Seasons, seasoning, reasoning

Pinch punch first of the month! September is one of my favourite months; a few more weeks of ever lengthening golden light, squidgy purple berries and honeyed Russet apples, warmer clothes and a snug duvet, as well as exciting new lectures and exhibitions to brighten the dark evenings. In Northern Europe, September primarily exists as an apology for a terrible summer and is the only time, weather-wise, that I wish I was home. Even rain and mist is appealing as seen through the rainbow of falling leaves.

This year I'm greeting September with incredulity because this means I've been here seven months. It seems incredible that we arrived on a dark March morning with a long summer in front of us. Strangely it is partly the weather that has truncated time - by having mostly warm sunshine since June, days have disappeared in a languidity of pleasure and colour. Only the occasional storm has offered punctuation marks in time; a difference to mark the passage of summer, and most recently the appearance of dewy mornings to announce an Adriatic autumnal turn.

Which has necessary got me thinking about plans. I'm officially here on Šipan until the end of October leaving me with two months to decide what to do next. Some things are yet to be confirmed but are certainties nonetheless. A trip to London for blood tests and medication has to happen before the end of November. It's not life or death, just means there won't be any hormone based meltdowns over winter. This ensures I'll also be properly equipped clothes-wise for winter because I possess nothing thicker than a jacket and fleece jogging top. I also need a trip to Split to retrieve a duvet and my miniature library!

The other certainties include travelling more. Someone has suggested they fancy seeing Barcelona in October (subject to a million responsibilities) so I'm open to suggestions regarding interesting places to stay there. I've seen a boat on Airbnb that could be interesting for a week although it specifies 'no number 2s in the toilet'. Given my digestion on a week long diet of churros and manchega...but I digress. I'm mildly regretful that I haven't used my time to see more of this country and its neighbours, but height of season isn't conducive to cheap, quiet, comfortable getting-about. And frankly I've enjoyed an anxiety free life. At the end of September I am considering resurrecting the carefully mapped Balkan odyssey, and taking in Albania, Macedonia, Serbia, and Hungary. Using the February road trip as inspiration, it would be interesting to just book the first couple of nights to be secure, then wing it from there and fly back to Dubrovnik from whichever Eastern European city I get stuck in after a couple of weeks.

Did I mention regrets? A conversation yesterday about whether I had any has prompted a few thoughts. If I went with one of my options and returned to London in November I would regret nothing - despite the travel mentioned above. Although this could be remedied by shipping stuff home and back-packing leisurely to the UK via Austria, Czech Republic, Poland, the Baltic states, Scandinavia and the North Sea. To be honest I could do that anyway. There is only one event which to this day makes me shrivel with dismay at my stupidity. Although in reality the reawakening of true lingering conscience and care for others is to be embraced rather than easily shrugged off with regrets. Croatia has given me a sense of domestic peace which I've never experienced before. Although cooking contrary style meals for locals terrifies me! I hadn't realised black pepper or mild paprika were classed as ljuti.

When you've finally let go of neuroses and realised that nothing but loved ones are important, it's easier to let go of other desires and pulls. Instead of trying to constantly chase and expand to fill an entire universe, my universe has found and shrunk comfortably around me. I have caught my own precious falling stars, no longer having to reach unsteadily for those always out of reach. I am finally content with my abilities and what I have, so there is no further need for obsessing.

This place has made me a better, less-superficial person because I have time to stop and consider what would be better for other people. I'm never going to be perfect (who is!?) but I'm not finding myself so distracted and disconnected as I used to be. The road - or ferry - to recovery is still long, requiring patience. A few months here is just the start. It is easy to be content with scrubbing toilets when your head is preparing an article, a short story, or thinking about the next freelance writing job. Perhaps this is who I truly am. Let's hope September continues to bring forth a harvest of ideas to welcome the olive oil. Hours on the Elafiti ferries to restock my flour and baking powder once again provoking homespun profundity; or perhaps I'm simply being profoundly domestic.

A reminder of London

I should start calling these musings Ship Sagas. Or Ferry Refreshers. Or even better, Postira Postings. I'm here again, on the move, to meet my Split friend who has contrarily decided to pay me a flying visit. My other guests had a wonderful time and were dismayed that they had to leave after such a short of time. They've promised to come back! 

If there is one thing I enjoy, it's making excellent food for appreciative people, and watching them having a good time. No matter how busy or tired I was in London, entertaining was always the best. Their arrival was mildly stressful for my refrigerated goodies, because the early morning Split bus they caught had gone off on a sightseeing frolick. So we arrived in Sudurad hot, fretful, hungry and, in my butter's case, a bit greasy round the edges. 

Jenny was longing to throw herself into the sea, but we firstly and necessarily  enjoyed various salads, cured meats and fresh cheeses, and local red wine that had magically appeared during the course of the morning. Life in the shape of calories returned, and peace finally started to descend on this busy duo. We caught up on what had been going on in the art, legal, and business life of London whilst the water twinkled invitingly. 

It was curious to have a London experience on the Island with 'people from London'. I know the other contrary one was here recently but for me she has different London associations; crazy nights out, tea and toast in the morning, but ultimately a calming influence. Everything a best mate should be. However these two had been running around Split and Omiš for two weeks catching up with extended family, and planning their Croatian wedding, whilst he sporadically dealt with work issues. So they hadn't actually had time to catch a breath. Few opportunities to absorb the softer Dalmatian air into their lungs to replace the Ritalin infused London stuff.

I felt their anxiety, hurry, speed, everything. They were moving out of step with people on the island, like a badly placed overhead projector slide, or watching a 3D film without glasses. Let me stress that this isn't a bad thing, quite the reverse! It is inspirational. It was like they were emanating ripples of energy and I could see the sparks. One of the main reasons I enjoy my job as a researcher/law librarian is the information tussles with insanely bright people who are utterly obsessed with detail. And I had a faint pang of longing for that intellectual challenge. 

It's times like this which makes me realise how far I've come, and the massive step I took giving up my amazing job to live in this foreign environment. This must have been why people said I was being brave! I'm continuously asked whether I'm bored here, or how I could have left my home city, and so many doubts have been cast on my ability to cope in an island winter.  Naturally that just makes me determined to try. But just the challenge of settling here must be taking up reserves of energy. I must not take for granted the change in environment and how enormous the cultural gap is. 

No I'm not bored. Unsettled, a little insecure, thoughtful, more quiet than before maybe. But as I explained to someone, an engine stuck in the highest gear is going to burn out eventually. A change of road intensity, a couple of corners, a few diversions is much better for the engine. And that is how I feel my brain is at the moment. Temporarily off-roading! 

What goes up...

Even in paradise, sometimes the starfish are unsymmetrical and the sharp rocks unforgiving on the feet. Today finds me off kilter and desperately prickly, leaving virtual lacerations on every poor unfortunate that comes into contact with me. I'm the human equivalent of a sea urchin, though whether I have the equivalent desirable squidgy orange female bits which cause them to be cruelly bashed open, is up for debate. We all have our stupid off days, in my case caused by the usual oversensitive overthinking, overexcitment and overindulgence. And now it is probably all over... Still on the bright side, over impetuousness has galvanised me into action. I'm going to Split with a stopover in Mjlet. 

People keep telling me how beautiful Mljet is, and due to ferry timetable snafus last year, I missed a visit then. So with this and that in mind, I've booked a couple of nights in Pomena, which should allow a quiet day or so to explore the national park. I can then continue to Split on Friday. Someone said that there was a gathering with the usual chaos, as well as a trip to Hvar on Saturday. With family and friends on arriving Wednesday, next week looks to be shaping up nicely with lashings of positivity. 

Which inevitably still leaves me pondering this rather mixed week. On Saturday I lost an opportunity for dancing due to vagueries in an address, and music clearly not being loud enough. I've moved apartments due to my landlord's accomodation logistics - although the large terrace is a plus, especially with a birthday party to organise - I've now got noisy upstairs neighbours. Admittedly I shouldn't complain, I've had a lot of restful afternoons and runaway naps which culminated in an astonishing 5am run on Tuesday. With photos as proof of this madness! As for the reasons for the other malaise; it will pass, it always does. 

Moments of triumph include many culinary delights - finally creating the perfect olive bread after weeks of tough buns! I also enjoyed flavoursome stuffed peppers, as well as creating an orange and basil polenta cake. Less tasty, I had a couple of brushes with officialdom, one intentional, one accidental. I obtained my police certificate of registration, and then later in the week tutted impatiently at Croatian dignitaries when they interrupted my evening run. Finally, the other light this week was the daily revelling in the sheer beauty of the turquoise seas. A fabulously generous invite to Lopud for pizza took me out of my reverie for a spell, only to send me back with more dark thoughts; hurtling over an inkly oily sea with a golden moon for illumination - as temporary and illusive as any search for wisdom. 

And then there were the stars. 

Sumptuous abundance of natural beauty is becoming almost unbearable here. Everything is too majestic; colours too vibrant; sounds of the cicadas deafening; the balmy air and comfortably gentle sea cocooning and suffocating; the night sky too vast and awe-inspiring to contemplate. I've tried taming it with knowledge and a phone app, but that only serves to stress the impossibly large number of zeros around time, distance, and unknowns. Despite my rational insight, this had me reaching into my Renaissance history and the Greek philosophers. Finding analogies and reflections to suit human scale and informed wonder; crabs in cancer, stars in starfish, fleeting movements of surfacing fish firework with atmospheric singeing of rocks and space debris. Always returning to 'as above, so below...'

So what has today's exceedingly tongue in cheek conclusions been? After a day on an exclusive beach with mojitos and wine spritzers, I make no apology for the bitch within because she's making me feel a hell of a lot better. 

The fatter the wealthy men, the skinnier the women accompanying them. The hairier the man, the longer the ponytail on the women. The skinnier the women, the deeper the tan and bigger the sunglasses. The more tattooed the man, the more sunburned he is. And some of the guys here have been wearing the same tiny speedos they were given as 10 year olds.

Watching expensive white fish being cleaned, descaled, and rendered  palatable reminds me irrepressibly of the sleek, perfect 'class 1' women in this madly expensive bar. Their tiny pointed noses, high bone to selectively plump flesh ratio, downturned pouty mouths, grilled to perfectioned tans, and reflective sunglasses giving them as much personality as dinner. I guess some people would find them tasty... 

Personally I prefer a nice flavoursome mackerel. Cheap and cheerful with a patchy tan. See I'm feeling better already. Paradise, with scratched legs and bedraggled hair, needs the prickles and insects to prove I'm here and not dreaming.