Mystery, minarets and mint tea

Happy Ferry Face

It started in Bosnia - like most exciting, earth-shattering things do. That country has a magical draw and I need to spend more time there. Of course, it could just be the melancholic thoughts caused by too much beer and burek. But I digress already.

Many years ago I made a friend there, and on the rare occasions we meet, he still manages to challenge and expand my mental horizons; some people just have that effect. May 2016, sat in that dim* Sarajevski Celtic bar, he revealed he was from Turkey and it sowed a thought-seed. He said he was never coming back to Istanbul...but I’m happy he was here to go out for an epic pizza with me, although that’s his story.

Surprises, love and laughter

Mama Mia, here I go again*. I'm writing in the sun. On an island, in a cafe by the sea. The locals are talking more than usually incomprehensibly, and I have had a couple of beers, which means I probably will be writing in dialect shortly. All that is missing is the other contrary one writing opposite me.

No more tears - just the science of coming home

There's a thing. Mljet is a relatively easy place to get to and from...as long as you start or end in Dubrovnik, Split... or Šipan. There was a vague purpose for spending time on Mljet in the first place because all hearts must mend eventually. And it has been amazing to be here finally feeling happy and whole. In a reversal, I wondered whether it would be wise to pay a visit to my old home in Suđurađ.

When I left there in April 2017 it felt slightly bittersweet with an air of finality. Home was still home, but was no longer; I'd sadly moved on. The moment we landed in Šipanska Luka at a ridiculously early time, I had an air of melancholy unreality. Happily I must have made quite an impression during my time here, because familiar faces turned from polite disinterest to genuine recognition - in moments. This made me feel quite tearful, in a way I rarely feel.

This two faced place never fails to amaze me; despite the near end of the summer season the many pleasure boats continue to pour in, and the opportunity for people spotting is endless. On the other hand, the icy walk through the polje this morning demonstrated the beating agricultural heart of the island. Cows were being tended to; grape pomace lies in heady heaps; fattened cabbages await winter pulling; and the olives are well on the way to being ready.

Enjoying the coffee and soaking up the early morning sunshine in Teo's bar was very pleasant - watching the village come awake is a simple pleasure. Eventually hunger drove us to picnic snacks on my nearest favourite beach. There are so few people there; people from the pleasure boats either don't have the time, or the inclination to stray out of the village. Which means they miss the actual life going on but as the companioning one knows, I have very little to say about idiot tourists.*

<insert your own melancholic shit here>

Having made myself all melancholy (shit happens), my amazing friend Marija invited us to see her family and have a taste of the rakija and wine making process. Now as you all know, science and history thereof is my life and the very best outcome of science is the stuff you can eat and drink. What is cake making, if it in't science? Anyway, much of what I have enjoyed exploring is alchemy... So to see an actual still in action is pretty much renaissance science in motion.

Fascinated, I watched as the deep purple 'waste' grape material was put into a large lidded metal container and sealed with water around the top. The dried garden herbs had been carefully chopped and layered; mint and fennel were the secret ingredients here. The stove underneath was stoked to cook the mix, and we sat back to fuss the cat who was thoroughly enjoying the warmth. The smoke unfurled into the olives above and we sipped our wine and munched on home smoked bacon.

Next door's sheep popped by unexpectedly and there were shouts of ide, brzo, 'cha... and mint sauce, lamb chop! I'll leave you to sort out who said what.

The fumes from the fruit and herbs headed upwards in to a metal tube; then went through a coil to be

cooled and condensed. The tiny precious drops fell like tears into a hanky... to be collected in to a saucepan. As it filled, it was occasionally emptied into a large round flask and the odd finger managed to sneak in and test the strength. Each batch would start strong, and then mellow and dilute. The art is to mix them to ensure consistency...and presumably avoid blindness or brain damage.

Also it's getting dark and what the heck is happening in here?

It was like magic if you can imagine a life surrounded by grape fumes, goats, and pine wood smoke. It reminded me of all I had left on the island. And I have never felt so sad about returning to tech, East London and the world outside. 

And on that melancholic note, let me remind you we are currently being serenaded by Antonio and his friends. Karaoke Mljet style.That is to say all is well in the world, and there has been birthday cake.



















*the water in the lakes is NOT brackish ffs.

Focus on the goat...

So even as the temperature dropped, our spirits rose. With our food supplies stashed in my trusty backpack, we scuttled back to the apartment which was gloriously warm and welcoming. After a simple supper of tuna tomato pasta with a bottle of red, we braved the delicious višnja in the bar down the road. We sat there and cackled until we froze. We moved inside and carried on cackling...as we discussed a special burek and beer diet plan with the waiter.

Seemed like a reasonable idea at the time. As did the goat pekar on the menu.

As we tottered up the stairs home, the northern wind was whistling through the trees, and howling round the rocks - I love that autumn really showed summer the door, and tried to boot it through. Still, as I currently write, summer is triumphant in its determination to hang around. The upside of bura is the clarity of air... everyone should see the stars and full moon at 4am.

We woke to a chilly morning; nothing as screamingly awful as the UK in September but it was brisk. Our hosts had mentioned a bread man van at 9am so I braved the golden morning light to await his arrival. It appeared that he had been and gone so I begged the obliging people at Mali Raj for some bread. We enjoyed a continental breakfast of bread, cheesy triangles, mortadella, tomatoes, and discussed what we were going to do.

The wind continued to blow happily. We had no plans.

The girly one put on her walking boots (with nothing more than a toothpick and a banana for support - so she said) and I put on my filthy old trainers and we headed off around the lake. If you go and read the blogs of the other contrary one you will see that we are once again on a bit of a healthy eating and exercise kick - hence the afore mentioned burek conversation. Mljet is renowned for its nature walks and was partly why I had chosen this place for a break.

Ha!

So much for a brisk stroll; the first 100m took 30 mins. We expended energy only on ooos and ahhhs as the astonishing scenery took our breaths away, and in return we took photos. We enjoyed every inch of the large lake as we stayed on the path closest to the water. We giggled as we followed the central and circle line symbols - this was obviously just like being on the London underground.

OK, it was nothing like. It was actual paradise. Hidden beaches, vertiginous green, fluttering butterflies, and total silence as we commenced our circuit.

We headed to the hamlet of Soline for a responsible coffee (me) and a cheeky pivo (her). The road down there was so quiet that a basket ball court had been set up, should you choose to shoot some rings. Or whatever you do with the goal thingy. Anyway it was a fabulous use of flat tarmacked space. Soline is an ancient spot at the mouth of the lake, where salt has been produced for many years. We returned to the beautifully engineered Veliki Most, which vibrated tunefully in the wind. We crossed and continued around the lake. Shockingly we had only done a few kilometres...

By the time we had walked around the big lake, our feet were ready for one thing. A dip in the lake! We had found a handy little pontoon from which to swim just around the corner. It was - as promised - a few degrees warmer than the sea which was very pleasant. This didn't prevent any extremities being frozen; the air temperature was still pretty chilly. Brrrr! Needed a quick shower and a hot cuppa to thaw out. At this point of the day we had walked a long way so any normal people would have decided to have a nice nap.

We went for a stroll over to Polače for milk.

The booted one complained about the mountain* we had to climb. I admired the plunging ravines and the glorious gothic qualities of the cemetery on the way up. We descended into the village and the light was just catching the buildings on the far side. The Roman villa loomed over the extremely choppy sea; bura was still in full force. Sadly its effect on Pelješac was a devastating fire, a reminder to us all about the fragility of this landscape.

No ride home here...

After checking the shop's closing times, we hit the Calypso bar for a beer. We had to fortify ourselves for the ferociously steep and dark walk back over the mountain** via the Stari Put. We decided to pay up, confuse the waiter and pop into the shop to pick up milk and dirty sausage and beanz. And wine and cheesy snacks. No Babine Kuće evening is complete without heading out to the bar for a nightcap so off we went again. We also ordered our baby goat (kozlin) pekar for the following evening and tried not to think about anyone's pet.


*small hill
**the dramatic one was determined that it was a mountain

Seasonal rhythms

From 5th November to 28th December is an outrageous gap of time to not make any blogpost entries. I've mentioned before that time in this place plays tricks on the unwary. For the outside observer it seems everything can happen, or nothing. 

In the grand scheme of seasonal rotation, my few weeks have seen a march towards an island going into private mode. The olive oil factory was the hub of activity for many familiar  faces. With the best impromptu home produced cheese and wine parties I've ever known. But now as many olives as possible have been picked and pressed. These wonderful trees have been pruned and the resultant wood chopped and stored away for what will turn out to be one of the coldest and snowiest Januarys in many years.

The harbour sees only brief activity as the rare ferries come and go. Fishing boats continue to work and nets inevitably need mending, whilst engines get fixed. There is also swearing as the harassed boss has to dive into the water to untangle propellers and detritus. But conversations and transactions seem to happen quicker. People dash back to their closed warm homes out of the biting wind. There is always the tiny bar on the harbour, which remains resolutely open. But although the usual gathered gentlemen continue their talking, it seems quieter and more perfunctory than before.

I've spent a few evenings in that bar happily celebrating some olive picking, and taking the odd dance lesson. I remain astonished at Croatians' ability to melt into a musical rhythm and dance the night away. As long as the gentleman is stern enough to lead, and his toes nimble enough to avoid my clodhopping, it's a lovely way to pass the time. I still can't believe that the sea dances to its own tune just outside, glowing orange in the sodium light. 



This was v late at night!

If the bar palls, they obviously have the choice to head into Dubrovnik's old town. Even if it does mean spending a night in a hostel. Everyone seems keen and happy to escape the island cold and quiet. From the 1st December the winter festival in Dubrovnik is a must-visit for everyone. Festive wooden stalls offer cooked wine, local rakija, large grilled sausages and mustard. There are other advent and Christmas bits and pieces too.

Finally the people reclaim their city. They make this tiny show city feel like a living breathing place. The red lights and silvery stars jump-start the warm local heart. People who have known one another for years meet and greet, with warmth to heat the entire Stradun. Though not as flashy as Split's Christmas Riva, you get a sense of what it was like before it came a mere theatrical backdrop for thousands enjoying a cruise. 

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...

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.