Buy my olive oil?

I've not blogged since returning from my jaunt, which suggests that I haven't been doing anything. This being precisely the view of my landlord, he allowed me to catch up with the usual post-trip shopping, washing and housekeeping, and then he asked, 'Klara, želiš posao?' Rather cunningly, he then said it was so menial that I wouldn't be interested. Making like one of the mussels here, he closed up and ambled off, not telling me what it was. Infuriating man. If you want to guarantee my interest, it is this is the only way to do it.

Don't you hate it when people read you like a particularly easy book?

Eventually, after much more wine and cake-based bribery, he admitted that it was something we had discussed some weeks ago but hadn't followed up. Throughout the summer, a couple of people in the village had been selling oil, liqueurs and other local delicacies to all our island visitors. These regular faces by the harbour have now disappeared, partly because they have run out of produce and it is pretty much the end of the season.

Apparently this house isn't even close to running out, despite my best efforts at drinking it all. There are a couple of thousand litres of the highest grade 2015 vintage olive oil in the storeroom downstairs, and we were now looking at a particularly sunny end of September. They had thought about selling bottles of this glorious stuff on the harbour/town square a few months ago, and even asked a few people if they could do it on their behalf. They are so busy here with other aspects of business that taking five hours out of the middle of the day is impossible. Anyway, as a last resort and being the only mug available, they asked me...

So the next warm and sunny morning, there was a mad dash to get things sorted before the various ferries and boats arrived. We stuck labels on glass bottles, they were filled and sealed, and then popped in a basket. I took my wares to my finely crafted market stall. Oh, you mean the rough hewn cube of limestone in the square? You know, the one near the Tomislav monument. Perfect. I nervously set out my bottles, complete with bread, a tasting dish, and waited for customers. 

Not. A. Soul.

Oh well. I was soon joined by Marija and we settled in for a cosy few hours in this idyllic spot. We
chatted, caught up with the village gossip, quipped with local passers by. Work was going on around us; boats being painted, apartments being emptied, nets being mended. The activity here can be subtle but it is there if you take time to look. For instance, a boat today brought someone who was taking away branches of olive trees to be tested - what do they need, how can they be improved? Everything here has a purpose, everything has a rhythm, and it works like clockwork.

Speaking of which, you can set your watch by visitors who arrived on boats, old and new. After a real mixed summer, unusually they were mostly English this week - with a few French, some Poles - and happy to soak up some sunshine. Most people were too terrified to make any form of eye contact with our hard-nosed sales techniques. Some deliberately went the long way round the square to avoid my basket of oil. With a friendly good afternoon, a smile and nod, clearly we were moving in for the kill each time, Moroccan-bazaar style. I didn't think I was that scary.

However, thankfully some people were interested in learning more, and happy to spend a few moments chatting about life on this island. My sales technique is purely information based; you can take the girl out of the library but...! Even as people stood looking at the monument or church, I wanted them to enquire. But as one of the local ladies sadly told me today, she is regularly asked, 'where am I?'. People get off the boats and have no clue what the island is called. So I'm simply valuing the several conversations I had with people who cared enough to natter.

So forgive me if I get mildly tetchy with people who come here for 45 mins and write articles based primarily on wiki research and €€€. You see, the olive oil is a symbol of this place - you need peace, love and time. The effort it takes to get from terrace to plate is incredible; weather, olive flies, harvest, pressing, all of this takes time. The money made by selling is actually the least important because the end product is the way of life. Money is obviously vital but it's not the focus.

Anyway sales is another avenue that I clearly won't be pursuing in future! About 10 bottles this week, no one's retiring yet.