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...

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!

 

 

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.