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.

Thermals, options...and friends

Don't get me wrong, I love it here in Split. Every summer weekend is a joy of friends, beautiful weather, lunch by the sea and living a good life. In the winter, cosy homes and glorious food warms the body and soul. And people. The amazing inhabitants I meet and admire most here are young people building lives, facing the challenging process of settling with their families.

And those people on the other end of the spectrum, the mature retired singles and couples are also entering into a new life. They have their own reasons for being here and they are happy in this overwhelmingly friendly community.

Unconsciously Uncoupling from London

Places are so important to me. But it turns out people are too...

It's strange how I always start these ramblings with a geographical and temporal moment. I'm currently in a traditional British London pub, as far away as you can get from the Riva cafes, or seaside kiosks, or buses/ferry boats that have been the birth place of many a blogpost. Still, I continue the Croatian tradition of drinking a coffee in a bar, despite the fact that the British guys are drinking a beer. I'm not sure saying where I am is really important, but it acts like a type of mental pause or new 'life' paragraph. More a confirmation that I am still here and alive, and coping wth whatever is going on. In a satisfyingly circular way, this pub was where I celebrated the leaving of my old job back in February. Events of that evening came back to me as I was strolling up to the Brunswick Centre earlier, and I recall it continued my usual leaving-do tradition. This explains why I've only had around 5 long term jobs. I just can't take my gin.

Today has been a mending sort of day, where London and I have tried to set aside some differences. I've always known my year off was to give me and my favourite city 'some space', you know, to take a break from each other. But as any person knows, if someone says this in a relationship, it's utter bullshit. It's actually a cowardly way of ending it. To be fair at least a city isn't going to throw your stuff out of the window, or post nasty things about you on social media... So even though I've experienced tears of horror, and utter culture shock about being back in this great metropolis, there have been some watery smiles of remembrance.

I class the day I mentally 'moved' to London as the day on which I had my first successful job interview. In mid September 1995, I found myself in Moorgate, the heart of City of London, terrified and elated at the same time. And on the brink of the longest relationship of my life. It's been a love affair which has transcended many others, and for twenty years I've been proud to call myself a Londoner. Even when I was away this year, I often had a yearning for the variety and atmosphere which would regularly carry me home joyously when I was truly emotionally, mentally, and physically exhausted. But as I sensed at the time I started seriously preparing for this trip, there was clearly something coming to an end between us. 

This feeling has developed into certainty over the travelling during the past week. First of all there was a brief trip to Split to round up the rest of my Croatia belongings, and then an unavoidable trip to London where I have dealt with some essential finance and health matters. In each place there was an important reconnection with some very dear friends. Seeing the contrary one in London, and the kaotic one in Split leaves me in no doubt that the personal spirit is far more valuable than the cold heart of the cities. And how I felt when I arrived was nothing short of horror at being back.

I was strangely disengaged when I was planning my time here. The change in how I am is immediately evident because as dutifully scrolled through my favourite 'what's on' sites, I found myself overwhelmed and suffering a certain level of anxiety. I stopped looking because ultimately I just don't care. I've already had a quiet meltdown in the peaceful surroundings of the Limehouse flat because of the sheer mental strength required just to face the outside world - there had also been a minor incident at a train station which had shaken me, and given me the first taste of adrenaline in many months. 

This was a shock. It served to remind me that I had been living on this drug for years, and related panic attacks were a regular part of life. These not normal, and neither should they be. As I've gone through the week and had the time to assimilate and observe the physical and mental changes, I'm succeeding in keeping my heart rate down, and ensuring my newly found calm-centre is generally anxiety knot-free. The peace has come at some cost, but I think ultimately it has been an incredible thing to capture, and I'll be damned if I lose it again. To continue the place-as-partner analogy, I'm happy to snuggle up quietly on the sofa with Šipan.

Retreating to Mljet

Some occurrences probably deserve and need no words, so I've been putting off writing about the past few days. They go to prove that 1. all plans are bunk, 2. I can be just as stupid here as I can be in the UK, and 3. home is definitely where the heart is. However the incredible island of Mljet has been a perfect retreat, and as usual the unexpected has made the trip worthwhile.

 

I decided on this trip on Monday partly at the invitation of a gathering in Split at the weekend. Ladies cackling about life, love, friendship, and universal truths over red wine, grilled meat and chocolate soufflés was irresistible. After a week of unmitigated self-inflicted heartache I needed my lovely friend in Split. So what could be better than recovering poise in calm Mljet for a couple of nights, then continuing on to Split on Friday for a change in pace?

 

It started off rockily. I missed the bus from my village to the port, forgot to confirm my accommodation reservation, had no clue where to get my catamaran ticket from, was clueless as to whether there was bus from Sobra to Pomena late at night, I'd omitted to check where I was going if I even got to Pomena, hadn't downloaded Google maps of Mjlet, and despite being aware of the crap weather on the way, didn't take my coat or a pair of jeans. Still, whether it was the havoc I'd wreaked, or just my new sheer couldn't care less attitude to travelling, I remained utterly calm amongst the wreckage. Technology in the shape of a £5 3 Europass suggested a location of my room at Barba Ive's (recommended) in Pomena, and it allowed friends and family to tell me how stupid I'd been. Situation normal then.

 

I can confirm that, yes there is a little bus which meets the ferry, and even if you are staying in the most out of the way place, tell the driver and he will make every effort to get you there. Two lost looking people showed him where they wanted to go on Google maps and he dropped them off as requested. By then I was the only person on the bus, and I got off when we pulled up in a tiny village. I stopped to consult the map and blue dot. A worried local gentleman was convinced I was called Natalie and asked my name several times. Apparently she was his missing guest and she was supposed to be on the bus. She wasn't. Oh. Perhaps I should have become Natalie as her life seemed quite interesting.

 

Walking around the harbour, it was alive with the sounds of boats, water, people and the atmosphere was party-like. In a daze I found my konoba and asked for Dažen. The poor guy was single handedly managing the busiest place I'd seen at the busiest time of night. He hastily showed me up to the room and left me to it. The room was perfect; spartan, clean, with a view to die for over the sailing boats and harbour. The windows shut out the people noise and I was cocooned in cool quiet.

 

Assuring my brother and the exasperated one that I was safe, I ventured out for a late snack. It was after 10pm and restaurants were definitely winding down. Luckily I found a quiet place - konoba Herc - which didn't mind serving me a mixed plate of salad, excellent fish pate, olives, cheese and ham, and bread with which to mop it all up. The waitress and I compared hair styles and we had a giggle, lovely lady. I headed home to my room and crashed out into happy oblivion. Until 4.30...

 

What is it with this time of the morning when you are feeling miserable? I lay there uselessly willing my brain to stop whirring. I gave sleep up as a bad job, laughing at the memory of a recent Facebook conversation about the unreasonableness of early risers who shower, flush and stomp about. As I headed out for a morning walk, there was no particular direction in mind but packed a bag for all eventualities. The fragrance and peace of the dim forest flooded through me.

 

The small lake is impossibly deep and was invitingly calm; two dogs were playing in the shallow water on the beach and when they saw me, they greeted me like a long lost friend. Running out of the water and showering me with cool salty water, they made it their job to be my guide. They would run ahead, stop, check I was ok, then carry on excitedly. I was spellbound and pathetically grateful for their doggy companionship. One worry was that the lady dog was holding her paw oddly and not putting weight on it. Perhaps a bite, or sharp object, or an old injury? I had no idea. I felt for any heat and she was happy to let me touch it but, being cautious, and not wanting to upset a strange dog, there was nothing much I could do. Still, we carried on... And her kind eyes just made me melt.

 

By 7km and three quarters of the way round the two lakes, one of the dogs had decided he had more

important business to attend to, but the other was happy to limp along with me. Occasionally she would jump in the lake for a dip. Probably should have joined her! We had shared my water and I was getting quite concerned. There were also more people around, and one of these joggers stopped to greet this new friend of mine. She asked me in Croatian why the dog was limping and I felt so guilty! Turns out she was a (non practicing) Slovenian vet and dog owner, on holiday with another vet! We gave the dog more water, she felt the paw and then we both worried. She ended her jog and we fell into conversation and laughed about the coincidence of a vet meeting a poorly dog. We nattered and we exchanged numbers, promising a coffee later. We had more in common than just animals it seemed. Broken hearts, in need of quiet, work stresses and generally being overwhelmed by life. All very familiar.

 

We took a shortcut back to where I'd picked up my doggy chums to see if there was anyone there. A conversation with a forest ranger set our minds at ease. Nelly (Neli?) was a dog of misfortune and had been badly hurt by a car, hence the paw. She was also a drama queen and enjoyed acting for the attention. I love this dog! She followed us both back into the village and collapsed knowingly at the local smoothie/ice cream joint. It had been a pleasurable morning and it was still only 9am!

 

Coffee and wifi achieved I sat down and read the news about Nice. Once again the sad words are meaningless and nothing can be said, merely felt.

 

By midday I went foraging for warm fresh bread, pate, crisps and peaches. It was time to head into the forest again, but what a difference 12 hours later makes! So many people, the day so warm and bright. A little boy and I nattered in French, he explained knowledgably that these lake weren't the sea but it was still salty water! I asked where he thought the sea was, and he looked around, so sweet. After, I lay on a sheltered bench to read in a beautiful spot. By the time I decided to move, the sun was about to put on its best pyrotechnical show, so I watched until the sky was dark, and then collapsed into bed.

 

After all, Split the following evening was going to be a late one! And my friend and I were getting really excited.

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. 

Holiday Pinks

It's that time of year again; when London and I spend time apart to 'find ourselves' or 'take a break' for the good of my health and sanity. Recent trips away have revolved around significant birthdays - not the one on Decenber though, that was just bloody minded contrariness - so it was nice just to book and not worry about being another year closer to mandatory tummy control bikini bottoms. 

Crete was the choice of the youngest travelling companion. A dour doom merchant of drama queen proportions.  Or a pre teen Yorkshire Saffa ... Middle name 'caaaan I have a saaaaandwich?'. For as long as I've known him he has been obsessed with Greek gods so I was determined to bring him to the place where history, myth, civilisation combined to change my life at the same age. 

It was also my first time on a plane, first time not on a windy tent holiday and the first time I experienced the sea as a gentle warm blue bath. It was also where I had my first holiday romance. So it was a pretty momentous holiday by anyone's standards. 

My dad had worked some legalistic miracle for the hotel owner - or indeed had his own romance - but we somehow got invited to a family christening way up in the fragrant spiky island interior. This solemn ceremony in a tiny ancient chapel led to an explosively festive affair which carried on way into the night. A group of kids welcomed me and my younger brother, as we giggled at the ridiculous dancing adults. Music filled the air as thickly as the scents of the rosemary roasting lamb over the fire. 

In this atmosphere the beautiful young man and I kissed, and we held hands for the rest of the evening. When ever we saw one another in the hotel kitchen we would smile shyly and I imagined a life in permanent sunshine with him. At 12 the hopeless dreamer could hopelessly dream. 

So when I heard the voices and traditional music last night - as well as seeing grown adults dancing with red faces, I was transported to another time and place. Where holidays experienced as a child were actually life changing and inspirational. 

Still, even now, the child in me imagines the sea and rocky inlets sheltering ancient traders and fishermen, the purple mountain crags jangled with goats bells...whilst the lithe young men practice bull fighting and the bare breasted women waved snakes. 

I don't know what this young chap will take away from this holiday. Already his swimming confidence has grown, apparently the food is divine, and today he will walk the longest gorge in Europe. But nothing is more important than the opportunity to learn, travel and be inspired.