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.

Let's aim for the 8pm ferry then?



Magical nature

Another week, another European capital city. London. Zagreb. Belgrade. Sarajevo. I feel like a fashion carrier bag. As I write I'm heading towards Sarajevo but unlike last time, I'm approaching it from the north through Serbia. A return is making me feel nostalgic for those early summer halcyon days.

 

 It was May when I made one of my first inter-Balkan forays to the exotic East. Having reviewed what I wrote I was pensive about this city. That was clearly a difficult month. I was unused to being alone, suffering hours of bus travel, was still apprehensive about who and what I'd find waiting for me. This time I'm immured to miles, and confident of a warm welcome. Last weekend I spent a happy family weekend with my old Sarajevo host in Belgrade, and him and his youngest son will be joining me there on Saturday. I'm also excited to catch up with another old friend, and may even catch a rendition of Cabaret in the national theatre. It seems I even have a coffee date courtesy of this bus journey.

 

Still, although I've a lot to look forward to, it's what I've been doing which is more important. In my last post I got as far as Christmas in Split and was looking forward to the long journey north. My friend was determined to make my last full day there as memorable as possible with an island excursion. Who doesn't love a ferry trip in the fresh, bright sunshine? It was useful to go because at that time I was pondering a move to one of them for January-April. As I've now got into February without a move, it seems less likely. No information is ever wasted though and at least I could consider and discuss options.

 

I've been to Brač a couple of times but never to its other more beautiful side. It takes a meandering 90 minutes through the most varied landscapes to reach Bol. Given it was still technically Christmas and calories don't count at this time, I scoffed most of a gloriously greasy burek on the way, stuffing remnants into my handbag pocket. We laughed the entire journey as if there was no tomorrow. I got hugely excited as we went through Postira, the village after which my favourite ferry is named. We arrived in Bol and headed towards the famous zlatni rat beach just along the coast. The silent path with its sculpture and views of emerald sea was stunning. Only feral cats seemed to guard the road, though it was clear from the diving schools, clubs and restaurants that summer is a different story.

 

Irresistible

There were vague plans to meet up with a gentleman to whom my friend had been talking. I had no idea it was to be on the beach which is why I did the logical thing. Apart from us two there was no one around so I stripped. The sea had been serenading me with her blue loveliness and the biting wind had dropped, leaving her glassy and inviting. Left in only my black pants I danced into the sea. I think they heard me in Italy as I immediately ran out again shrieking with laughter. Realising the worst was now over, I went back in and the water took on a calm cool, and paddling around was bliss.

 

Me on the beach in December

Then I saw a gentleman in shades walking along the beach...great. It was him. I hoped he appreciated the real life birth of Venus as I emerged from the sea. Because Zephrus was blowing a bit, and Flora was being tardy with the cape. Hauling on clothes and stuffing wet knickers into the burek pocket of handbag doom*, I casually strolled up to my friends as if it was perfectly normal to be found in the sea in December.

 

Accepting things as they happen, we jumped into this stranger's car and headed for a tour of the island. This time to the highest point. I can't tell you how cold it was at the top. In the space of 30 minutes I went from being naked and wet, to cold and shivery with 3 thick layers. Even the sheep looked a bit miserable.

 

But we stayed to watch the sun set over Vis and Lastovo. One of those truly unexpected magical moments. The cold finally drove us off the mountain and he gave us a lift back to Supertar, given we'd missed the bus. We found a warm bar and I believe there was hot punč. Puno punča. There may also have been banter as only fireman can get away with. And then the free beers from the barman arrived because he knew someone in London. And inevitably we missed the 6pm ferry. 'Let's aim for the 8pm one then?'

 

Never mind I only had my packing and flat cleaning to do. Did I mention my London-via-Zagreb flight meant a 04.30 start?


*I've since consigned this handbag to the toxic waste bin in the sky

Chunky Dunking vs Skinny Dipping

So, having lived a young life of being a "super modelesque" type build, putting on weight was a hardship I never thought would effect me so much. From silly contraception to amazing food, my body disappeared from its Marilyn Monroe figure to a more Nigella curvaceous beauty.

I started to become slightly unhappy. Instead of doing something physical and diet wise about it, I found myself looking at yet another devilishly delectable dish to feast my eyes and feelings on! Oh, yeah then I became pregnant! That was an invitation to eat what you want right?

Oops apparently not! So a size 16 and I have now a babe in arms!

I know a size 16, that's not so bad right? But when you have spent your life with lavish compliments and desire, to now almost disappearing out of sight from the roving eyes of anyone, and the compliments of "oh my god your body" with the undertones of desirous torment, now to the "oh my god your body" with bitter tone of disgust.

I became a shell, I hid behind leggings and baggy tops, I ignored my appearance in the windows, in mirrors and even shadows. I ignored the further weight gain! My weight ballooned, now a size 22 I stopped swimming... I love swimming. Diving was my thing; I would elegantly run, touch the side and disappear into an abyss of heaven beneath the surface. Now if I dived, it felt like a watering hole for an elephant, who could no longer dive from fear of the water disappearing and leaving the hole of a pool behind.

It wasn't until my sister in-law came to see me having started a diet and a regime of exercise with a
fellow friend, did I see an amazing difference in her confidence, appearance and general well being she oozed goddess qualities, those that I missed and suddenly had a craving for!

I soon began a slow process of bringing exercise back into my life, I avoided swimming: A. I was huge and again watering hole didn't seem appealing, B. I was terrified and C. I had began to accept that this weight was only going to disappear if I helped it.

So a little regime of weigh-in each week with an aqua fit class and Pilates, soon turned into to an addiction of boxing, 20-20-20 (20 minutes aerobics, 20 minutes strength and 20 minutes cardio) twice a week as well as a swim, yes, a swim.

In 10 months I had lost 3 stone! 8lb off the weight of my five year old.

I had slowly gone from a size 22 to a size 14. My mission isn't complete yet, but it sure as hell feels great to be able to stop in a window and admire myself, hear my inner self desire me! So when a holiday was booked to see my sister in-law in Croatia, I reluctantly went bikini shopping! I found out I had also dropped three breast cups; my Goodness Gracious girls had now become, Fabulous!

The moment of truth came when "we" (my girls and me) made our first debut as what can only be described as heavens door, a greenish blue hue of transparent heaven. The sky shone below as the water shined above, an almost upside down world in this Adriatic sea.

The other women here were immaculately presented for the roving eyes of men; and young boys, as we were to find out, after my 5 year old had his first look at nudist bathing! I felt awful!! But persevered I did! And two weeks of bathing and diving, I had a risen as my own version of a bronzed goddess, my own desirable. The last night there and of course my little one suggested "lets all get in naked!" So we did. All that remained on my body was my knickers! My "ladies" bobbed ceremoniously together, free from restriction!

I was "skinny dipping". The natural beauty of being in this heaven like pool, to lie back and feel the stars wash over you in the darkness touched me. I was becoming me, again. I had lost myself but, with my own perseverance I was finding me, as always!

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.

What does a lady do on a paradise island?

Is it still possible to write a 'first impressions' post about Šipan? I think so, as I've only been here full time for a week and haven't actually experienced a full Sunday yet. I had a nasty back twinge again last night and so went to bed early - probably why I'm awake with the swifts now. It's lovely to lie here with tea, and the sound of song bird, the 7.30am ferry warming up and gentle rain falling. Add to this the crunch of homemade bread and burbling coffee, and I think you've got Sunday heaven

 

Question. If I'm by the sea, why no seagulls? Why only lovely tweeting birds, not raucous screams of the gulls that are so annoying and vicious in Torquay? Perhaps it's the lack of fish n chips, rubbish and landfill...who knows. Answers on a postcard. The programme on Radio 3 this morning incidentally had me reaching for bird websites. There is an island close by which doubles as lighthouse and bird sanctuary. Wonder if an ornithologist fancies taking me round?

 

The reason for not having had a Sunday here yet is because the last one I was in Split, and the one before that I was clambering aboard the Dubrovnik ferry so that I could get the bus north. Exams and moving upheaval caused minor stress, with some serious mileage covered up and down the coast. Whether it was related, my troublesome lower back disk decided to remind me of the importance of not sitting for long periods of time, and to get my stationary studious arse jogging. Hence the reason for spending 3 days in Split, curled up willing it to shrink back so I could move again! Yes, just move...let alone carry a ton of stuff around with me, and then sit on public transport for 4 hours. Oh did I mention clubbing on Friday? As far as I was concerned, that was 'therapy', essential for back health! Happily it cleared up enough for a fabulous Friday night *misty eyed*...

 

This was partly how on Monday I could amble 'drunkenly' - so my friend Ives said - with all my bags down to the port to catch the catamaran to Dubrovnik. That rucksack was so heavy, I think I lost a couple of inches off my height. It turned out to be an exciting boat ride as the weather wasn't great to start with, but got worse and worse en route. We hit a storm around Mljet and it got 'bumpy'. Can I say that with more glee? But oh that poor guy behind me... I was lucky enough across the full seat at the front so I could rest my back, but also kneel there when it got really rough and enjoy the bounce of the waves! Never sure whether I enjoy the swoop or the bump more!

 

I had the usual ferry wait when I got to Dubrovnik, but this time only for an hour, rather than the couple of hours I had experienced previously. I had luckily only paid 20p extra for my ticket - my booked return had to be amended! Once aboard, nearly throwing my bags overboard in frustration, I enjoyed the ridiculously pretty abstract colours and shapes that the rain was making on the old tub of a ship. I was greeted by one of the aforementioned guys from the bar - fully clothed this time - and he was obviously unaware that we'd met. Then he did a comedic style double take and he wouldn't stop apologising for the evening. He took my bags and called my landlord to help. This time when I arrived, I had more to unpack so I was adamant about not being lured out for drinks.

 

A relatively quiet evening followed, and Tuesday saw me getting the second ferry of the day  (7am)back to the mainland for provisions and a trip to the police station. I was even hoping for some art. The shopping here is very limited and I really needed boring inexpensive things like bleach and washing powder. If I could live on olive oil, wine and fish, I'd be sorted! Sadly my clothes wouldn't... It was a baking hot day and when I arrived, I really did hot foot it to the first police station I saw on the map. The wrong one. I was directed to the next one just out of town, which instead of a reception, had a photocopying shop. Obviously. A country which demands paper in triplicate...they must make a fortune. The queue, redolent of boredom, sweat, and photocopy ink, was breath-taking. Clutching my own essay of paper, I asked for the counter which dealt with aliens and was ushered down a corridor to another hole in the wall.

 

From this point onwards my day went downhill and I wish I'd stayed at home washing my clothes with fish and olive oil.

 

The woman was unbelievably rude and unhelpful. I'm not going say much more because it might jeopardise any chance of me staying in the country. However the simple process outlined in Split, according to her was rubbish; if Split was so easy, I quote 'why didn't I go back there?' She said I needed a bank account here  because my English money in a fully accessible account is fake and nonsense, my printed statements off the internet are fiction, and even if they aren't fiction, how does she know I haven't spent it, and in any case I need the balance translating - how does one say £10,000 in Croatian numbers?! Not only that, but my landlord has to prove that he has registered me with the police - um, isn't she the police and aren't I on a database? Anyway, I came out of there in tears. Ona je bila picku.

 

I did the only logical thing after that. It was pointless going shopping immediately because it was 4 hours to the next ferry. Imagine the state of butter, meat and milk after a few hours in the sun! So I sat in a café and drank coffee. I've had practice and after months on Split's  Riva, I'm at least PhD level of expertise on doing nothing. I was seriously not in the mood for art after that brush with the law.

 

Finally I ambled into a large Supermarket Tommy where I was happy to spend a couple of hours. Food is always soothing. I picked up a Gimi (Moore) shopping trolley for £20, figuring it would be cracking investment for carting stuff back and forth. And proceeded to shop as if I was going to be on a desert island with no freezer.

 

Oh.

 

It's going to be an experiment and I will only know over time what sort of stuff will be useful. But I bought the usual whole chicken, a few sealed packs of sausage, veggies, fruit, flour, yeast, baking powder, milk, juice, and cleaning materials. I've never spent quite so much on one shop here (£130 which included my trolley, and a large baking tray which cost me more than an electric slow cooker at home!) but I'm hoping to make it through til my next 'pay day' on 26th June. Yup, mackerel and olive oil will become a staple! I'm already making a note of the fact that next time I should pick up more fruit juices and long life milk. I'm enjoying making bread because I refuse to wait for the ferry at midday but next time I shall Google the flour before buying. I'm not a light touch at baking at the best of times, and future attempts at rye bread might mean a trip to the dentist. I also bought the ingredients to make my landlady's cream cake recipe...! That was frivolous, fun but a waste of shopping bag space. Scratch that...it was the best cake I've ever made!

 

More and more impressed with my sturdy trolley, Gimme and I trundled back to the new port and on to the ferry, and a gentleman parked it along with the others. I fumbled for my return ticket but it must have fallen out at the police station. Bugger. He was not impressed and so I had to run and get a new one from the office. With 5 minutes before departure...would my chicken be flying solo across the waters... ? I was not having the best of days and I was wishing Dubrovnik to the far corner of the earth. And it was only 2pm. Needless to say, I made it back to the island and was happy to once again start unpacking and put a comfortingly large amount of provisions in the fridge and cupboards.

 

Did I mention I could rent out my 2 store cupboards as pod hotels? They are at least 7 foot deep, 4 foot high - that is a lot of tinned tomatoes and pasta for which I may be grateful when it's the depths of October and the ferry isn't running and there isn't even any fish. Still, mmm olive oil...

 

It doesn't need to be autumn for this place to experience weather. I mean, I've had 'weather' on holiday; Italy where we had to hastily roll up blinds to prevent the villa from taking off and being blown out to sea; iciness in northern Spain which threatened to remove body parts; rain in Russia which meant serious head injuries for the unwary. But Croatia has been spectacular over the past 4 months or so - we've had all of the above. Not to mention raging hot sunshine for a few days in April. After conversations with the farmers and vine growers here, they are seriously concerned over what is happening to the weather over the past few years. This year the fruit harvest is a disaster, the vines and olives are struggling, and who knows what is happening to the wildlife in the sea - invasions of tropical fish which are also chomping through indigenous species faster than the Italian commercial fisheries. It is basically katastrofa of the first order. Anyone who denies climate change is a complete potato head with no connection with the natural order of things.

 

Tourism is also affected by the weather and given the precarious state of virtually self sufficient Island life, visitors and their kuna offer security for the winter months. However if the weather is stormy, this tiny place with beautiful beaches, remote churches and mysterious woodlands, the colourfully dressed invasions of people disembarking the ferry will dry up. As my helpful man in the bar said, people now have access to fairly reliable weather forecasts on their smartphones; they can check before booking excursions to this out of the way place.

 

Although there are exceptions, such as today - non stop rain - days which tend to start murky, often end in glorious sunshine. There are clearly benefits to being a late riser but running when it is cool and grey is very pleasant. Especially when you get so lost you end up retracing many of your strides. Follow that with a long afternoon walk in the sun, and a late swim, and you have a perfect day. The atmosphere has also provided some sunset pyrotechnics which makes all the weather uncertainty worth it! Being distracted by one of these meant I was stuck with the option of walking home in the dark, until I realised that there was a bus back to my village at 8.50pm.

 

Transport here is interesting. There is the aforementioned bus, whose timetable is as erratic as the main road, the landlord's bicycle (not a euphemism), various taxi boats, and obviously you can walk around. The island is only about 7km long, and the two main villages are 5km apart, roughly, so it's not that much of a hardship. Unless you baulk at the thought of a dark empty road, devoid of street lighting - not that much will happen to you here, if I'm being honest. The bicycle and I have already had a lover's tiff and as far as possible away from home, its front tyre burst into... well, burst. What a drama queen! Happily, I was chatting to a very drunk fisherman from Nottingham, my landlord's other guests walked past. They offered me and the limping bicycle a ride back to Suđurađ. Phew! Today I was told that the bike was at my disposal again...after seeing him wield an axe precisely and with care the other day, I'm loath to upset him again!

 

Yesterday I returned to my perfect isolated cove - on foot - for an afternoon in the sun. With not a puncture in sight, I managed not to get distracted by the thought of the cute little Bar No Name in Šipanska Luka, and headed straight to the beach. I was vaguely disappointed that a couple of naked Germans, with a little red dingy (stop sniggering at the back) had got there before me. Still, we exchanged some witticisms about me wanting a nibble on his bread. Further guffaws were caused when they went to leave and he had problems detaching his dingy from the mooring post...after an irate few words with his lady, a soaking of his feet as he fell in, and finally taking the wheel, I waved a cheery goodbye. I don't think they heard me laughing. Ok, so people in Dubrovnik could hear me.

 

After that, I had the place to myself and I counted every single blessing I could think off and it was only as the sun was disappearing behind the mountain, that I realised I should head home for fresh chicken and noodle soup, Dalmatian style.