Once you're here, you can never leave!

There was a day to kill whilst waiting for the 6pm katamaran to Split. For this I was grateful because I was secretly dreading city hustle and bustle. To be honest I wasn't sure I was ready to leave this tiny world of quiet greens and blues. After an early walk around the smaller lake, a ramble into the village of Goveđari, I was desperate for a coffee and natter with my new friend. We had arranged to meet at konoba Barba Ive and as promised she'd brought her own gorgeous dog out for a stroll. He had the broadest smile and was happy to be fussed over. It was strange talking about stuff with a stranger, and we took turns in listening, offloading all our worries with no fear of judgement. I really hope we meet again.

 

As we talked, the weather was turning darkly interesting. And weather means serious business here. The promised storm was brewing. Sailing boats were hastily making an exit, whilst other boats were making themselves more secure. Still, I wasn't too concerned, after all the katamaran had come through Mljet a few weeks ago in terrible conditions. I paid my bill, left my rucksack, and ambled off to the beach for a pršt sandwich lunch, to enjoy a 10min nap, and finish my book. There was also an encounter with a noisy chicada.

 

The waves were now definitely alarming as I meandered back to the café a few hours later. With perfect timing, the rain arrived with my pint of beer, and it started to dawn on me that there was a distinct possibility I wouldn't be able to leave the island. I had another beer, watching sailing aficionados lash their yachts tighter to the jetty, turning them to face the storm. A Finnish couple played tug of war with the wind, whilst the white horses frolicked...

 

Putting as many clothes on that I had available, I left the bar and quipped to Dažen that I might be back. He agreed calmly *gulp*

 

The local large hotel acts as a ticket office for ferries and the first problem was my ferry was sold out. The nice receptionist doubted that it would arrive in any case, but no one could be sure. The atmosphere was getting more tense as it got closer to the arrival/departure time. It came and went with no katamaran in sight. The rain lashed down outside. I joined a panicked Spanish and French couple who were anxious about accommodation. Hm. I wondered if there was still space at Barba Ive's - logic would dictate that if I couldn't depart, people couldn't arrive.

 

We all gave the ferry up as a bad job, departing to various places, and taking advantage of a lull in the rain, I hurried back to my konoba. The usual group of people were there and unsurprised to see me. Yes, I could have my own room back! There was nothing I could do apart from have another beer, chat to the intrepid Finnish couple, sing happy birthday to the resident dog, and order a massive dinner of grilled pork and vegetable with chips. Which was presented to me 'on the house'. What a place!

 

Sadly it also meant contacting my friend in Split to tell her the bad news. There was nothing I could do, and I was told that even the famous Ultra festival had been delayed due to the rain. As the evening went by, it got colder and quieter, and the contrast to the previous night couldn't have been more marked. This island was growing on me. Then world events intruded again...this time Turkey erupted. It's hard to contemplate such a crazy man-made world when you are watching the tail end of a perfect storm, leaving only natural chaos in its wake.

 

In an unusually decisive fashion I opted to head home instead of Split. I have family to prepare for next week and perhaps the forests of Mljet and chance dog encounters was what I needed; the circumstances had perhaps read my mind. To my relief I was allowed on to the packed Dubrovnik bound katamaran, and meandered quietly back across the sea. I knew I was home when I opened the biscuits and had a cup of tea.

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 goes up...

Even in paradise, sometimes the starfish are unsymmetrical and the sharp rocks unforgiving on the feet. Today finds me off kilter and desperately prickly, leaving virtual lacerations on every poor unfortunate that comes into contact with me. I'm the human equivalent of a sea urchin, though whether I have the equivalent desirable squidgy orange female bits which cause them to be cruelly bashed open, is up for debate. We all have our stupid off days, in my case caused by the usual oversensitive overthinking, overexcitment and overindulgence. And now it is probably all over... Still on the bright side, over impetuousness has galvanised me into action. I'm going to Split with a stopover in Mjlet. 

People keep telling me how beautiful Mljet is, and due to ferry timetable snafus last year, I missed a visit then. So with this and that in mind, I've booked a couple of nights in Pomena, which should allow a quiet day or so to explore the national park. I can then continue to Split on Friday. Someone said that there was a gathering with the usual chaos, as well as a trip to Hvar on Saturday. With family and friends on arriving Wednesday, next week looks to be shaping up nicely with lashings of positivity. 

Which inevitably still leaves me pondering this rather mixed week. On Saturday I lost an opportunity for dancing due to vagueries in an address, and music clearly not being loud enough. I've moved apartments due to my landlord's accomodation logistics - although the large terrace is a plus, especially with a birthday party to organise - I've now got noisy upstairs neighbours. Admittedly I shouldn't complain, I've had a lot of restful afternoons and runaway naps which culminated in an astonishing 5am run on Tuesday. With photos as proof of this madness! As for the reasons for the other malaise; it will pass, it always does. 

Moments of triumph include many culinary delights - finally creating the perfect olive bread after weeks of tough buns! I also enjoyed flavoursome stuffed peppers, as well as creating an orange and basil polenta cake. Less tasty, I had a couple of brushes with officialdom, one intentional, one accidental. I obtained my police certificate of registration, and then later in the week tutted impatiently at Croatian dignitaries when they interrupted my evening run. Finally, the other light this week was the daily revelling in the sheer beauty of the turquoise seas. A fabulously generous invite to Lopud for pizza took me out of my reverie for a spell, only to send me back with more dark thoughts; hurtling over an inkly oily sea with a golden moon for illumination - as temporary and illusive as any search for wisdom. 

And then there were the stars. 

Sumptuous abundance of natural beauty is becoming almost unbearable here. Everything is too majestic; colours too vibrant; sounds of the cicadas deafening; the balmy air and comfortably gentle sea cocooning and suffocating; the night sky too vast and awe-inspiring to contemplate. I've tried taming it with knowledge and a phone app, but that only serves to stress the impossibly large number of zeros around time, distance, and unknowns. Despite my rational insight, this had me reaching into my Renaissance history and the Greek philosophers. Finding analogies and reflections to suit human scale and informed wonder; crabs in cancer, stars in starfish, fleeting movements of surfacing fish firework with atmospheric singeing of rocks and space debris. Always returning to 'as above, so below...'

So what has today's exceedingly tongue in cheek conclusions been? After a day on an exclusive beach with mojitos and wine spritzers, I make no apology for the bitch within because she's making me feel a hell of a lot better. 

The fatter the wealthy men, the skinnier the women accompanying them. The hairier the man, the longer the ponytail on the women. The skinnier the women, the deeper the tan and bigger the sunglasses. The more tattooed the man, the more sunburned he is. And some of the guys here have been wearing the same tiny speedos they were given as 10 year olds.

Watching expensive white fish being cleaned, descaled, and rendered  palatable reminds me irrepressibly of the sleek, perfect 'class 1' women in this madly expensive bar. Their tiny pointed noses, high bone to selectively plump flesh ratio, downturned pouty mouths, grilled to perfectioned tans, and reflective sunglasses giving them as much personality as dinner. I guess some people would find them tasty... 

Personally I prefer a nice flavoursome mackerel. Cheap and cheerful with a patchy tan. See I'm feeling better already. Paradise, with scratched legs and bedraggled hair, needs the prickles and insects to prove I'm here and not dreaming.  

Three Diets, Two Countries

There has been a pact made today. Three ladies, three diets - the cautious one reminded me this weekend that it has been a year since we embarked on a determined health kick.

 

Well, if you can call weekly clubbing, slow roasted chicken, diet prosecco/vodka and slimline tonic, walking to work, and reduced portions of pie and mash a healthy life style.

 

To be honest I was sceptical, having only once before stuck to a diet, but we managed to lose a stack of weight in our haphazard contrary way. My loss of 8-10kg - mostly boobage sadly - was achieved by eating a monumental 1100 cals a day, combined with running 15km and walking about 20km a week. Ridiculous when I look back but the results were astonishing. I think I had help from the metabolism boosting HRT, and lifting of spirits with the added huge doses of vitamin D, as recommended by my doctor. Which I can recommend if you're feeling inexplicably low and tired, especially in the winter.

 

Sadly, with my departure from British shores, the English contingent have lost focus, and seams are getting increasingly tight. Not only that but Croatian and English wobbly bits need firming. Turns out pootling around the rocks in search of fish to wave at isn't really classed as vigorous cardio exercise. And given my track record with cycling - the bike is still in hospital - I'll stick to my own two legs. So in my case, given my lack of scales (nisam sirena), I've redone my exercise plan for running with extra toning, and there will be fewer kobasice and smaller portions generally.

We've already conclusively proven that regular small portions of tasty healthy food and massive amounts of walking is the key. It's not difficult. Hahahaha!

 

Hysterically the weather in its extremes has caused a hiccup. For me, running and walking when I'm at optimal energy (11-3) isn't an option; it's just too hot. I could get up early...but I'm finding late evening runs relatively satisfactory but that limits the distance I can do. On the other hand London is preparing animals for the ark they are building on the Thames, so walking to work is an unpleasantly damp experience. I get why you would want to avoid that.

 

This past year has been a massive achievement for all of us, but life flings a lot of comfort eating causing shit around. Even so let's not throw it away. We need to remember the healthy dancing glow at 4am, the glee at fitting into new underwear, and sexy clothes, and the inability to move away from the mirror!

 

• Put that chocolate cake down! And get back on the turbo tea! I see you doing that plank baby!!
• Do not have second helpings of pork and Yorkshire pudding! Yes, madam, I'm looking at you. I'm also loving the black tights, white socks and walking shoes ensemble!
• Clare, you do not need to demolish the entire newly baked loaf of bread with half a pack of butter. With honey. Or cheese. And paprika crisps are the work of the devil!! For every beer you drink that's 10km you need to run...and yes you probably look like a dick sprinting through the village.

 

Who cares!?

 

Bring it on.

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.

That was the week that was. Sort of.

I should get up early and travel more often. In this way I may actually get more writing done because there is nothing like being on the move to get the creative juices flowing. Some friends and I in Split were once discussing the places in which we feel most inspired, and now have an answer. For me, I think anywhere which is moving, or a place where transit is immanent. Ironically once settled in a place, the recording process becomes, not a chore but certainly a little laborious. 

Here I am on my way to Dubrovnik for the day, primarily to meet someone from the UK, but also to get some plug-in mosquito repellent. Oh I'm also out of yogurt and shower gel. Strangely I'm not suffering the feverishness and allergic reaction to the buzzits and wickies that I used to have in previous years. There are only two explanations for this; acclimatisation over the past few months, or more likely, the blessed HRT. Whatever it is, I may still be a meal for them, but I no longer get sick, thank goodness. 

It's been a week of ups and downs, and some extreme emotion. Just don't get me started on the refeyredum. The transition from city to village has taken some mental adjustment and I still don't think I'm quite there yet. People are friendly and pleasant, indeed, I expected nothing less from such a hospitable place. The fault lies with me I because I'm missing friends - both in London and in Split - so much. You don't have such an incredible three and a half months, experiencing everything in a city and becoming a part of people's lifes, then retreat to a quiet island alone without a certain level of culture shock. Still, you make your own entertainment and I haven't been bored!

Monday evening saw an important bargain fulfilled. I was appointed chief washer up at the celebration BBQ in payment for the trip to Dubrovnik earlier.  Events are definitely hazy...the wine is lethal, but the Norwegian guests were lovely, and fireman's hoses are as innuendo ridden in Croatian as they are in English. Didn't laugh much... And it wasn't a late night. Oh no. 

A week or so ago after the football - the cracking Croatian team sadly fell victim to the perfidious Portuguese last night -  I met a Slovenian nurse in the little village bar. He is over here with his best mate for 3 months and they are working in a new beach restaurant just around the bay. The idea of a nurse giving up hospitals for the summer months is rather novel, but least if you fell on your steak knife or swallowed a fish bone, you'll be in safe hands. Anyway on Tuesday after a morning of sleep, bread making, radio 4 to catch up with the world, I decided to take my lazy bum out for a walk/swim. I took a detour to see what this place was like. 

Remote. As I stumbled off the 'main' track and down the goat path behind the monastery, the buzzing undergrowth was seriously alive - I'm constantly reminding myself that the snakes aren't poisonous but, goodness they make me jump. I imagined wandering back in the dark, tipsy on the local brew. I wonder if a boat would be better!? The restaurant is truly beautiful and has little wooden and canvas constructions on tiny individual terraces, though I'm told that the beer is Dubrovnik prices! Special occasions only then... The beach is small and I had no wish to make a tit of myself in front of everyone so I headed round to my second favourite beach. Stunning views along the way, as ever. 

The village is probably getting used to me coming back from the beach looking like a drowned rat. I scuttled home for BBQ veggie pasta, a shower and some suitably patriotic clothes for the football. As I got comfortable in the old mill - forgetting about the hour time difference on the BBC sports fixture *le sigh* - I was greeted by the Norwegian guests. We spent a pleasant time nattering whilst the atmosphere erupted around us. Scoring goals means letting off red flares; celebrating a draw requires diving into the shallowest part of the harbour. More red ensued...as did a trip to the hospital. Turns out the local doc was on the next island, having a quiet beverage. Who can blame him? 

Wednesday was already shaping up to be a good day as I had a catch up with a friend from Split uni planned. She works on one of the many cruise ships, and had contacted me to say she was unusually coming to Šipan for the night. I combined the walk over to Šipanska Luka with a few hours on my favourite Maslinovica beach, for swimming and yoga. I was more than ready for food and drink by the time I got to the village at 6ish. We had a lovely evening and inevitably had too much red wine...by 12.30 it had seriously started to dawn on me I was walking 5km home. Alone. In the dark. I remembered the wild boar road sign...and spooky looking ruins. And ordered another drink. Drinking buddies said I should call my landlord...with the bicycle fiasco fresh in my mind still, he already thinks I'm a trouble maker! On the bright side I wasn't going to get lost - and the moon was incredible. I had a very happy meander home, and the only wild animals I saw were in the sky as constellations. 

As a direct response to far too much wine, walking, wow, look at that sun burn, I thought a day in would be in order. So I baked some sunshine instead. I don't know what other people think when they see lemons, rosemary, olive oil and polenta but I thought cake! After the icy wind mess, I was slightly nervous - cake making and no scales never normally has a happy ending. However I can report 100% international success. And mere crumbs left by sunset... 

At 1pm I received a message asking if I wanted to kayak later. Daft question when you have sunburn, so I covered up and went out on the perfectly flat sea. Marija is an incredible tour guide and she introduced me to sea urchins as a snack. I've never actually held one and they are actually a really beautiful deep purple colour, and can use their spines to walk across the rocks. Limpets also have snack value...who knew!? We snorkelled the afternoon away, before she went back to her vineyard, and I headed home for sausage and potatoes. And cake...and nervous referendum watching. 

But the highlight of my week was undoubtably the cave of aquamarine light. Apparently it was only accessible if I was accompanied by a hot young Croat...and he would meet me at the apartment at 9ish. Bugger. Little did I realise that I would be distraught by the turmoil at home. Thankfully it seems that there is a  cure for political depression; speed boats, crystal clear waters, panic induced by claustrophobia, extreme diving and being hauled back into the small boat like a landed tuna. Not sure about needing the hot Croat but I felt privileged by people's generosity and care. Even if my dignity is in tatters after aquatic manhandling! 

All of which nearly brings me up to date. Oh and I still haven't been shopping today! Next week I shall be attempting to return to some intellectual normality and continuing my research on current awareness in the legal market. On the bright side there is a trip to Split planned. And who knows what else!

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!