Swimming in October, All Saints Day, olives, visits to police...

 

Quiet Gatwick

What a week! I arrived in Dubrovnik early last Saturday in a state of nervous exhaustion. London, with a three day trip to the north, had been a whirlwind of friends, family, and general catching up. Thankfully it had been a relatively stress-free return journey, and with 16 of us on the flight, then the only person on the bus to the ferry port, it was like Croatia was trying to tell me something. London transport had been manic as usual, so it was a ridiculous contrast. My bags and I were eventually safely on the ferry - after the usual wait - but for superstitious reasons that I shall explain shortly, I decided against the usual huge trip to the supermarket. Given I was also lugging an awkward suitcase and massive backpack, perhaps it was just sensible.

 

As I sipped my welcome home cup of tea on my bright terrace, it took a moment to hear the silence. My ex-flatmate's place was actually quieter than I anticipated, and certainly more peaceful than she had billed, but that's only because the permanent white noise is turned up louder to counter the intermittent peaks. Either you stop noticing it all, or you take to your own headphones to drown out everything. This deafens everything including your own thoughts, which is scary. The overwhelming sensory experience of a big city is partly what makes it stressful. Although the senses are strained and pummelled here, it is extremity of a different kind. Artificiality v nature; people v isolation; choice v seasonal availability; grey v green.

 

This time of year is so 'familiar' at home. I only have to smell sweet ginger, clean woollen jumpers, burning leaves and green wood, damp misty mornings, and I'm transported back to the parties we had as kids; warm spices scenting the air, lit candles in dark places, happy friends and family gatherings. Our focus in the north is necessarily on damp, dark and spooky nature, and perhaps we tend to conflate US style Halloween, 5th November and later, Armistice Day. Having only briefly experienced southern European All Saints Day with the masses of flowers, and focus on remembering the dead, it nonetheless reminds me - again - how similar we all are underneath. Our different cultures, religions, ways of celebrating only serves to highlight what is universally important to humanity.

 

Not spooky

The masses of flowers in the park and market in Dubrovnik that welcomed me, were stunning. Everyone was buying a formal flower arrangement for family graves. I was asked how we remember our dead loved ones and whether a particular time is set aside to visit cemeteries. There was a stunned face as I explained that my most missed loved one isn't buried, but was scattered in a wood by the side of a reservoir. My father is everywhere and nowhere; in my heart; in the open, in the nature he loved. I confirmed that, for me, that was as close to a 'heaven' that anyone could ever wish for! I don't need a special time to remember, it's impossible to forget. The unhealthy concern for bodily remains I find the most disturbing and curious aspect of many religions, but perhaps that's why I can't be doing with Halloween - unless it's a nice piece of gingerbread, with a bonfire and sparklers.

 

Still, it reminded me that I am very far from the UK and very much out of my comfort zone. Swimming in October, fish BBQs, tractors and olives, visits to police...this life is beyond anything. The landlord worried about my wish to be cremated, and that I hadn't brought slippers back. Some people have very strange priorities.

 

I had been invited to go up to the olive oil factory on my arrival but for one reason and another, it didn't happen. In retrospect, I'm glad that I had a few days in the groves before going up for the final part of the process. Instead I was welcomed home in a blaze of sunshine, and it wasn't just the unaccustomed hills that left me breathless on my late evening run. The sunset was incredible and augured well for a sunny few days. I've even managed a final dip in the glorious sea; the chilly fresh water springs that pour into the harbour had definitely made their presence felt. The light which I'd missed for two weeks was pouring into my bedroom on Sunday, which meant I was woken up bright and early, and I dashed outside on to the terrace to see the golden sparkles on the bay. Without slippers, obviously.

 

The coffee places in the village are now very limited and I wondered if the buzzing metropolis of Sipanska Luka could offer more choice. Taking a gentle stroll in the sun to the other side of the island, I knew that I should be starting work but it was pleasant to delay for another day. I also knew that I had to face the possibility that I could be asked to leave the country any time after Monday 1 November, which is why I had held back on doing a huge shop for provisions.

 

Whilst in the olive fields that afternoon, I asked about the next day's trip to Dubrovnik for a new tenancy agreement and some police lady sweet talking. It had to be done on Monday because of the All Saints holiday on Tuesday. There were grumbles. And more grumbles. The forecast was consulted and the 6am ferry was agreed upon. Just as olive season was really picking up, I was dragging the two gentlemen to town. Little Miss Popular, I was not. Still, I made myself useful in the fields.

 

The next day I was feeling sick by the time we were due to leave. As it happens, regardless of weather forecast, we had to take the fishing boat and car into town because the amount of running around we needed to do. The police station is right at the top of the hill, a good 30 minutes walk from the port. We started with the lady at the police station, did the paperwork, got it notarised, went back to the lady...didn't have copies of stuff, got copies and went back to her. I was to come back Friday for my registration certificate. By this point, after three times up the hill, the human blood pressure matched that of the car's, which demonstrated its displeasure by expiring in a puff of evil smelling engine smoke. It refused to start.

 

If you remember, I have one other experience with this car. It had failed to start back in June and we'd needed to jump it, then we were too nervous to switch it off whilst dashing around for the same paperwork. I pointed this out, and now it seems women are banned from his car. Luckily his mate was in town and we got a lift back to the village where their boat was moored. It was an extremely wet and bumpy ride back to the island as there was a strong wind blowing. I can report that my new yellow coat is wind and waterproof. All of this on a Monday before 2pm and we hadn't even started the day's olive picking yet...

 

To be continued...

Another welcome visitor to Suđurađ

Dubrovnik Shoes

The island is pretty much the centre of my universe, and so my capacity for excitement has perhaps shrunk to fit a slightly smaller place. Outsiders may feel that bowling competitions, film festivals, klapa concerts, saints' day processions, tiny classical concerts, and good pizza is perhaps stretching the definition of 'excitement' too far. I notice when the local bench is repositioned, the seasonal changing of the field's fragrance and, like every other local, roll eyes at the weekly youthful Antipodean incursions who enjoy very loud music and occasionally ring the church bell at 3am.

 

So when friends visit I like to push the boat out for them. As it were. All visitors here are subjected to hours on ferries! As you've read there is usually wonderful swimming and incredible beaches, long hot walks in the fields, early morning kayaking, hours of paddle boarding, and really lovely food. Louise was no exception and I'd been planning for her arrival for a few weeks. She adores Croatia and so was really looking forward to the trip. She was coming in to Dubrovnik to see me especially, before flying up to the bright lights of Zagreb a few days later. Last time I saw her, we had both ended up there but I wasn't going to be persuaded this time.

 

I had the usual early morning start to greet my guest, with the treat of coffee and a fresh bun. We corresponded with each other from our respective modes of transport; me from the bus station, to her on wifi in the sky, and we had already starting laughing. Apparently one of her suitcase was looking forward to being pulled by aunty Clare. As her cases are legendary for their mischievous antics, I was already regretting not bringing a muzzle and ankle guards. My rucksack was already full as I'd picked up some extra essential bits from konzum. Deodorant, for instance. Not to mention crisps and wine.

 

Considering we'd had so little sleep - 3am start for her - we were surprisingly chipper and had a sunny journey back to mine. Given I have so much sun cream at home, she hadn't brought any so fair skin was already starting to glow on the ferry. The cases had already caused a commotion and were busy chasing other patrons. As we arrived into Suđurađ, and hauled everything past the bar, the big one must have caught a whiff of previous parties and ran over her toe in its hurry to order a round of Sambuca shots. Naughty case.

 

Finally with a little help from landlord senior we were soon in my little flat making a cup of tea. And checking out Jenny's abandoned beach shoes...no joy there as they were a little large. We chilled out on the terrace with some melon and peaches and just enjoyed the tranquillity. I demonstrated the local way to deal with wasps *SHOOOOO*. Then she spotted one of the best insects I've ever seen. Climbing the grape picking ladder, we watched him for ages wondering how we could help him, as frankly he was going nowhere. A ceramic plate didn't work but we were able to coax him onto a piece of paper and then on to the bamboo screen. We assumed he would head up to the safety of the vines.

 

We finally hit the town beach where, without Adriatic Sea shoes, pebbles are a little pebbly. It was good to stretch and refresh after a day of travelling. Before I can assure Marija that my guests are kayak safe, I like to see them swim! We paddled around for a bit, then diet talk made us think about food. So whilst she went for a shower I prepared stuffed peppers, which take a couple of hours to cook. In the meantime the stupid insect was waving precariously at a seagull. We left him to it. I was hazily aware that the weather could turn nasty at the start of the week so suggested we make the most of the evening sunshine. We put on appropriate footwear and went up to my favourite look out to see the sunset. The timing was perfect - the lighting effects were spectacular.

 

After swimming and hill climbing, the hearty peppers were welcome, and washed down with a glass of white they were suitably local and tasty. We enjoyed the sounds of the evening, discussed a Sunday 'plan of action' and decided on a short post-dinner stroll. We were accosted by a young gentleman who offered to buy us drinks. This place is fabulously friendly! By 10.30pm we were all falling asleep - middle aged party animals - and looking forward to an action packed day of walking, paddle boarding, food and laughter. As the weather forecast was doubtful we also had contingency plans for baking and make-up practice but that is another story.

 

Oh and we still had Adriatic Sea shoes to track down.

Bank Holiday on Šipan and Lopud

It was Summer Bank Holiday in the UK, so I thought I'd take a break from the old work routine and go on holiday for a bit. You know, have a lie in, read a good book and generally enjoy what would inevitably be a rainy day. Then I woke up and realised that I was still here, and I could pretty much do what ever outdoorsy thing I wanted because sunshine! There was stirring outside as someone decided that nets needed bringing in so, instead of being cross about being awake,  I decided to embrace the morning.

The village was bathed in golden morning light as I quietly launched one of Marija's kayaks into the glassy water. The bottom of the sea was bluely visible until I was well beyond the protective stone harbour walls, and I enjoyed the sensation of easy silent paddling. There were no power boats to worry about and I was keeping an eye on 7am Hanibal; he didn't mind and we didn't come to blows because I was exploring the watery caves of Ruda Island by the time he chugged past.

I struck out for Lopud, with fond memories of the last time I did this. It had been my birthday and the night before the contrary trio had hit the rum badly. So the hangover had been ferocious - my brother had set the spanking pace and we had blindly followed him, hoping he'd find coffee and cake somewhere. We struck gold at our destination and the resultant caffeine, sugar and cold water hit us beautifully. By the time we had got back to Šipan, we'd felt almost human again!

Anyway, there was no head cloudiness on Monday and it was a lovely morning to have coffee and fresh doughnut by the sea. With a flash of inspiration, I picked up an extra bun for a man-who-might-appreciate-it back home and popped it in my bag. I then thought about wine for later and took a detour to the tiny market. As I was in a kayak I thought better of the huge 3 litre bottle on offer and sensibly only bought a couple of normal bottles. Imagine developing a leak and losing the cargo?! Or what if I was boarded by pirates? Who knows what might have happened.

On my shopping trip, I'd clocked a poster advertising a concert of classical music in the church.I had a small splash around on the sandy beach, giggled again at the memory of an ex-flatmate's ability to clamber into a stationary kayak, and headed home. As I paddled back I thought about the music and was determined to try to make the concert...this would mean a begging of a favour and I wondered if it was possible. Does a bun count as pre-emptive bribery?

The appreciative one was having a coffee after a unsuccessful bout of net reeling. I think he was touched, frankly I was ready to go get out of my wet shorts, so I had scooted off as he was mid-munch. I had a relatively quiet day and after making myself useful, decided to mention that I wanted to go to Lopud for a concert, and please may I have a lift back. Looking up from the plateful of sardines that I'd prepared, he fixed me with an exasperated look.

Problem.

It is now dark enough for night fishing so they were going out. If they had a boatful of fish, they were not going to wait for me, and if they were out until 1am, then I would just have to wait. Therefore no guaranteed lift from the landlord. The best offer I could get on a water taxi was 250 kuna and I had also checked AirBnB for a room overnight. Basically, going out here is as inconvenient as going out in Bristol if you live in Yate/Chipping Sodbury. Except that there you're paying £25 for a theatre ticket and £50 for a taxi...scratch that. I'd rather be here. So bravely setting off on the 5.50pm ferry I took a leap of faith, trusting that I'd get home somehow.

I arrived in Lopud in dry clothes, which made a change from the kayak soaking from earlier. With a small amount of foresight I popped into the Lafodia Hotel lobby where I happen to know they have a library of books for guests. I nabbed the only English one available - seriously, people, do you not read on holiday? - and scarpered to the nearest pizza place for a quiet couple of pre-concert hours. It does seem criminal to eat pizza on an island but I do get endless amazing fresh fish at home, so I never feel too guilty. On my evening stroll, I chuckled at the outlandish ways I could get home; perhaps a wheelie bin and paddle; a tractor engine powered pallet raft; a plastic sunbed contraption?

Some lovely friendly English people were sat nearby and we had an excellent natter which was an excellent way to pass the time. *waves*

In the event the concert was spectacular and there was no fault to be found in the fluting, cello-ing and piano-ing. I could happily have listened to them in St John's Smith's Square, or similar intimate venue in London. There is something very special when you get a talented cellist and flautist together, and the instruments just sing. Again, the piano makes an uneasy third in such a trio but it seemed to have a rare understated delicacy which didn't dominate.

Moment of truth. I wandered up to the far end of the harbour and pondered the wisdom of a glass of wine. I decided against it, and bought a bottle of orange pop instead. I had no idea how long I would be waiting. There were no messages, which was both promising and not. Boats came and went, my book was read and finished, and I ambled back to a comfy looking park bench. It was gone half 11 by then, and then I saw the musicians walking past...as a final act of desperation, shyness overcoming lunacy, I wondered if they were going my way. Maybe English subtlety is truly unknown here, as I said;

'Hello, thank you for the lovely concert tonight. I wonder if you are going anywhere near Suđurađ as I appear to be stranded here?'

They were going back to Dubrovnik. Oh well. Perhaps a Croatian would have got a better response with a more direct question.

A few more centuries went by and cafes were closing. Then finally I saw boat lights. It was my now extremely cross landlord who had dashed back from a mediocre fishing trip, got in the other boat, and come out to collect his errant guest. He wasn't as annoyed as he was when I punctured his bicycle tyre, but he was definitely not amused. Still, he flung a coat round me and we powered back to Šipan in few minutes. To top it all, when he asked me to throw out the fender, the rope wasn't attached to the boat. Well done Skipper. Least I remembered to hang on to the end.

*sigh*

I reminded him that there was wine in my fridge. He brightened a bit. The problem he has is pretty much the same the world over. Responsibilities, stress, exhaustion, and needing to work in a dangerous and low paid, uncertain industry, when other people are out having fun AND then expect a free taxi service. This is enough to make any person slightly snappy. Helpfully pointing out that classical music wasn't his bag, 'jebeš klassikal music!', I topped up his glass solicitously. I pondered when the next concert on Koločep was. Apparently as 'his most troublesome guest' I'm definitely swimming back from there. Jebem ti majku!

Once you're here, you can never leave!

There was a day to kill whilst waiting for the 6pm katamaran to Split. For this I was grateful because I was secretly dreading city hustle and bustle. To be honest I wasn't sure I was ready to leave this tiny world of quiet greens and blues. After an early walk around the smaller lake, a ramble into the village of Goveđari, I was desperate for a coffee and natter with my new friend. We had arranged to meet at konoba Barba Ive and as promised she'd brought her own gorgeous dog out for a stroll. He had the broadest smile and was happy to be fussed over. It was strange talking about stuff with a stranger, and we took turns in listening, offloading all our worries with no fear of judgement. I really hope we meet again.

 

As we talked, the weather was turning darkly interesting. And weather means serious business here. The promised storm was brewing. Sailing boats were hastily making an exit, whilst other boats were making themselves more secure. Still, I wasn't too concerned, after all the katamaran had come through Mljet a few weeks ago in terrible conditions. I paid my bill, left my rucksack, and ambled off to the beach for a pršt sandwich lunch, to enjoy a 10min nap, and finish my book. There was also an encounter with a noisy chicada.

 

The waves were now definitely alarming as I meandered back to the café a few hours later. With perfect timing, the rain arrived with my pint of beer, and it started to dawn on me that there was a distinct possibility I wouldn't be able to leave the island. I had another beer, watching sailing aficionados lash their yachts tighter to the jetty, turning them to face the storm. A Finnish couple played tug of war with the wind, whilst the white horses frolicked...

 

Putting as many clothes on that I had available, I left the bar and quipped to Dažen that I might be back. He agreed calmly *gulp*

 

The local large hotel acts as a ticket office for ferries and the first problem was my ferry was sold out. The nice receptionist doubted that it would arrive in any case, but no one could be sure. The atmosphere was getting more tense as it got closer to the arrival/departure time. It came and went with no katamaran in sight. The rain lashed down outside. I joined a panicked Spanish and French couple who were anxious about accommodation. Hm. I wondered if there was still space at Barba Ive's - logic would dictate that if I couldn't depart, people couldn't arrive.

 

We all gave the ferry up as a bad job, departing to various places, and taking advantage of a lull in the rain, I hurried back to my konoba. The usual group of people were there and unsurprised to see me. Yes, I could have my own room back! There was nothing I could do apart from have another beer, chat to the intrepid Finnish couple, sing happy birthday to the resident dog, and order a massive dinner of grilled pork and vegetable with chips. Which was presented to me 'on the house'. What a place!

 

Sadly it also meant contacting my friend in Split to tell her the bad news. There was nothing I could do, and I was told that even the famous Ultra festival had been delayed due to the rain. As the evening went by, it got colder and quieter, and the contrast to the previous night couldn't have been more marked. This island was growing on me. Then world events intruded again...this time Turkey erupted. It's hard to contemplate such a crazy man-made world when you are watching the tail end of a perfect storm, leaving only natural chaos in its wake.

 

In an unusually decisive fashion I opted to head home instead of Split. I have family to prepare for next week and perhaps the forests of Mljet and chance dog encounters was what I needed; the circumstances had perhaps read my mind. To my relief I was allowed on to the packed Dubrovnik bound katamaran, and meandered quietly back across the sea. I knew I was home when I opened the biscuits and had a cup of tea.

From Devon With Love

Another week, another day, another 5am start, but this time I'm going further than Dubrovnik. As if on a piece of elastic I find myself going back to Split; no island too remote to prevent such wonderful continuations of friendship. My lovely Ives had her birthday yesterday, and her daughter's is Saturday so I promised ages ago that I would come back this weekend for laughter and celebration. It is the only reason, I think that she let me get on the ferry the last time I returned to Šipan!

 

I ended my last piece of meandering reportage pondering what would happen this week. There was a plan to meet a friend in Dubrovnik for a quick drink. A. Plan. Surely by now we should have learnt that they are mere 'helpful suggestions'; a doffing of ones cap to normality and order, if you will. This is why on Sunday evening I found myself on a friend's sailing boat with only the clothes I was wearing, with not an item of toiletry to be seen, and a bunch of new drinking buddies. Experience has taught me that Devonians are some of the best people in the world and never have I felt more welcome. Or more drunk! Normal.

 

Still, given I was stranded on the mainland after a splendid champagne supper, they kindly offered me a lift back to Šipan, in return for a little local knowledge. After breakfast and a monumental hangover the following morning, with a beer based supermarket sweep - they were determined to redefine 'booze cruise' - we were heading down the channel and underneath the magnificent Franjo Tuđman Bridge towards the open sea. I was entranced by the grace and quiet of the sailboat, and when a motor boat gave way and went behind us in true textbook 'power giving way to sail', skipper-style I was beside myself. They were all sailors and answered all my daft questions patiently! Due to Devon school days I was also able to act as interpreter as the Croatian Skipper was utterly at sea... When Dalmatian meets Devonian.

 

After a cheese - meat - beer based picnic lunch, we headed out to anchor off the island of Lopud for an afternoon of swimming and general larking about. I've not laughed so much, nearly drowning with mirth, watching two idiots go off to buy icecream in a tender, both rowing in opposite directions. Before realising they had no cash, because the communal wallet was bobbing about merrily on the sea.

 

Makes my own chaotic travelling style look like a military operation. Tell me, with merry Devonians in charge, how the hell was the Spanish Armada repelled?

 

I borrowed a snorkel and mask and was mesmerised by fish feeding on bits of bread. I've never seen that from below - a stunning display of acrobatics. I joined them in their diving display, not quite as elegant but I've already demonstrated to a naked German, I'm not a fish!! We finally pulled into Šipanska Luka at about 6.30pm and it had been a treat to see the south-west side of the island from our vantage point of the sea. Sadly the lack of wind meant we had to be engine powered, but still, it was glorious.

 

At this point I showered and wished I had clean clothes. The best I could manage was some manly deodorant. After a number of refreshing mojitos, I was mint and lime scented. Our organised skipper had called ahead to reserve both a berth for the boat and a table for dinner. I can unreservedly recommend Kod Marka - no menu, no wine list. Just incredible meat or fish of the day with whatever dishes the chef has dreamt up to start with. In this case, little fish in oil with grilled bread, then peppery octopus cakes. The rare steak, veal, and meaty potato sauce was incredible. The marzipan scented medlar fruit liqueur to finish this feast was utterly divine. The Orsan Restaurant in Dubrovnik the night before had been breath taking but in a completely different way. By midnight I'm sad to say, I was exhausted...and pretty much collapsed!

 

Some idiot the next morning decided an early morning dip was in order. He thought it was 7am...and to his horror two hours later, it really was 7am. Waking up on a boat is the weirdest experience; like all the best bit of camping. Except the water is generally outside your porthole, and not in your bedding/shoes. Feeling much better after many hours sleep, coffee and fried eggs, I sadly waved goodbye to my new friends. They had a date with some wine tasting in Korčula; if anyone is there, can they make sure the place is still standing.

 

My life after Croatia remains a bit hazy, but these guys reminded me of my time in Devon and why I am still friends with many people from that period of my life. Just was just like been 19 again; they left me exhausted, boggled, hungover, with laughter muscles aching from use. The journey back to mine on the little local bus was uneventful, and involved a conversation with someone about Simon Stylites. Obviously.

 

The rest of the week was fairly quiet, with a trip to a deserted beach on the mainland as the highlight. Nothing to see here, but oh, boy, was I sunburnt! The pizzeria just down the coast was pretty good too, they did a mean ice coffee.

 

There was a moment on Thursday when I thought about going to meet the sailing guys on Korčula, then head to Split from there on Friday morning. But owing to me not knowing what day of the week it was, I got my ferry timing knickers in a twist. So I had to forgo the pleasure of another drunken night on water; instead I spent the evening looking at the stars and nattering about nothing much. I think night club regulations were discussed given the local bar's usual Thursday night pulsing drunken Aussie beat. Inevitably it was a late night because I had to be on this 6am ferry, bound for more Split adventures.

Speed bonnie boat!

Naughty car

If you're mildly stressed, take a ride on a speed boat across a blue sparkly stretch of water, wind in your hair, and bottom bumping thuds. This needs to be a rule for life generally, in my humble opinion. You may recall a minor drama regarding my status here and it seems I've had more to do with the law over the past few weeks than I have in my entire life. And this includes the time I was allowed to pretend to be a police officer and sit in the front seat of dad's car pressing the neee naaaaw button. Definitely no flashing lights here though thankfully. Not even on the boat.

I'd spent the previous day panicking and having imaginary conversations, before deciding that there was nothing I could do, aside from admiring the storm, reading books, and having an early night. An over active imagination is never a good thing when it involves long term plans in a foreign country. I was warned to be up and ready at 7am for my first non public ferry trip to Dubrovnik. I had no idea what to expect and was feeling mildly guilty for dragging my landlord and his father, to the big city. The elderly gentleman was required to sign stuff to say that I was living in one of his apartments. I was comforted by the fact that three large plastic canisters were also placed in the boat. Clearly other errands were going to be run.

 

The day was beautiful after Sunday's wild wind and rain; the sea was flat, the sun golden peach, and islands vividly green; just perfect!

 

The man at the engine is clearly a speed freak - also confirmed by the later car driving and wonderful display of earthy Croatian. We zipped into the little harbour on the mainland and swished to a sudden halt as the wall seemed to get very close, very quickly. They fastened the boat up with the same speed and grace, and I would give anything to have that natural ease on and about the water, it's amazing to watch. We walked towards the little buildings on the harbour, and it was a hive of early morning Monday activity. A number of guys dressed for a day's decorating, and clutching sandwich bags had congregated, clearly waiting for a boat; a sprightly looking elderly gentleman was heading to the turquoise sea for an early morning dip; and cars and vans were coming and going along the dirt track. My landlord apologised for his 'shit' car and was muttering about needing to replace it.

 

Yup. As if the heavens knew that I was coming to Dubrovnik, his car refused to start. In fact, even the doors refused to open with the electronic key. Oh. I agreed, his car was shit. Not that I said that, I remembered the axe.

 

After a calm chat with one of the decorators nearby, one of them went off for his elderly VW polo, and jump leads were retrieved from the boot of the dead car, which thankfully opened with the ordinary key. This is what I love about the people here, an absolute practical certainty that nothing that can happen which can't be fixed by their own hands. And the fact that everyone helps one another, no hesitation, no worries. Most of the people I know, the contrary one excepted, would have immediately rang for the car rescue people and sat with their head in their incapable hands until a van with a stranger arrived. And I include myself in this observation.

 

The three guys chatted as the battery was charging. In the meantime, the other decorators hopped into a little boat and headed to Lopud for their work, but this one seemed unconcerned. I was later told that it would return for him, and apparently the next job they had was on Sipan - there would be beers to say thank you for the help. With a hiccup and alarming grind, the car started and seemed compliant. So we climbed in and headed up the steep road to the main drag into town. The traffic was normal - maniacs on bikes, suicidal overtaking on corners, and slow buses and trucks clogging up the steep hills. We pulled into a car park and the car was left running.

 

Yes, running. Windows open. Key in the ignition. I was sniggering as I imagined this in East London!

 

The first law office was no good because the man behind the big desk wasn't there. The ladies kept us waiting for what seemed like hours, after pulling faces at the paperwork before telling us they couldn't help. We meandered across to another hidden little office, again full of serious looking ladies on computers. After a conversation and explanation of circumstances, one pleasant lady took the papers, and essentially 'decorated' them. Multi-coloured string threaded through the holes, a large golden seal, a stamp, signature - basically everything to impress. She very kindly did some copies of my health card and passport, took payment, and feeling thus armed, we wandered back to the car. To my unsurprise, it was still there and ticking over. We drove back across town to the police station and I was feeling sick.

 

Especially when I saw the blond bitch from before who immediately stopped her photocopying to glare at me.  How pleasant. Luckily we got her colleague who by comparison was merely arctic and unfriendly. She hated every single document and questioned everything, but there is just no arguing with coloured string with a specific date on. She told me to come back 'next week' when my certificate may be ready. I queried this, because it's quite an investment of effort - 3 hour round trip - if a piece of paper hasn't been printed. She looked at me as if I was mad for questioning her. Mind you if there are no ribbons and fancy stamps involved, I'll be cross.

 

So job jobbed. After that we took a trip to the local hospital and had a coffee in the sun whilst waiting for landlord senior. In my relief, I was happy just to tag along with essential tasks such supermarket shopping, random stops in out of the way places, and other man business. Again...every time the car was left happily burbling along, awaiting our return. It was only when we were on our way back to the village harbour, did we to stop the engine to fill up the tanks in the boot. The car battery by this time was happier and there were no further mishaps. Looking at all the shopping and heavy tanks, I hoped that the little boat would be ok and take us all on board!

 

The weather was still incredible and I had to pinch myself to feel sure that this wasn't a dream. I turned to look at the driver with a broad grin and a squeak as the wind made the waves more lively, and I can't believe that this is a normal part of everyday life and ordinary commute for local people. I'm under no illusion that life is generally physically hard here, but there must be moments when the beauty of everything makes it all work worth it. Later on, whilst eating, drinking and being merry - with locals, Norwegians, Brazilian Swiss, Finish Croats, conviviality is absolutely central. What a place! Thank goodness I'm allowed to stay for a bit longer!