Two ladies go up a mountain

The mountain dominates the town; you arrive and it's right above you, you swim and the sharp rocky folds continue beneath you, and when you go across the channel, its grey/green shadow follows you like a tame wolf. And when the clouds are hiding it, the threatening mood is palpable. 

The gentle seascape of the Pelijšacki waters with its rocky beaches and domestic waterfronts would perhaps lose character without the grandeur above. Climbing Sveti Ilija (963m), I was told, is not something to be attempted lightly or alone. There were reports of venomous snakes, lethal scree slopes, probable exposure, and many other delights awaiting the deluded hiker. 

Never one to shy away from difficulty, I'd wondered how I was going to head up there without needing to warn the rescue teams. My intrepid Kollegin was the answer and we assiduously checked the weather to see which day would be best. Not too hot, not too cloudy... And finally we settled on Wednesday as an auspicious day to go up. 

I'm sure professional mountain climbers have a preparation routine where all equipment is carefully checked and itemised. Crampons, ropes, boots, Kendal mint cake... I took tampons, sandals and some bakery goods. In my defence I had a German lady who would be protection enough against all eventualities. 

We set off bright and early, and fair ran up the first part. A third of the way round we'd been climbing continuously and although the way was reasonably strenuous, the path was well marked. The wind was fresh and we made good time, all the while remarking on the velvet blue of the sea. The view was already spectacular and the town noise retreating. 

We stopped for a snack and a drink, and to add a layer of clothing because the wind was becoming uncomfortable. Eyes watering, we headed up the exposed gully until we thankfully turned onto a sheltered forest path. It was still relentlessly uphill and we nattered to pass the time. We knew that within the forest was a refuge hut and it marked where you'd turn off, heading up to where the mountain really peaked. 

By the time we reached the stone cottage our spirits were suffering a little. But it's amazing how uplifting a wooden signpost can be, not to mention evidence of other human beings. After not seeing a soul for nearly four hours we were happy to chat with fellow walkers. So we took a deep breath, some water, and followed the path up further. 

The trees disappeared to be replaced with the sharpest rockiest exposed climb yet. Until suddenly the world was dizzyingly spread beneath us; we could see the islands of Korčula, Hvar, Lastovo, as well as the mainland and the interior mountains which were snowcapped. Most breathtaking was the spine of the peninsula which disappeared off into the slight haze. We sat there stunned by the wonder of the panorama. Then I showed my appreciation by eating my cheese pie, watching the swifts catch their aerial snacks.

Many of the people on the summit were going back the way they'd come but we had set our hearts on the circular route. It was a little longer but the guidebook offered wild horses, meadows, and more flora than you could imagine. Why on earth would you miss that?

I started by saying how forbidding and grey the mountain appears, but the hidden sheltered interior is a veritable haven of wildlife. It's a natural herb garden, rockery, shrubbery, arboretum combined. The insect, bees and butterflies made the most of the late spring flowers, with wild sage blooms turning the hillside purple. Many low lying blue rounded plants looked like scatter cushions. Large daisies clustered around low conifers as if someone had put up early Christmas decorations. Empty of people, it is truly a garden of Eden.

Descending back to the refuge, and taking the track to the left, we quickly entered the pine forest. Already the windy exposed summit was a sensory memory, replaced by woodland fragrance, shade and bird song. And suddenly the whiny of a horse rang around the valley; we were in luck, a small herd had gathered at a watering hole. They were clearly used to people because as I took my camera out, they hurtled over to mug us for food. Heike had some bread and she fed them her last snack. They were friendly and extremely curious about the contents of backpacks. A wonderful encounter.

Going down was as relentless as going up. At first leg muscles were relieved about the change in motion but they became shaky and less certain. The slippery surface added to the fun! Most embarrassing were the running hikers that would periodically pass by. Running! Never mind, we were happy to take in the spectacular scenery, noting the differences between the way up and the way down.

Just as I was reaching my limit and the last drops of my two litres of water, the going became less steep, and finally evened out. We were on the road to Orebic and we saw our first olive terraces, work trucks and more people. The sea waved a warm welcome home, and invited us in to bathe our traumatised knees. As I paddled around in heavenly fresh water, I looked up at the seemingly stern mountain and realised that the stony exterior hides an incredibly special beating heart.    

Jigsaws and showers

Today has been a jigsaw day; when individual elements of your day just happen to fit together to form a perfect whole. Not that I've been doing much planning, but I popped over to see my new friend this morning because there was talk of a walk along the coast today. 

The sun was shining and the sea, once again, it's customary invitation blue. She had already been in, so after a cup of tea, I had my first dip in three days. The weather hasn't been great - cold wet and windy - but was already redeeming itself. I saluted the fish and navigated gingerly around the urchins, and enjoyed just being in the water. 

After making myself walk ready, we set off. Now, we had checked the forecast and it offered a hopeful 30% chance of rain for an hour. 

Hahaha. 

From the moment we left the village and set off on the coastal path, the torrential showers thought it would be hilarious to play hide and seek. We dotted from one tree to the next, deciding that olive was better than conifer, but fig trees definitely provided the best shelter. 

At one point, the path passed though a chalet park with what should have been a glorious view of the sea. The rain came down so heavily that it was hard to see where the sea stopped and the sky started; islands disappeared and the distant car ferry became a mythical vessel. Even the fish were leaping out of the sea to see what was happening. 

We commandeered a vacant chalet and waited until the shower passed. That was the worst and last, thankfully, and we continued along to the two little villages. By this time we were cold and damp and in need of sustenance so went looking for a place to eat. 

Oh. Out of season in an out of the way place? It meant just one place was open. There were two options on the menu; meat or vegetarian/fish (!). The garlicky calamari with the grilled vegetable was extremely good and washed down with the lemon beer, worthy of Michelin stars. 

My friend is far more assertive than I am, and wondered to the waitress if a ferry or taxi boat could take us home. This would mean that our journey would be agreeably circular. The jigsaw piece fell into place and a tiny ferry would appear shortly to stop at Orebić and then Korčula - for the princely sum of £1.50. 

The journey back up the coast was very pleasant and reminded me what I loved about boats. The thrum of the engine mutes all extraneous sounds, and the hypnotic rise and fall banishes the real world. At Orebić I was reluctant to disembark but couldn't face the inevitable bustle of Korčula. So I said cheerio to my friend, with her boundless energy,  and off I strolled - polako! - just in time for an afternoon nap. Waking later to find that the sun had come out once again. 

Danas idem u Splitu katamaranom

If I close my eyes I'm on a Thames Clipper catamaran, off to the centre of London to see some art, or go for a cocktail. Or something. All isn't quite right because if I keep my eyes closed for too long I'm going to fall asleep. What's going on here?

It's 5.50, 10 mins before this elegant craft takes off up the coast to Hvar, then arriving in Split at about 8. It's been a few days since my last adventure; I took the local ferry to Korčula on Monday and thoroughly enjoyed both my vertigo, and trip to the cake and honey shop. Both left me buzzing and slightly nauseous. But since then I've only ventured out on foot, firstly to the monastery and surrounds on Tuesday, then a jog to Moloko bay yesterday. 

This isn't normal holiday behaviour for me, where I've usually dashed around all the local sights already, and given myself a migraine getting up at early o' clock.  What can I say, I've been entirely lazy, and caught up on all my reading. Frankly it's been a rough year so far, so Orebić has been a perfect backdrop for rest. Yesterday simply lying in my light and airy bedroom, evernote in one hand, and a glass of red in the other, was one of the highlights of this trip so far. 

So with a stereo peal of bells from St Marks and some other church, we depart at precisely 6am. I'm glad that the little Orebić-Korčula ferry gets in early, because who knew you had to go into the local Jadrolina office to buy a ticket before boarding! This is when you realise that you're definitely not in London; at 120 kuna (return) this is a bargain. Split here I come...

Storm before the calm

The current persistent rain is by turns extreme and gentle. Nothing like an August Southern European storm which would be over in half an hour or less, leaving previously hot sun drenched people slightly confused. And wet. By contrast, this late Spring one has been building for a day or so. 

The evening before was perfect; the hot day had given way to an evening of the purest honey gold. Lulling lovers and amblers onto the bay to touch the reflected colours and drink in the cypress scent. But the alert birds knew better, knew that the rain was coming, and chased the low flying insects as if possessed. They were right. 

Yesterday the sky was thoroughly riled, occasionally indulging in bouts of crying. The shiny slate grey sea persistently sulked and murmured, but the mountain cloud ignored such childish behaviour and hung there, wetly, like a limp linen hanky. Like all unpredictable late spring weather, it refused to accept that after a good cry the sun should come out. So this morning remained cool and Londonly damp. 

After a day of my own private storms and tears of frustration with my own head, the continuing unsettled wet weather was a relief. I adore how the sun transforms the place, but when you're battling demons and a temperature caused by mosquito bites, it's much better when you're surrounded by cool breezes and refreshing showers. 

Yesterday the local restaurant was happy to supply me with constant hot tea, and I stayed there so long through the afternoon and into the evening that the kitchen smells became too interesting to ignore. The black risotto was recommended so I fed my dark thoughts flavoursome fishy rice. Blackness continued its theme; the stars were blanketed, and the wet tiny streets were devoid of their usual bright cheery people. 

If it was damp enough to be London, it was cool enough for some exercise. So I set out up the road on a mission to jog out my own moody clouds; I was doubtful that the brooding hills and threatening sea would lighten anytime soon but it didn't matter. The air was fresh and I got to the next bay along the coast before being caught in a heavy shower. An ancient gnarled olive tree offered some shelter and so I enjoyed the odd splash, without the full deluge. 

Once I was nearer home, I could sense the thunderstorm was immanent. I sat on a jetty meditating whilst watching the different types of clouds regroup, gather strength, and engulf the mountains. The clouds in the higher atmosphere took on dark horizontal stripes, whilst those lower down were a pale angry swirl. 

They could hold back no more, they succumbed to letting the torrential water fall. It was majestic, and a powerful climax to the days of gray. The sky has now perceptibly brightened, and like my own mood, patches of optimism have finally broken through. 

Meanwhile back at the ranch...

Healthiez

Whilst the wanderer is out making like a walrus and eating fish, something like that, it's been very quiet in Contrary Towers. As it's midweek and I'm working not a great deal is happening other than me endlessly swearing at the underground on a morning and then tourists on the evening as I march to Embankment.

The big news though is that owing to me a) forgetting to buy any bread and b) not being in the mood to make any I've c) finally rekindled a taste for porridge. This is good, right? Healthy and everything!

Especially when laden with nananas and honey.

Okay so maybe I've not quite got this one right. But at least it gives me an excuse to use the spurtle.

Things will get a little busier at the weekend as I have the offspring visiting for the bank holiday, fortunate really seeing as there might be a rail strike that would have caused me a bit of an issue if I'd headed to Norfolk. But before that I will continue to dodge the rain, forget to do things, and have very early though invariably sleepless nights.

I need a break.

Something Fishy...

The whole point of holidays, I feel, is to do things which you don't do at home. As everyone knows I love cooking but I've really neglected the culinary arts recently, so given the scope for wonderful fresh ingredients here I've been inventing. 

It's not easy and given my modest kitchen circumstances; it's been fun to challenge myself. I'm in possession of two square foot of hob and kitchen sink. There is a fridge, a dodgy grater, a broken garlic press, and various ancient pots and pans, one and a half electric hot plates; one is working fine but the other is hopeless, and gets only vaguely warm. But it's good for keeping a pan hot when you're finishing other things. 

I know a few people who would also relish this challenge - Pete I'm looking at you! Remember the fish? In the past couple of days, I've made pesto and asparagus pasta, fish in white wine, onion, tomato, and garlic sauce, and lemon garlic fish with courgette pasta. Not only this, but I've discovered that chopped fresh candied orange peel really lifts your morning strawberries; move over balsamic vinegar. 

Anyway I thought I'd jot down these simple dishes, as a reminder to over stimulated, sophisticated palates that simple is beyond good. 

Take a wobbly used-to-be-non-stick frying pan, pop on the good ring and heat a splash of olive oil. Slice an onion and fry til just soft. Fail to crush a few garlic cloves and with some salt, rub all over a sea-fresh fish. It doesn't matter if you don't know it's name, but I used one where, when eaten, the bones come out looking like a cartoon. Lay in the pan and sizzle with the onion. Add three-quarters of a chopped beef tomato. 

Eat the rest of it with a twist of salt. 

Splash some white wine over the fish and loads of fresh ground pepper. Stir. Pop an undersized lid over the pan and allow to cook - turn over once - for about ... er ... 20 minutes, depending on your cooker, the size of the fish, and how much white wine you've drunk. When it's done white flesh should come away easily from the bones. 

Remove the fish from the pan, let the sauce bubble for a bit so it's thickened. Pour over the fish and serve with lots of bread to mop up the sauce. 

Marvellous. 

The second fishy extravaganza involves lemon and courgette. Instead of onion, chop courgette, and fry with the garlic. Add the fish and allow to cook. Zest a lemon - pick out the rust if your grater is crap - and squeeze some juice over the fish. 

Remove the flesh from the cooked fish, and with the soft fragrant garlic and courgette, stir into cooked oiled pasta. The temperature was warm but not hot. In an ideal world I'd have added chopped parsley to garnish but, life is hard in this perfect paradise, so more ground pepper had to do. This was splendid with an icy white wine spritzer. 

Today I bought some kobasice and will demolish those with ajvar, and new potatoes finished in olive oil. Basically sausages with a spicy tomato, garlic, aubergine sauce. Given the asparagus need using up, I'll have those too. 

I've actually yet to eat out here in Orebić, but feel like I'm doing better food than the restaurants. It helps that it is all so cheap and incredibly tasty. I'm still hoping to lose weight on this holiday! 

Perfect Sunday

Sunday passed as if in a dream, as hazy as the ancient watery glass in the old Rectory Palace. It had started unnecessarily early with a 4.30am wake up by my ridiculous head wanting to see the sunrise over the sea. 

I indulged it and threw clothes over my nightie, and headed for the beach. I sat on the jetty in my own private world of blue monochrome; I had no idea that there were so many blues. From slate, to steel, to the palest woodpigeon feather streaks - the sun was inventing new shades all the while. Nothing was stirring when I got there but eventually gulls and swifts added movement to the colour. 

Once my head was satisfied that the sea was really there, I returned to collapse into bed. A few hours, it told me, and we could go jump into the water. Yay, I agreed sleepily, now shut up and sleep. So it did until it was bouncing up and down at about 8. 

Grabbing the bare minimum - costume and wrap - I headed to the sandy beach which was now drenched in yellows and greens; the sun had clearly stopped by the Windsor & Newton paint shop to replenish supplies, having overdosed on blue earlier. Apart from the odd local walking their dog, there was no one to admire my graceful entrance; like a reverse Botticelli's Venus, I sank into the sea. 

Who am I kidding? I dashed in like I usually do, with the finess of a large dog, or overenthusiastic walrus. It was blissful and I enjoyed every gulp of salt wash and splash. I lay back to admire the mountains above, and the greenery surrounding the beach. I resolved to do nothing but swim, read, eat, write, drink, stroll - a perfect holiday Sunday.