutalist-meet-boutique” quality. The bedside lamp, mounted on a globe base, completed the digital nomad fantasy, especially if you’re open to productive work-from-bed sessions.

Get the impression of my room at the Shade House, Phuket’s darkest hostel gem, in this YouTube short! 

From baroque excess to neon lights, Shade House uses eclectic décor to present itself as an urban, stylish environment. It is also a very friendly space, where you’ll want to order that Turkish coffee at midnight.

Looking for something luxurious in the neighborhood? Check out our review of the Hilltop Wellness Resort in Phuket!

Where to Eat near Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine?

During the Phuket Vegetarian Festival, there are plenty of food stalls offering meatless specialties around Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine.

For something more sit-down, here’s a recommendation you won’t see coming: head to the Lotus’s shopping mall. Hidden inside the Tesco hypermarket is a surprisingly soulful food.

Edo Ramen, an authentic Japanese restaurant, combines rich broths, fresh noodles, and carefully considered toppings into ingredient-forward, comfort-inducing bowls.

Tonkotsu and shoyu ramen are reliably excellent, but, during festival season, give Hokkaido-style Miso Ramen a try. The vegetarian version arrives with silken tofu cubes, creamy avocado slices, aburaage, an umami-rich nori crumble, white sesame seeds, and a scatter of spring onion. Priced just 129 baht (3.5 euros or 4 dollars), the vegetarian ramen is an extraordinary value.

Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine During Phuket Vegetarian Festival – Conclusion

In a destination that can feel relentlessly touristic, Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine is refreshingly, genuinely local. The street it sits on, lined with schools, hair salons, flower shops, and food stalls, tells you immediately that you’ve stepped out of the tourist circuit and into the lived reality of Phuket Town.

Chinese spirit mediums wrapped in barbed wire expose the Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine’s mystery like a puzzle worth unlocking

The island has no shortage of beautiful temples, vibrant street festivals, and cultural landmarks. But Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine holds a quiet power that sets it apart from the more popular Phuket spots. It is a place where centuries of Chinese-Thai heritage are not displayed for tourists; they continue, undimmed, in the everyday rhythm of worship and community.

The shrine is a tangible thread connecting modern Phuket to the Hokkien Chinese immigrants whose labor and culture shaped the island’s character. It honors a healing deity who continues to draw worshippers seeking relief, comfort, and blessing.

It also anchors one of the world’s most extraordinary religious festivals – the Nine Emperor Gods Festival or, more famously, Phuket Vegetarian Festival. Chinese spirit mediums wrapped in barbed wire, or with steel mechanic’s wrenches and pruning shears protruding through their entranced faces, expose the Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine’s mystery like a puzzle worth unlocking.

Physically demanding in its rituals, but less commercial than its Old Town counterparts, the Sam Kong temple offers a window into a living spiritual tradition that has endured for over a century.

Come with curiosity. Move with respect. And this quiet neighborhood temple, transformed into a center of ritual intensity, will offer you something most Phuket travel itineraries never do: a glimpse of the island as it really is.

Do you plan to visit the Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine during the Phuket Vegetarian Festival?
Pin this guide for later!

 

Disclosure: My stay at the Shade House was complimentary, but all opinions are my own.

Also, this post may contain affiliate links, meaning if you click on them and make a purchase, Pipeaway may make a small commission, at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting our work!

The post Lim Hu Tai Su Shrine in Phuket: Faith Over Swords, Sabers, and Sledgehammers appeared first on Pipeaway.

Hi from Croatia!

If you follow this newsletter regularly, you might have noticed that, after an uninterrupted flow of many, many editions, I skipped a week.

I was working on my laptop when everything suddenly went black. I tried soft resets, hard resets, and every kind of online advice I could find, including AI support. My laptop’s screen wouldn’t wake up. Its time was up. Kaputt. Finito.

Being in my small Dalmatian village, in the middle of nowhere, and occupied with a hospitality job that fills most of my time, I couldn’t find technical support to fix the malfunction nearby.

In the end, I got into my car, drove to the closest town (twice! – the first time, I forgot to bring my wallet, which means I drove without a driver’s license), and bought the cheapest available monitor (€87.29), as the quickest/most efficient temporary solution.

I figured the full repair could cost much more, so before I purchase a new laptop to work on, I’ll use this one as a keyboard. With another monitor, my laptop effectively became a desktop.

It’s interesting how easily we can lose a connection with the world. It reminded me of my teenage years, when broken glasses (when I still had a high diopter) meant a couple of days of “blindness”. That’s how I felt without a laptop – blind and deaf.

Technology has become our mouth and our ears, the primary means of communication with the world. We don’t even see how much we rely on it until we lose it.

That precious moment when my work appeared on the screen again, following the famous Windows sound, felt like a resurrection.

Have a rebooted week,

Ivan Kralj    
Pipeaway.com

Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links, meaning if you click on them and make a purchase, Pipeaway may make a small commission, at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting our work!

The post 🔌 Hibernation at the End of Winter – Pipeaway Newsletter #210 appeared first on Pipeaway.

Hi from Živogošće!

The name of the village sounds paradoxical. Literally meaning “lively guests” in Croatian, this locality in southern Dalmatia goes into hibernation during the winter months.

In the off-season, there are barely 416 inhabitants here. Once tourists return, already the guests and seasonal staff in the hotel where I work will triple the entire population of Živogošće.

It’s been exactly one month since I was hired as an Experience Manager, tasked with leading a team responsible for everything from guest relations to entertainment, fitness, tours, and all other activities available during one’s hotel stay. In other words, my job is responding to the ultimate topic: “things to do in Živogošće”.

The tricky part is that, right now, there are no guests in Živogošće. Unless the name comes from “lively ghosts”. The season here starts in April and finishes in October.

Before beaches get populated with human visitors – I already explained – cats rule public space and my personal attention.

But even the most intelligent among mammals enjoy the luxury of tourists’ absence in the village. With nobody creating noise, dolphins are happy to visit these shores from sunrise to sunset.

From a quiet room (and rooms in a guestless hotel do get quiet), the sound of a spout from a dolphin’s blowhole easily rips a silent Sunday. Sometimes, I imagine it is humans swimming in the Adriatic. At another moment, it feels like a giant whale piping away from Živogošće’s harbor of Porat (name formed from the word ‘port’).  In any case, at the moment, the liveliest part of this environment is the most silent one.

Never before have I checked in at a hotel without guests. As we prepare the property for the season, our crew is getting bigger by the day. However, during the night, when local workers leave to sleep at their homes, walking through dark, silent hotel corridors feels surreal.

I might head out of my room only to grab a piece of bread from the kitchen or to chat with an equally lonely night security guy. The sensory experience of a seemingly abandoned place confirms that it’s not just a hallucination caged in my head.

In deserted hotels, one can easily feel like stepping into “Home Alone” or “Night at the Museum”, adventures where flickering shadows can transform into monsters, ripping a silent Sunday, like a dolphin’s exhale.

Guests will arrive in a couple of months, and the hotel will start breathing with full lungs. Until then, I’ll have to comfort lonely moments by hanging out with my first neighbors, meowing and whistling in quiet bays.

Have a clicking week,

Ivan Kralj    
Pipeaway.com

Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links, meaning if you click on them and make a purchase, Pipeaway may make a small commission, at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting our work!

The post 🐬 Hotel Alone: Notes from a Guestless Resort – Pipeaway Newsletter #209 appeared first on Pipeaway.

Hi from Živogošće!

Last week, I made a mistake. I compared the effect of the strong local wind shaking my accommodation to an earthquake. Well, it turned out: it WAS an earthquake! Nature is having a ball in Dalmatia, and I can’t even distinguish its phenomena.

On the other side of the Adriatic, it can also get wild. Italy has officially closed the 25th Winter Olympic Games. One of the crazier moments at Milano Cortina 2026 was when a wolfdog decided to run on the track where a fellow Croatian, cross-country skier Tena Hadžić, was finishing the race.

In a world already accustomed to AI cat Olympics, I bet many dismissed this news as fake. But animals can be quite unpredictable.

In my journey around the globe, I met countless cats, from a grieving mother cat in Cambodia to cats chilling among African hyenas.

But a purring welcome I received in Živogošće, a place I anchored myself for the time being, almost resembled a choir.

Winters can get lonely in this small tourist place with barely 400 permanent inhabitants. Among them are cats, street wanderers that belong to no one and benefit from everyone. All of them well-fed, they seem to receive enough nourishment from locals. But something is missing here, out of the summer season.

Tourists. There are no tourists.

So, when I wander around the streets myself, I encounter two types of cats. Those who I surprise by turning a corner get startled and run away. Those who still remember the benefits of attention provided by visitors also run. But towards me.

I edited a special little video of my encounters with Živogošće’s needy stray cats. Even though I’m not a special fan of these animals, it seems I found some great friends in this new town of mine.

I salute you with the words of Baby Lasagna, a Croatian musician and cat lover whose name was inspired by Garfield‘s favorite food: ‘Bye mom, bye dad, meow, cat, please, meow back.’

Have a purring week,

Ivan Kralj    
Pipeaway.com

Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links, meaning if you click on them and make a purchase, Pipeaway may make a small commission, at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting our work!

The post 😻 From Tremors to Purrs: 101 Dalmatian Cats – Pipeaway Newsletter #208 appeared first on Pipeaway.

Hi from Dalmatia!

As I am settling into my new environment, in a world that should be much slower out of the tourist season, I realize how time quickly passes by. So, I ended up being late.

I’m late with this newsletter.

I’m late with my Valentine’s Day article.

Still, I’ll share it with you. After I passed by Majerovo Vrilo, a fantastic river source which turned out not to resemble a heart at the moment, I compensated. The result was the compilation of the world’s prettiest heart-shaped lakes. One can, and probably should, visit and enjoy these romantic destinations outside of holiday pressures anyway. So there’s no problem in postponing something you’ve been working on if you deliver.

My heart-filled guide might have arrived three days after Valentine’s Day. But one is never too late to fall in love with nature.

As I’m writing this, I hear wind howling and wild waves boiling behind my window, in the darkness, celebrating their own Mardi Gras. Earlier, the whole building was literally trembling as the strong wind pushed against it, like an earthquake. With nature, it’s easy to feel both love and fear. Sometimes, at the same time.

The local nymph sculpture, which you can normally walk to, is struggling with ever-rising tides. And that pic was taken with an unexpectedly bright sky! But on other days (when I don’t go outside to take pictures), I’m not even sure from which direction the water is coming. Is it raining? Is it just the wind blowing the sea in my face? Or are those Biokovo mountain streams crossing the promenade – splashing against me?

Have you witnessed some extreme weather yourself these days? Or did you manage to find a calm corner to hide?

In other (or very similar) news, this weekend, Croatia chose its representative for a song contest that has a heart-shaped ‘V’ in its logo. Despite Lelek with “Andromeda” being somewhat of a controversial Eurovision pick, it didn’t even have time to matter.

The news has been overblown by a much wilder storm in a cup: Eurovision Live Tour has been cancelled. Well, officially, the EBU announced that they are “postponing” it. Until some inconcrete future. Meaning: indefinitely.

They were Eurovision-style vague in explaining the reasons, calling them “unforeseen challenges” that they “have been unable to resolve”.

Of course, fans have already interpreted this PR blabbering as an escape from responsibility for the fact that tickets had high prices and low sales. Despite focusing the entire tour on only the richest parts of Europe, ticket prices from 55 to 353 euros simply couldn’t have filled up all those big arenas the producers had their eyes on. Eurofan base is shrinking year by year.

We will probably never hear the true reasons from the EBU that loves to hide when the weather gets extreme. Despite being the union of public broadcasters, they are not keen on implementing full transparency in their communication and actions.

For illustration, I sent my press questions on the criteria for choosing the tour locations on January 20. Almost one month later, still nothing. Just like they went quiet on the question of Israel‘s participation, they chose to be united by silence even when defending the live tour project they believed in. It seems there is no strong enough person in the team to handle communication in a crisis.

And all I wanted to know was why they ended up eliminating half of Europe with an invisible iron curtain. This could have been a great moment for them to score – “We cancelled the Western European tour to focus on uniting the entire continent by music”, is something we won’t hear them say.

Well, I wouldn’t hear them say it even if they tried. This crazy Croatian winter wind is having a loud Shrove Tuesday party outside.

Enjoy some slow and silent time, if you can.

Have a quiet week,

Ivan Kralj    
Pipeaway.com

Disclosure: This post may contain affiliate links, meaning if you click on them and make a purchase, Pipeaway may make a small commission, at no additional cost to you. Thank you for supporting our work!

The post 🌊 The Week That Blew Everything Off Course – Pipeaway Newsletter #207 appeared first on Pipeaway.

Heart-shaped lakes offer amazement on your face, altitude under your feet, and a photograph that can go on Instagram with no disclaimer

From snowy alpine basins carved by glaciers to desert oases designed by humans, lakes shaped like hearts are among geography’s most delightful optical surprises. They’re made for aerial shots, bucket lists, spontaneous proposals, and even special appearances in video games like The Legend of Zelda, where Lover’s Pond hides a treasure chest atop Tuft Mountain.

These water wonders face competition from their terrestrial cousins – heart-shaped islands (many of these in the Adriatic Sea). Even Greece’s Kythira Island – birthplace of Aphrodite, goddess of love – boasts a heart-shaped lagoon. It seems that if you looked long enough, you’d start spotting the universal symbol of love everywhere: on a bark of a tree, in a clouded sky, or on a piece of toast.

Beyond AI slop and internet rabbit holes, authentic heart-shaped lakes offer something refreshingly tangible: amazement on your face, altitude under your feet, and a photograph that can be shared on Instagram with no disclaimer.

So today, we’re taking off. We’ll fly above the most beautiful heart-shaped lakes in the world, learn about their origin, their location, and how to experience them responsibly.

Whether natural or manmade, these bodies of water that resemble a heart are like Mother Nature’s own love letters – scattered across the globe, waiting to be opened.

Why Are Some Lakes Heart-Shaped?

Before you lace up your hiking boots or charge your drone batteries, it’s worth asking: How does a lake end up looking like it belongs on a Valentine’s Day card?

A lake’s heart shape is usually a slow byproduct of natural geological processes: glacial carving, landslides and rockfall, tectonic activity, or long-term water flow erosion.

In specific cases, however, humans step in to assist Cupid. Some heart-shaped lakes are deliberately designed. The most famous example of an engineered liquid heart is Love Lake in Dubai, where two interlocking heart shapes were carved into the desert as a romantic attraction.

Top Heart-Shaped Lakes by Region

Heart-Shaped Lakes of Europe

1. Lake Näckern, Sweden

Deep within the forests of Östergötland County in southern Sweden, Lake Näckern rests in near-perfect seclusion.

Located near Bestorp, south of Linköping, this small woodland lake is part of a landscape dotted with glacial tarns, peat bogs, and thick spruce and pine forests.

Conifer trees surrounding the heart-shaped lake preserve its untouched character.

While not part of major hiking trails, and perhaps for that reason exactly, roe deer, capercaillie, and cranes love hanging around Näckern, Swedish liquid heart beating softly beneath a canopy of green.

2. Lac du Montagnon, France

Cradled in the Aspe Valley of the French Pyrenees, not far from the Spanish border, Lac du Montagnon looks as if glaciers once decided to leave behind a romantic signature.

At 2,173 meters above sea level, this high-altitude lake rests beneath ridgelines that feel almost protective. Reaching it requires commitment. The elevation gain exceeds 1,000 meters. Love is rarely effortless.

Starting from the small mountain village of Aydius, hikers face a demanding 9-kilometer ascent that takes roughly five hours one way, crossing forests, streams, and pastures before the terrain turns steep and breath-shortening.

Many visitors choose to bivouac near the lake to catch sunrise, when the first light brushes the heart-shaped outline in soft gold. In those early hours, before boots crunch on gravel and trekking poles click against stone, the lake is intensely private.

Remote, wild, and framed by the rugged peaks of the Pyrénées-Atlantiques, Lac du Montagnon proves that some of the most romantic views require a little suffering first.

3. Lac de Bethmale, France

The Ariège Pyrenees offer their own emerald-toned heart in the form of Lac de Bethmale. Unlike its high-altitude sibling, this lake has a rather mystical aura, wrapped in dense beech forests and mountain calm.

Its green color comes with a story. According to local legend, a wicked witch once lived by the lake, terrorizing nearby villagers. When they finally chased her away, she leapt into the water, and her shimmering blue-green dress sank to the bottom. Ever since, the fabric’s glow has tinted the lake, particularly vivid in summer.

Science may attribute the hue to minerals and light refraction, but the witch’s dress is undeniably a better explanation.

Situated at 1,074 meters, in the heart of the Parc Naturel Régional des Pyrénées Ariégeoises, the lake is easily accessible by car, a rarity among heart-shaped alpine waters. This accessibility makes it popular with families, walkers, photographers, and fishermen hoping to catch a trout, or a brook salmon, or, who knows, even a fragment of the witch’s enchanted fabric.

Across the seasons, Lac de Bethmale transforms romantically: lush and vibrant in summer, reflective and moody in autumn, quietly frosted in winter.

4. Le Buisson, France

The last and least French example on this list of heart-shaped lakes is Le Buisson in Trélazé, just southeast of Angers.

This modest body of water emerged from centuries of schist and slate extraction that reshaped the landscape into a patchwork of pits, basins, and reclaimed terrain. What was once a working quarry gradually filled with water, and over time the excavation scars transformed into living ecosystems.

Today, these former mining cavities are home to waterfowl, amphibians, dragonflies, and bushy wetland vegetation. It’s not manicured. Le Buisson is a semi-wild pocket of calm where urban edges soften and biodiversity quietly thrives.

For those curious about how post-industrial landscapes can evolve into green sanctuaries, this small heart-shaped lake functions as a tiny but resilient ecological lung within the greater Angers area.

5. Kirchbruch See, Germany

Kirchbruch See is another heart-shaped quarry lake, one of the most remarkable small lakes in eastern Germany.

Located in Brandis near Leipzig, in the state of Saxony, the lake owes its dramatic presence not only to its outline, but also to its unlikely companion: Bergkirche Beucha, a medieval church perched on a cliff above it.

The church was built in the 13th century atop Beuchaer Kirchberg, back then just an ordinary hill. From the 15th century onward, the hill was quarried for valuable porphyry stone, used in major regional buildings. Over time, quarry workers cut deeper and deeper into the hill, removing rock on three sides of the church. So, technically, the church was never placed on a cliff; the cliff was carved out around the church!

Mining continued until 1958, after which the quarry slowly filled with water, forming what we now know as Kirchbruch See.

With clear water and easy access, the lake is a popular place for summer swimming and even diving. The area is part of the Geopark Porphyrland, with circular trails around the quarry and viewpoints overlooking the lake.

In 2019, the quarry and its cliff-hanging church were designated a National Geotope, acknowledging their geological and cultural significance.

6. Gaislacher See, Austria

Some heart-shaped lakes make you work for the view, and Gaislacher See is proudly one of them.

High above Sölden in the Austrian Ötztal Alps, this deep‑blue mountain lake rests at around 2,700 meters, cradled inside a rugged cirque of stone and snow.

The hike to one of the most striking surprises in Tyrol is demanding, making it a quiet, uncrowded reward.

Most hikers start from the Gaislachkoglbahn middle station, which can be accessed by cable car or on foot. From there, the trail wastes no time; it climbs sharply through switchbacks into the rocky amphitheater known as Gaislacher Kar.

Expect a solid workout: over roughly 4 kilometers, you gain about 560 meters in elevation, with narrow and occasionally steep sections ensuring your lungs stay fully engaged. The steady ascent from the middle station takes around 2.5 hours.

Crest the final ridge and the lake appears suddenly, its surface reflecting the surrounding peaks like polished glass. In that moment, fatigue briefly disappears.

7. Lough Ouler, Ireland

Beneath the broad shoulders of Tonelagee (817 m) in the Wicklow Mountains lies one of Ireland’s most poetic natural surprises: Lough Ouler. Perfectly heart-shaped, this glacial lake is one of Ireland’s most photogenic wonders. But to see it, you’ll have to take on the mountain (or scroll to the cover image of this article). That can include boggy areas, slippery boulders, and a muddy path.

The trail begins gently enough, winding through wild rolling hills and rough tracks far removed from the smooth paths of nearby Glendalough. At the wind-swept ridge near Tonelagee, the third-highest peak in the Wicklow range, the landscape shifts. Suddenly, the ground drops away, revealing a raw, still, surreal lake.

There are two primary routes to reach Lough Ouler, and they are equally hard: a linear ascent from Turlough Hill car park, or a loop beginning at Glenmacnass Waterfall car park. Both involve steep sections, both require solid footing, and both deliver that unforgettable heart‑shaped reveal.

From the summit, Wicklow stretches in all directions, and on clear days, the Irish Sea glimmers in the distance. It’s astonishing how something so close to Dublin can feel an entire world away.

Lough Ouler is less a stroll and more a challenge, the kind of day hike that leaves your boots heavy and your camera full.

8. Vyshhorod’s Heart-Shaped Lake, Ukraine

Not all heart-shaped lakes sit high in mountains or hide in remote valleys. Some rest quietly on the edge of everyday life.

In Vyshhorod, just north of Kyiv, in an area where the city softens into nature, a small, unnamed pond forms a subtle heart within a patch of green.

Situated near the embankment at the southern end of the Kyiv Reservoir along the Dnieper River, this modest water body is part of a landscape locals use for walking, cycling, and catching a breath away from traffic and concrete.

It sits near a football field and close to the so-called Lake named after Khodos Alexander, blending into the rhythm of ordinary afternoons.

Like much in Ukraine today, this small lake is suspended between past and future, quietly present, waiting for calmer times to shine as a peaceful corner of town.

9. Trnovačko jezero, Montenegro

Tucked between the mountains of northern Montenegro, near the border with Bosnia & Herzegovina, Trnovačko jezero is arguably one of Europe’s purest naturally formed hearts. Its waters shift between deep sapphire and bright emerald depending on where the sun hits.

Perched at 1,517 meters above sea level, this famously clear lake is encircled by some of the region’s most imposing peaks: Maglić, Volujak, and Bioč.

Trnovačko Lake was sculpted at the end of the last Ice Age, when retreating glaciers carved out a basin in this valley, in an iconic shape we all recognize as a symbol of love.

Montenegro’s mountain heart is located within the Piva Nature Park, but it is most commonly approached from the Bosnian side, via a 5-kilometer hike from Prijevor. Most hikers complete the non-demanding trail to the lake in 90 minutes.

At the end of the route, dipping one’s toes into the glacial chill produces a mix of bravery and regret. The bold may commit to a full swim; the wise often settle for a picnic and a view.

For travelers exploring the Durmitor, Sutjeska, or Piva regions, this romantic natural wonder is refreshingly unpolished, a scenery that’s not yet curated into social-media submission.

10. Liqeni i Zemrës, Kosovo

Stuck at 2,539 meters above sea level, this is one of Kosovo’s highest glacial lakes, situated in a stark, wind-sculpted landscape at the borderland with Albania. The setting is raw and elemental: sharp ridgelines, fractured rock, and vast skies that make hikers look like punctuation marks against stone.

High in the jagged embrace of the Albanian Alps, Liqeni i Zemrës (literally “Lake of the Heart” in Albanian) lives up to its name with unapologetic precision.

Its clear heart outline, combined with its extraordinary altitude, has made it a highlight of the long-distance Peaks of the Balkans trail. Those trekking through the Bjeshkët e Nemuna – the Accursed Mountains – often describe the lake as an emotional waypoint as much as a geographic one. After hours of climbing through rugged terrain beneath Gusan peak, the sudden appearance of this alpine heart feels like a true revelation.

There are no curated viewpoints. Just wind, silence, and a shape carved by ancient ice that somehow resembles affection in one of the Balkans’ wildest corners.

Heart-shaped Lakes in the Americas

11. Heart Lake, Ontario, Canada

Locally known as Beaver Pond, Heart Lake in eastern Ontario, Canada, is a small but remarkably precise heart etched into the forest.

Hidden near the tiny community of Ompah, in North Frontenac, roughly 100 kilometers southwest of Ottawa, the lake is wrapped in absolute quiet. Every autumn, however, it reenters the digital spotlight. As foliage turns blazing red and gold, the contrast against the lake’s deep blue surface creates a scene so vivid that it practically begs to be shared on social media timelines.

Heart Lake sits on Crown Land, surrounded by a thick forest. This isolation is part of its charm, and part of the problem. As there is no designated public access, no marked trails, and no official viewing platforms, those who managed to come closer either used drones or engaged in trespassing through surrounding properties.

Local authorities have warned influencers to stay away from the lake, particularly during hunting season, when hunters can barely distinguish selfie-takers from deer.

The inaccessibility only deepens the allure of Heart Lake, like a siren call that’s too hard to resist.

12. Étang Baker, Quebec, Canada

If you’re searching for a heart-shaped lake near Montreal, there’s one just a 90-minute ride away. Étang Baker is located in Quebec’s Eastern Townships (Estrie), near Mont Gauvin.

Around 2018, this modest woodland pond quietly erupted across Instagram feeds.

Its symmetrical outline, framed by dense mixed forest, becomes especially vivid in autumn, when the landscape ignites in shades of orange, crimson, and gold. From above, it looks painterly, a seasonal masterpiece.

However, Étang Baker rests on private land. There are no visitor facilities, no designated parking areas, and no infrastructure in place for crowds. Respect for property and preparation are essential, including something as practical as a restroom stop before arrival.

The lake’s name traces back to a prominent local family who once owned the land, including Lieutenant Colonel George Harold Baker, a politician and the only Canadian Member of Parliament killed in action during World War I.

Today, Étang Baker balances delicately between viral fame and rural privacy. It’s a small, love-shaped secret in the Quebec countryside, one that asks you to explore off the beaten path.

13. Spirit Lake, Washington, USA

Just five kilometers north of Mount St. Helens in Skamania County, Washington, lies Spirit Lake, a heart-shaped lake born not from romance but from catastrophe.

Before May 18, 1980, Spirit Lake looked entirely different. It had two elongated arms connected by a narrow channel, described by NASA as resembling “the top half of a heart”.

But when a magnitude 5.1 earthquake triggered the eruption of Mount St. Helens, the largest landslide in recorded history reshaped the landscape. The blast claimed 57 lives, making it the deadliest volcanic eruption in U.S. history. Lava, ash, and debris expanded the lake’s footprint, creating the distinct heart-like outline visible today in Landsat 8 imagery.

Today, Spirit Lake sits at a higher elevation (1,038 meters) and remains closed to visitors to protect its fragile, recovering ecosystem. Spirit Lake has become – a ghost lake.

Once-thriving 1970s tourism scene of camps and lakeside lodges is gone. Massive tree trunks from the destroyed forest still float across the lake’s surface, creating one of the most haunting landscapes in the Pacific Northwest.

14. Castle Lake, California, USA

Further south, in Northern California’s Klamath Mountains, Castle Lake offers a gentler, though still phenomenal heart.

Located southwest of Mount Shasta City within the Shasta-Trinity National Forest and near the Castle Crags Wilderness, this glacial lake sits in a granite bowl carved by retreating Ice Age glaciers.

From above, its broad outline forms a recognizable heart, framed by craggy ridgelines and evergreen slopes.

At 1,658 meters above sea level, Castle Lake is refreshingly accessible. A paved road leads directly to the shoreline, with parking at the water’s edge: a rare luxury among alpine lakes.

And then comes the delightful twist: Castle Lake serves as a trailhead for another heart-shaped body of water, aptly named Heart Lake. For those unwilling to settle for a single symbol, a steep but rewarding trail climbs from a larger heart below to a smaller, more crisply defined heart above. It’s geography indulging in repetition.

Beyond hiking, Castle Lake invites swimming (brace yourself: the water is famously cold), kayaking, fishing, photography, and, in winter, snowshoeing across a frozen scene.

15. Lago Corazón de Liquiñe, Chile

In southern Chile’s Los Ríos Region, near the thermal-spring town of Liquiñe, Lago Corazón de Liquiñe rests quietly among volcanoes and ancient forest.

Also known as Laguna Corazón or Laguna Ancacoigue, this small mountain lake is situated approximately 1,000 meters above sea level in the Andean foothills near the Argentine border.

Its naturally heart-shaped outline makes it one of South America’s most charming examples: intimate rather than grand, secluded rather than flashy.

Reaching it requires a 30–45 minute uphill trek from Liquiñe through native, old-growth forest dominated by coigüe and tepa trees. As the canopy opens and the lake appears, framed by distant volcanoes such as Villarrica and Lanín, the setting becomes a storybook.

And, as with many heart-shaped places, folklore has followed geography. Local belief holds that couples who reach the lake together and share a kiss while counting to seven will strengthen and protect their bond.

Whether or not the ritual guarantees lifelong devotion remains unverified. But standing beside a quiet Andean lake shaped like a heart, with volcanoes on the horizon and forest all around, it’s hard not to share a kiss with a loved one.

Heart-Shaped Lakes in Asia & the Middle East

16. Shimshal Lake, Pakistan

High in the Karakoram Mountains, at the Roof of the World, lies one of the most remote heart-shaped lakes.

Located in the Shimshal Valley of Upper Hunza in Gilgit-Baltistan, Shimshal Lake (locally known as Shuvorth) sits at an astonishing 4,755 meters above sea level.

Shimshal Village, one of Pakistan’s most isolated settlements, had no road access until 2003. Even today, reaching it requires navigating one of the country’s most dangerous dirt roads. This lack of connections contributed to the preservation of the raw landscape and the indigenous Wakhi culture.

From the village, accessing the lake involves a demanding 40-kilometer trek across the Shimshal Pamir, a high-altitude plateau dominated by wetlands, yak pastures, and the world’s largest glaciers.

The valley is famously known as the “Valley of Mountaineers”, producing many of Pakistan’s elite climbers. You’ll appreciate their company during a multi-day expedition.

Fed by glacial meltwater, the heart-shaped Shimshal Lake is frequented by migratory birds (love birds?). Its extreme altitude and remoteness make it inaccessible for most human visitors. But for those who reach it, the reward is raw Himalayan wilderness at its finest.

17. Lower Kachura Lake, Pakistan

If you’re looking for a more approachable heart-shaped lake in Pakistan, you’re in luck. There’s one you can reach by road, no trekking required, just a 20-minute ride out of Skardu city.

Lower Kachura Lake sits at about 2,500 meters above sea level, in the broad Skardu Valley of Gilgit Baltistan, carved by ancient glaciers, with steep mountains rising on all sides. It is celebrated for its mirror-still water and the famous “Heaven on Earth” hotel which operates on its shores.

Shangrila Resort, which gave the lake another nickname (Shangrila Lake), was built in the 1980s.  An idyllic image of red-roofed cottages and an unusual restaurant constructed inside a crashed aircraft made it one of Pakistan’s earliest iconic tourist destinations.

If all of that sounds familiar, you might refresh your memory of James Hilton’s novel “Lost Horizon”, in which a plane crash in the Himalayas leaves passengers stranded in a mythical paradise – Shangri-La.

Reading this book under an apricot tree beside the heart-shaped Lower Kachura Lake might be the most atmospheric literary pairing imaginable.

18. Chembra Lake, India

Locally known as Hridayathadakam (“Heart Lake”), Chembra Lake sits high on Chembra Peak, the tallest peak in Kerala’s Wayanad district.

At 2,100 meters above sea level, this natural heart-shaped lake is one of India’s most iconic natural landmarks. Surrounded by rolling grasslands, misty hills, and lush tea estates, it offers a distinctly South Indian alpine atmosphere.

The nearest town is Meppadi, near Kalpetta. The trek to the lake (3.5 kilometers one way) is moderately challenging and requires a guide provided by the Kerala Forest Department. You’ll start near the base of Chembra Hill, but you can’t do it alone. A group needs to include five members, and if you are foreigners, each will pay ₹1600 for the ticket (approximately 15 euros or 18 dollars).

The round-trip hike to the lake which locals consider sacred, takes about 3–4 hours and passes through forests, grasslands, and rocky terrain with sweeping views of the plateau.

The lake never dries up, even during the hottest months of the year. But avoid visiting during the heavy monsoon season (June–August), when trails become slippery.

19. Serdce Yugry, Russia

In the oil town of Kogalym in western Siberia, a small oxbow lake has gained a poetic nickname – Сердце Югры / Serdce Yugry, or The Heart of Yugra.

Located in the Khanty-Mansi Autonomous Okrug (also known as Yugra), this naturally heart-shaped lake formed through classic river dynamics.

Oxbow lakes develop when a river meander becomes cut off from the main channel as sediment gradually seals the narrow “neck.” Most oxbows form crescent or U-shaped basins. However, occasionally, as in this rare Russian case, the geometry yields a surprising heart-shaped form.

The Yugra region is crisscrossed with slow-moving rivers flowing through taiga forests and wetlands, making it ideal terrain for oxbow-lake formation.

Serdce Yugry is a quiet, accidental masterpiece of fluvial geomorphology. Even in industrial oil regions, nature still shapes its own unstoppable paths.

20. Ozero Lyubvi, Russia

High in the Western Caucasus, in the Russian Karachay-Cherkess Republic, lies Ozero Lyubvi, literally “Lake of Love”.

This heart-shaped lake is located on the Morg-Syrty Plateau near Arkhyz, at an elevation of 2,350 meters. Even during summer, the water remains icy cold, earning it the alternative Turkic name Suuk Djürek Köl, meaning “Cold Heart”.

The hike to Ozero Lyubvi is steep but weel worth it. The turquoise water contrasts beautifully with the alpine meadows and the Caucasus mountain panorama. It is one of Russia’s most photogenic high-altitude lakes, and a popular destination for couples.

The lake is part of the protected Teberda Nature Reserve, so visitors are required pay a small ecological fee.

21. Karagöl Şavşat, Turkey

In northeastern Turkey, within the pristine Karagöl–Sahara National Park, one of the most biodiverse protected areas in the Eastern Black Sea region, lies the emerald-green mountain lake of Karagöl Şavşat.

Located in the Şavşat district of Artvin Province, this softly heart-shaped lake was formed by a massive landslide that blocked a valley, creating a natural basin that gradually filled with water.

Surrounded by misty mountain ridges and dense spruce and fir forests, Karagöl’s mirror-calm water creates a truly serene atmosphere that makes modern life feel extremely distant.

Accessible via a scenic 40-minute drive from Şavşat town (part asphalt, part rural road), the lake is popular for hiking, picnicking, photography, and rowing.

22. Love Lake, Dubai, UAE

We conclude our list of the most fascinating heart-shaped lakes in the world with one that is a deliberate human engineering creation. Love Lake Dubai consists of two interlocking hearts, which made it one of the most recognizable aerial views in the United Arab Emirates.

The lake pair is carved into the desert landscape near Al Qudra, within the Al Marmoom Desert Conservation Reserve, the UAE’s largest unfenced nature reserve. To get there from central Dubai, it takes approximately 30 minutes by car.

Opened in 2018, the lake was created as a romantic gesture by Mohammed bin Rashid Al Maktoum, the Ruler of Dubai. His wife was given a peaceful escape from the city. However, Love Lake soon became a popular spot for proposals, anniversaries, and drone photography.

Despite its desert setting, Love Lake is surprisingly lush. Visitors can spot swans, ducks, and koi fish, while carefully landscaped trees and flowers surround the shoreline of the oasis.

Mesquite trees spell out the word “LOVE” on one side of Dubai’s double-heart attraction, and walking paths form silhouettes of two embracing figures on the other.

How to Photograph Heart-Shaped Lakes

Reaching a heart-shaped lake doesn’t automatically mean you’ll see the heart.

From the shoreline, the outline often disappears into curves and coves. To capture the full form, you’ll usually need elevation, either a strenuous uphill hike (for mountain lakes) or aerial access via drone.

Here are essential photography tips to help you capture the most amazing heart-shaped lake shots!

1. Check Local Drone Regulations

Drone laws vary widely by country. Many heart-shaped lakes are located within national parks, protected reserves, or sensitive ecosystems. Research local regulations in advance and secure any required permits. Some areas require paperwork to be submitted weeks in advance of arrival.

2. Plan Your Angle in Advance

Study satellite previews using tools like Google Earth or map applications. Analyze how the lake appears from different orientations. Look for ridgelines, peaks, or natural overlooks that offer a top-down perspective without the need of a drone.

3. Use the Power of Perspective

Some lakes marketed as heart-shaped may only resemble one from a specific angle. A subtle shift in elevation or position can radically change the outline. For example, lakes such as the Swiss Lagh de Calvaresc and the Italian Lago di Scanno look convincingly heart-shaped only from precise viewpoints (that’s why we haven’t even included them in our selection). Experiment, adjust, and find your own artistic interpretation.

4. Respect the Ecosystem

Many heart-shaped lakes are located in fragile alpine, volcanic, wetland, or desert environments. Stay on marked trails. Avoid trampling vegetation. Never disturb wildlife for a better frame. The image is not worth the damage to the ecosystem.

5. Shoot During Golden Hours

Early morning and late afternoon light enhances natural contours and reduces harsh shadows. Soft side lighting accentuates the curves that define the “heart”. Always check the trajectory of the sun (is your lake in the shadow of a mountain in certain hours?). Also, when planning your time, keep in mind that you still need to hike back to your base (in case you end up shooting sunset photos).

6. Use a Polarizing Filter

A polarizer reduces glare on water surfaces and enhances color saturation. Deep blues and emerald greens contrast beautifully against the surrounding terrain.

7. Revisit in Different Seasons

A heart-shaped lake can undergo dramatic transformations throughout the year. Snow cover, autumn foliage, drought conditions, or high-water seasons may alter the shape entirely – sometimes making it more pronounced, sometimes making it invisible. Research and revisit.

8. Think Before You Geotag

Overexposure can harm fragile locations. If you discover a lesser-known heart-shaped lake, consider skipping exact coordinates when posting on social media. Responsible exploration preserves these landscapes for future generations to enjoy. Bucket-list chasers affected by FOMO will always be able to do their own research if they want to explore seriously.

22 Heart-Shaped Lakes in the World – Conclusion

Why are we so fascinated by heart-shaped lakes?

They combine natural beauty, symbolism, and the thrill of discovery.

Some were carved slowly by glaciers over millennia. Others were reshaped in moments of volcanic fury. A few, like Love Lake, were intentionally designed as modern declarations of romance. But all of them remind us that beauty often hides in plain sight.

Heart lakes have been surviving as hidden gems for thousands of years. Let’s make sure we don’t leave them broken-hearted

The rise of drone photography changed how we see these lakes. What once required chartered flights or mountaineering expeditions is now accessible to skilled hikers and aerial photographers. We are witnessing landscapes from perspectives humans were never meant to have.

From the shore, these lakes were always beautiful.

But with a bird’s-eye view, everything became a tad more magical.

Photographs conjure moments. But we shouldn’t forget to enjoy them as we document our adventures.

Reaching the most romantic bodies of water is special. However, a journey through nature is a wonder in itself. Don’t forget to keep your eyes open. That’s better than keeping your finger glued to the shutter button.

And once we decide to share that beauty with the world, we should do it responsibly. Heart lakes have been surviving fine as hidden gems for thousands of years. Let’s make sure we don’t leave them broken-hearted.

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Images in this article have been sourced through Unsplash, Depositphotos, Pexels, and other online sources.
In the order of appearance, the authors of the photographs are as follows: 

Lough Ouler with a couple (cover image) - Dannii Coughlan, Unsplash
Coração da Floresta - Ivancana, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
Lake Näckern - fotonen, Depositphotos
Lac du Montagnon - Jacint Bofill, Pexels
Lac de Bethmale in autumn - velion x, Unsplash
Lac de Bethmale in winter - Quentin Menini, Unsplash
Le Buisson - Adrien, Unsplash
Kirchbruch See - Martin Wischeropp, Pexels
Gaislacher See - Fozzman, licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0
Lough Ouler - gokhan polat, Unsplash
Vyshhorod heart lake - Artem Horovenko, Unsplash
Trnovačko jezero - Goran Rakita, Pexels
Liqeni i Zemrës - Elbunitkrasniqi, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0
Spirit Lake - US Geological Survey, Lyn Topinka
Castle Lake - Jaykhuang, licensed under CC BY 2.0
Lago Corazón de Liquiñe - Blinovita, Depositphotos
Shimshal Lake - unknwon author
Lower Kachura Lake - Abbas Shah1, licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0
Chembra Lake - Aneesh Jose, licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0
Serdce Yugry - Ted.ns, licensed under CC BY 4.0
Ozero Lyubvi - Alexey Elfimov, Unsplash
Karagöl Şavşat - Mehmet Özcan, Pexels
Love Lake Dubai - Diego Ruso Pérez, Pexels
Loughrigg Fell Ambleside - Jonny Gios, Unsplash
Heart-shaped lake in Romania - Vlad Chețan, Pexels
Love Lake Dubai (pin image) - Lloyd Alozie, Pexels

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