That's All Folks!

I went for a final walk this morning, took my trusty camera along with me, wanting to record this beautiful time of the day, and the lovely walking track.

It is still quite shadowy at 7.30 now, and the water temperature has cooled sufficiently that I am not tempted to jump in without a towel to dry me and some sunshine to sit in. There are less people on the track – back to almost the same number as there were when I first arrived here six months ago – hard to believe that it is six months.

The café where we sit and drink coffee (guilty admission, sometimes we don’t walk far, just sit and laugh in the café) seems to have us as the only customers at this time of day.

I’ve started dishing out extra bits and pieces that I have gathered during my time here, and even went as far as doing the NZ thing and made some jars of pesto as gifts for people.

I was planning on taking the bus to Split tomorrow afternoon to start the trip home, but a friend has offered to drive me there, although it just prolongs the goodbyes – another round of drinks with my friend in Split and then onto the overnight ferry to Ancona.

And I’ve just found out that twenty members of the Planinara Klub will be on the same ferry heading for the Cinque Terra – ha, company for the journey, not just the standard fare of people returning from visiting Medigore!

So there it is – I did it. Six months. It has raced by, it has been wonderful in so many ways. It has made me evaluate the way that I (we) live in New Zealand, the culture that we have and the things that are important. It has shown me that I can live in a small space with very little around me, and shown me that I need the luxury of work in my life. And I see that it is a luxury when you don’t have it.

It has shown me that wherever you go in the world, people are wonderful. They open up their lives and their homes to you – and wherever you are, it is a smile and an open heart that are the keys to the whole shebang!

Thanks for coming with me – who knows what will happen to the long ramblings that have kept me company over my stay in Makarska – I’ve enjoyed knowing that you are there with me.

I’m sitting in a café with wi-fi (my internet in the apartment has finished) and the radio is blasting out a Croatian version of ‘Honky Tonk Woman – it is “Honky Tonk Zena” - - love it! Vidimo se, moguce druge godine!

Two Days to Go - oh my!

The air is filled with the sound of concrete mixers and concrete cutters – and everywhere you look you can see the signs of Concrete Reincarnation. The rule is here that if concrete has been laid, any man can cast it asunder and the paths are testament of years to this. Now that the tourists have gone the builders are busy.

The gym classes are busier too –women who were tied up during the sezona are now free to attend fitness classes and generally think about themselves (to a certain extent, sort of). I walked home from pilates with one of the women in class the other night ¬ - she had always said ‘hi’ with a shy smile but didn’t really say much more – having presumed that she didn’t speak English I was surprised at the conversation that we had walking home in the dark.

I asked what she did for work, and she said that she was a konobarica but that she knew that there was more to her than that. She has been working every day for the last 5 months, with not a single day off. She cannot ask for a day off or extra pay because she knows that there are others lining up behind her who would like her job. She knows that, her boss knows that – an employment issue impasse. She said that the time at the gym is the only thing that keeps her going, that she is tired and her body feels like ‘f***** sh*t’ (see, excellent command of the English language) and that she has decided to move to Zagreb and start some study. I commended her on her attitude and her English, and made the speech about the ‘world being your oyster and believing that you can do anything’. It’s the speech that my children have heard many times…. But maybe it is truer in New Zealand.

Now that the sezona has ended the first cracks of the PSS (Post Sezona Stress) are showing, with marriages falling apart and people needing counseling for depression. You see, it’s the old ‘idle hands’ thing. Having been ridiculously busy for the last three or four months¸ working up to 12 or 14 hours, 7 days a week¸ now there is nothing to do (unless you are a builder or related tradesperson), particularly if you no longer have job . That’s looking down the barrel of a long winter with nothing to do, and no money to do it with.

One thing that we talked about at dinner tonight is the financial cycle -

here’s how it goes. You don’t trust the banks because many of them collapsed during the recent war¸ so everyone deals in cash. Hardly anyone puts money in the bank – this means that not many people pay for purchases in shops by way of debit cards (our EFTpos cards) (because they have cash in the pocket not in the bank account). Shops encourage this by offering a discount for cash. If you have apartments, you make your guests pay in cash, Euros please. None of this goes in the bank, and it simply flows into the hands of builders for more apartments, or new cars, boats etc. If you are accounting for your apartment income to the tax department (a few do, ok, maybe 4 do), you underestimate the occupation rate and the number of rooms that you have – easy to miss that corner apartment. The sum total of this cycle is not very large if you are the government trying to collect taxes to support the infrastructure of the country.

The flow on from that is that if you have a legitimate job, you pay a huge amount of tax to cover the others that dont. The formula is that the population is declining (able bodied men who hadn’t yet gone forth and multiplied were killed in the war, and women are having less children, often only one) plus the high unemployment rate, less the cash society means that those suckers who are doing the right thing are taxed within an inch of their paypacket to ensure that there is money under the government’s mattress to run the country. No mean feat when corruption is high and personal pockets are being lined…

Today was my last day with the rowing kids – just starting the goodbyes.

Had coffee after rowing with a rowing mother who has become a friend - Dinner out tonight with friends… lunch tomorrow with friends…part of me just wants to creep away, jump on a bus and disappear, (I hate goodbyes) but another friend wants to drive me to Split and stay and have drinks until the ferry sales in the evening. I feel privileged to have made such lovely friends and I will miss them. (this is one of my girl rowers!)

Zagreb - Finale

So, final dissertation on Zagreb, then I will stop.

I decided to take a cycling tour of Zagreb, despite my misgivings about bike seats (based on French experience).

They said to meet in front of the Mimara Musej at 10. Adila, our guide, was pleased to know that I was from New Zealand as it would seem that the results of a survey (apparently not the same guys from Contiki who decided that NZ women are promiscuous) were in the paper that morning, and that NZ was listed as fourth in the world as the place to do business – easy administration, trustworthy, absence of corruption, (loose women) etc- , and feeling disillusioned that morning, she had googled our country to see if she and her husband and children could emigrate there (immediately). The population of our country may increase soon by four… (your thoughts Diana?)

There were only two other customers, an American couple, so the four of us set off. I wanted to see if I could sneak the bike into my backpack, it was so wonderful! Such a seat, such handlebars!

The tour was three hours of basically getting the layout of the inner city – stopping at various places for history lessons, comment and local themes – you know, politics, Tito etc. It made us appreciate the real town planning that went into the city at its inception. There is a wonderful horse-shoe shaped green belt with glorious trees and ponds with statues and fountains, all donated by the founding citizens. These parks were full of people sitting, walking, relaxing in the sun, and staring at the idiots on the bikes.

There are university campus’ scattered throughout the city and so the streets are full of young people, which adds to the dynamic feeling of the city. People from Zagreb compare the city to Vienna. People who don’t live in Zagreb say that the people who do live in Zagreb and say things like that have delusions of grandeur…

We followed the trams along the tram tracks, wended our way through pedestrians on the footpaths (the Americans kept ringing their little bells), and glided through parks.

At the end of the three hours, I doubled back to check out the Museum of Broken Relationships. The concept of this museum was dreamt up by a couple as they separated, to deal with various things left from the relationship that they couldn’t decide what to do with. It has developed almost into a therapy of sorts for people from all over the world who have items left from relationships that they wish to put ‘somewhere’ to emotionally close on what has perhaps been a traumatic severing.

Interesting concept, and I thought that it would be quirky and amusing, which it was for the first few exhibits. (Aside - The original (separated) couple have continued to travel the world together exhibiting the museum and there are all sorts of whispers about whether they will get back together – the world loves a happy ending).

The reality of it was slightly different, because never having personally been vitriolic at the end of a relationship, I was taken aback by the emotions in the stories which accompanied the exhibits!

There was an axe – the donor, a guy, had been in a relationship with a woman who decided after a few months of moving into the guy’s house( with her furniture), that she had fallen in love with the neighbour (a woman). They confessed, said that they were going to go away for a fortnight together and then she would be back…. And so for each day that she was away, he chopped up a piece of her furniture!

There was a wedding album with the accompanying message – ‘married 2004, cheated 2005. If you ever develop enough culture to visit a museum, I hope that you will understand what you did to me!”

There were 9 different rooms each filled with themed momentos, each with their own anger and their own story. When I left, I felt infused by a negativity that I didn’t recognize as mine.

To move on from that feeling, I decided that a visit to the Mestrovic Gallery (with a ‘sh’ and a ‘ch’) would be a good solution, which it was, thankfully. Mestrovic was a twentieth century sculptor and architect from Croatia and is arguably the greatest sculptor of religious subject matter since the Renaissance. He is the first living person to have a one man show at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City.

His work is situated in what was originally his house in Gornji Grad. It is a beautiful setting, and his work is magnificent, worked in brass, marble and wood. The statue of Gregory of Nin in Split (you know, the one that the tourists (including myself) have photos of themselves taken whilst rubbing his big toe) is one of Mestrovic’ works, as is the Fountain of Life in Tito Square in Zagreb. Come to think of it, I think that that is one of the suggested name replacements for the current reference to Tito!

Basically at that point I had run out of time. Dinner and wine were calling before the late flight back to Split. *sigh*. Yes, Zagreb. Lovely.
(Big shout out to my friend in Zagreb - thanks, it was wonderful!)

Zagreb - Part 2

Ok I give up – the images that I can find on the internet are copyright protected and I can’t add them to the text. Sorry – you can of course search the images yourself if you want to see what I am talking about…(grandparents, ask your grandkids how to do it).

I want to talk about erasers – I’ll say erasers, not rubbers, in case you get the wrong impression of what I am talking about – this is a family blog after all.

Croatian politicians have a passionate relationship with erasers. If something doesn’t suit, rub it out. Gone, justlikethat.

History no longer suits? Rub it out. Street names no longer appropriate? Rub them out and change them. I was joking with a friend in Zagreb (or maybe not joking) and suggested that all street names should be in pencil to make it easier to change them. Or maybe just blackboards and a piece of chalk.

Ban Jelacic Trg is the main square in Zagreb – it was the trading place for the various craft guilds when the two towns (Gradec and Kaptol) existed on either side of the creek. It also contained a spring for water supplies so it was an important place. It was named Harmica originally, and then in 1848 when Josip Jelacic became the first ‘ban’ or ruler it was renamed Ban Jelacic trg. A magnificent statue in his honour dominated the square – sword raised in Hungary’s direction! Take that Hungary! The creation of the position of ‘ban’ was the start of independence from Austria, so a fairly important part of history.

But then came Tito – Jelacic was then derided as an Austrian Collaborator – they rubbed him out, removed the statue and put it into storage (not under the bed, it’s quite large) and renamed the square Trg Republike!

Oh, but then came the independence of Croatia and they rubbed out the republic notion and out came the statue again! It dominates the trg again.

Now Tito is out of fashion – they have merrily rubbed out any references to him – I think that the last reference is to the beautiful theatre in Tito Square – and there are discussions (oh, there are always discussions!) about getting out the eraser again!

Near the large railway station there is another magnificent statue – Kraj Tomislav. He was the first King of the Kingdom of Croatia – in 925. He was acknowledged as such by Rome. But… the eraser is sliding out of the pockets again – there are discussions (there always are) that perhaps his mother was not Croatian (maybe Bosnian or Serbian – can’t remember which) and therefore not an appropriate hero for the now independent Croatia. The discussers are suggesting that perhaps he wasn’t actually ever really legitimately crowned, maybe the ceremony wasn’t conducted correctly, and so the crown may fall – and down will come the statue and the eraser will deal with the history books! I love it!

We were chuckling about the passports – When the country (under Tito) was Jugoslavia the passports were Red – Red for the glory of communism. When Croatia became an independent country, with great haste the passports were changed… They must be Blue Blue, not Red – divorce yourself from the connotations of the Red, Blue! And they no longer refer to Jugoslavia – you were not born in that country even though in fact, if you were born more than 20 years ago, that’s where you were born – the eraser has removed that country too.

The chuckle was because as Croatia inches towards EU membership, guess what colour the passports will be….RED!

Zagreb - part 1

Now, if you are one of those people who say that you buy Playboy Magazines for the articles and don’t look at the pictures, then this blog is for you – I went to Zagreb and didn’t realize that the battery was flat on my camera… so there is an article but no pictures!! Ja sam glupost! I am stupid. I couldn’t believe it at first.

And then I thought about it some more and decided that maybe sometimes we are so busy taking photos of things that we forget to look at them. (Don’t you hate it when I put a positive spin on everything?)

Well. Zagreb. My first impressions (arriving at 8.30 at night) were that it seemed very clean and tidy and organized. These first impressions still hold true.


Do you want history? Briefly? Most of what I can tell you I found out from the Musej Grad Zagreb – the city museum set up on the Gornji Grad (or upstairs as it is called) in the old town. Please be impressed – I am a bit of a speed museum visitor – my concentration for museum visits is short. This museum was so (quiet and uncrowded) that I spent two hours in it! A new world record for me. It was beautifully set out in small rooms, each room chronicling the next step in the history of the city. It was as though you only had to take bite-sized amounts of history in each time you went into a room so it wasn’t so overwhelming. Next time you visit Zagreb, promise that you will go there.

Here we go… (and I'm trying to work out how to insert images from ‘another source’ ( I know you are visual people and I don’t want you to get bored – forget about the Playboy conversation, you can look at the pictures).

Zagreb is a city with a rich history, dating from Roman times.
Old Zagreb was two settlements situated on two neighbouring hills: Gradec (also known as Gornji Grad) and Kaptol, with the houses lying in the valley between them along what used to be a creek (it is now a beautiful cobbled street lined with cafes and sunshine).

Over the creek and between the two towns was a bridge over which the people of the two towns would meet to trade insults and throw a few stones. Only once was there ever any real squirmish on the bridge where a couple of people died. The bridge was then called ‘krvav most’ – “bloody bridge’. The most spectacular thing about the bridge is that there isn’t one. Not a bridge in sight. It stands at the top of the disappointment list for tourists who really really came to see this bridge.

The Cathedral in gornji grad has had a tumultuous past – it was originally consecrated in 1217, but later in 1242 it was damaged by the raids by the Tartars. After 1263 it was restored and rebuilt. Fearing a Turkish invasion, the Bishop of Zagreb had the fortifications built around the Cathedral and his residence. The Turks didn’t ever reach Zagreb. Then the Cathedral was badly damaged in an earthquake years later and an Austrian architect (Bolle) was sent for to reconstruct and modernise the building in the Neogothic style.

In the museum there are pieces of the cathedral which were removed including statues of the disciples from around the main doorway. What fascinated me was the removal of one part of the façade which clearly shows the triangle with the eye in the middle – the unmistakable symbol of goddess worship. There was a lot of reluctance from parishoners to let go the female part of the deity lineup, and the church leaders were forced to include Mary as part of the church.


The other fascinating thing (for me) was that the church was re-built in sandstone in keeping with the style of the remodelled cathedral. Sandstone goes a beautiful dark colour as it ages. But the people of Zagreb want the clean white colour. One of the local women told me that she has never in her life seen the cathedral in all of its glory, because there is always a part of the building shrouded in scaffolding while the façade is cleaned.

It’s a lifetime career. Start at one side and by the time you get back to the start it is dirty and you need to start again. Do it slowly and make it last even longer!

The only remaining part of the fortification around the upper town is the Stone Gate – this has become a shrine to Mary and is more popular as a place of worship than the cathedral. The story goes (and I’m sure it is accurate) that during one large fire which threatened the city, all that was left in one pile of rubble was a picture of the Virgin Mary, untouched by fire. Candles are lit at the shrine under the Stone Gate, and plaques are attached to the wall giving thanks for specific things that people don’t want to let pass without acknowledging.

Walking across the quiet deserted trg Sv Marko (where is everyone, and why are those men in dark suits standing around the corners of the square with those ear pieces attached…)
St Marks Church – spectacular from the outside but locked so I have no idea what it was like inside – the roof is unusual.

But the thing that this wee trg (square) is famed for is the witch burnings! Over 400 years , 140 women were convicted of witch craft but the death penalty of burning was stayed in most cases. In 1756 Maria Theresa banned the death penalty for witchcraft.

In the museum there is a list of women who were convicted of being witches, and the sentence meted out. A couple died in the dungeons, but those who were burnt at the stake met their fate in this beautiful square. Imagine!

The witch hunts on the square are now limited to the normal vagaries of political life – because this square is also where parliament sits. And seeing as you mentioned the Prime Minister Jadranka Kozor, she who is leading the Anti Corruption campaign, beating the anti-corruption drum, she who was the former PMs deputy, who handed him over to the powers that be when he was charged with corruption… and twas also she who signed the same documents that have him in the proverbial, but she says that she had no knowledge of what Sanader was up to because she didn’t read the documents that she was signing. Everyone needs a deputy like that, particularly if they then step up to lead the country! Attention to detail being a necessary part of being a Prime Minister – it’s in the job description. Oh, and taking responsibility for one’s actions is also in the job description I think – I’m sure I saw it in the fine print..

And it was the body guards of all the politicians waiting by their big black diplomatic cars that I had observed in the square. It was the first day back for parliament the day that I was wandering around. We wondered if they were discussing whether it was worth trying to push through and have an election this year, or whether they should just close their eyes tightly and hope that no-one notices if it doesn’t happen.


That’s enough for now – I am a bit sleep deprived. More tomorrow.
Maybe with pictures.

promaj

I had an interesting discussion this morning about a phenomenon that I have touched on lightly (so lightly you may have missed it), and for the sake of correctness, we will call the phenomenon ‘promaj’ because that is in fact the correct term for it. The discussion had to be brought to a hasty end because the person I was discussing it with was taking the conversation as a personal slight on their intelligence. Whoops.

Translations of concepts that run so deeply in a culture are often difficult - often, the English words used (or any other language, not to be blaming the English language) just don’t do the concept justice, just don’t go deep or wide enough. Or take into account the ‘ooohh’ factor.
The closest that I can come up with is ‘draft’ … but more deadly.

Not to put a too finer point on it, you are committing a cultural sin to have a draft in your house here. Two windows open and you are playing with the devil. Even in the middle of summer, searingly hot, you are risking your health having a cross-draft blowing through your house. If I am to believe what I am told, the following illnesses could ensue – bells palsy, migraine, rheumatoid arthritis, multiple schlerosis, and the common cold.
The draft thing extends from the house into the car – again, no breezes. Keep those windows shut – or maybe just one at a time (goodness, I’ve been in cars with breezy air con fans… - different thing? Oh, ok..)

You are well-advised not to go outside after a shower without drying your hair – one person told me that you should wait an hour before going outside after washing your hair – because the same sorts of illnesses await you. And don’t even ask how many people have told me that you shouldn’t wash your hair when you have your period, or in the evening just before going to bed. (Just a thought.. is sea water different from shower water in terms of its power to make you sick?)

Definitely no ice-cream eating with bura blowing – you will have a cold justlikethat!

I remember this sort of conversation with my grandmother with comments like ‘wear a longer shirt because you will get a cold in your kidney’. None of which the teenage girls of my generation or this generation ever suffered from, despite ignoring the well-intended advice.

The reason that the conversation started was because I was asking about the number of people here who wear brace-like supports around their waist when they are on a motor bike. I presumed that this was because people had issues with their spines – you know, these braces look like the ones that men wear when they are lifting weights. But I am not in a town of people with bad backs, but a town of people who are protecting their kidneys from a chill. Does the company selling these particular braces really have a morbid concern for the welfare of the collective kidneys, or is it riding on the popularity of the collective belief in promaj?

I mentioned the concept of Critical Thinking the other day. As a nation, dare I say it, New Zealanders are taught to question - and we do. Authority, government - sometimes to our parent's despair and to our detriment. Is this part of that?

Perhaps I need a more scientific approach to this - and so would ask that if anyone living outside Croatia, where they do have cross-breezes in cars and houses, and they don’t wear kidney protectors, (or knows personally anyone who has developed Bells Palsy as a result of having wet hair in the wind), could send me some statistics of the illnesses mentioned above, we could then have a discussion on it. Damn and blast – I may have to leave the top on my car until we have a conclusion on this one!

And in the mean time I am going to go and put a plastic bottle half filled with water on my front garden to stop the dogs from soiling the path….

Looking forward to hearing from you on this one.
(I’m off to Zagreb for a couple of days…)

oh, and I found a new cousin...

FKK

I sensed a few raised eyebrows when I mentioned the nudist beach.

Croatia has the most nudist beaches in the world (or we could call them Naturist Beaches), that is, official ones. And some of the most beautiful.

In fact the only beach around Makarska which isn’t nudist is the main one, the one that is jam-packed with up to 10,000 people in the sezona, and who wants to swim there (that’s a rhetorical question). All of the other beaches in walking distance are clearly marked with FKK.

I had worked out that that sign spray painted on a rock delineated the ‘with clothes at your option’ from the main stream beaches.
I didn’t however know what it stood for, so merrily looked it up on Google with my (and your) education in mind. FKK - Freikorperkultur - German for Free Body Culture. Which comes as no surprise because it is the Germans and the Dutch (apart from the Croatians) who are very comfortable wandering around the beach bez kostim za kupanje.

The main beach at Tucepi makes it really clear with a big sign with FKK, with a line crossed through it, but the ones at either end are FKK – the one at the Podgora end even has cafes to sit at.

And to be honest, I admire the fact that the people on the beach just don’t care about their body shape, or whether others will judge them for being overweight or no longer sylph-like – because most of the bodies are over 50, and our bodies don’t look like supermodels, and do have some mileage on them at that age.

I guess it fits in the same basket as my comments regarding the over 60 year old bakas (grandmothers) that I sometimes join on the beach in the morning after rowing (although they have disappeared now that the weather has cooled a bit). They are all in bikinis, and completely comfortable with themselves. And correct me if I am wrong, but that would raise an eyebrow in New Zealand. I know, because I have raised an eyebrow at myself still wearing a bikini, telling Danica to please tell me IMMEDIATELY it is time for me to stop wearing one, and I ain’t 60 yet! Here, I have even bought a smaller bikini – who would have thought!

So there it is - the positive side of beach culture here in Croatia.

Still not completely sure about those boxer speedos on the men, but guess I have a couple of weeks left to get used to them if I really put my mind to it.

Nugal

I launched myself out of bed at 7 this morning to run/walk to Nugal beach –my all favourite place to run to. I’ve talked about this beach before (through the forest for 2.5 kms) but not sure whether I have mentioned that it is a nudist beach – of course, the options are there – top on, top off etc. Some do, some don’t.

It takes me about 20 minutes to run there (I walk through town for the first 5 minutes – you don’t run in town, people would stare – and it’s hilly, ok?), have a swim, and then 20 minutes back again – no nicer way to start the day. This morning I passed a guy on the track, carrying his groceries – potatoes, bread etc. I was intrigued because each time I have gone to the beach lately, I have seen this same guy. But why the groceries to the beach?

I was just getting ready to run back again and he arrived at the beach – I asked him about the slaters which are on absolutely every surface today – every rock, every tree root, even on the beach. He said that they are buba -seems they are brought out by the heavy rain – then got the courage to chat to him and ask him zasto (why) he has krumpir at the beach. He said that he has been coming to Nugal for 28 years and each year spends time with the same group of friends – and they like to build a fire and cook their rucak (with a ‘ch’), their lunch, and eat it together. He was disappointed at the market this morning because there was no kukuruz – sweet corn- so the potatoes were going to have to do for lunch today. What a lovely thing to do. I had noticed the smoke stained rocks at the far end of the beach…

And that got me amusing myself as I ran back, thinking about another guy that was at Nugal one day. He was there with his wife and three young daughters – they were in kostim za kupanje (togs) but he opted for no togs, completely comfortable with his own nudity. His daughters had goggles and snorkels to play with in the sea. I was trying to work out which country they were from (him particularly) and decided maybe that small island called Weirdo, or the larger island of Very Odd.

Now, where he seemed comfortable with his own nudity, he seemed more than interested in everyone else’s situation. He stood knee deep in the water, facing the beach with what one can only describe as a fevered brow. Each time anyone, man or woman (and only if they were naked) headed in to the water for a swim, he grabbed the snorkel and goggles from his poor bewildered daughter, and immediately snorkeled towards the naked swimmer, getting as close as he could to them, sometimes within 60 cms! It was plain for all to see what he was doing, but I was intrigued to see that his wife wasn’t bothered by his behavior. The rest of the beach were laughing and pointing. I don’t know what he thought – maybe he thought that the minute he put the goggles on he became The Invisible Man! The faster he swam towards a naked body, the faster the people walked further down the beach away from him. I was waiting for someone to push his snorkel under the water!

It’s a great little beach – because of the longish walk, there are not so many tourists there, it isn’t crowded, it is beautiful and as you can see there is always something to amuse me (I’m easily amused). By the afternoon it is mainly locals who head there for a swim after work – and then as the sun goes down it is a lovely walk back home again. Who can argue with that. (And will I find somewhere similar to go to on my way home from work when I get back to Auckland…. *sigh*)

Zubar

I don’t think that I mentioned that I went to the dentist the other day – I was inspired by another traveler who was getting his teeth attended to here because it is cheaper than in New Zealand. Apart from which I am hopeless and haven’t actually been to the dentist for years.

He was very sweet, and after inspecting my teeth carefully (and making me watch what he was doing on a screen above my head) he said that they are ‘good, but you brush too hard and the legs of your teeth are naked’.
I just thought that I would share that with you.

Today I had to go back to have two small holes filled. I don’t go to the dentist often because I am pathetic - but this guy managed to drill and fill my tooth without my feeling a thing. And he was funny. He told me not to eat but that it was ok to go to yoga. (For those detail people, an injection and two fillings in neighbouring teeth, 500 kuna – approx $110. I told you – cheaper.)

By the time I got back to my apartment the temperature had dropped to about 14 degrees and it was nearly 7 o’clock so, taking the Dr of Stomatology at his word, I helterskeltered up to yoga – a good 10 minute walk. Yesterday at this time of night it was 28 degrees.

We talked about ‘justlikethat’ before – and justlikethat, summer has ended. I considered taking an umbrella in case it rained again, but it would have been a waste of time. I did have to wear a sweater. During class as we did the loud ‘exhale breathing’ the wind was competing, dragging the branches of the trees across the windows and whistling through any little gaps that could be found. It’s not quite bura, still that dangerous jugo wind (no heart attacks, no migraines – in case you wondered) but bura is on its way. And it’s so dark already.

What I do love about this town is that it feels so safe – the night lighting is poor and it is dark but I have no concerns at all about wandering through town by myself. I’m sitting here writing this waiting for my medaljoni s spinatom (with a ‘sh’) to cook (hey what else can you do on a double gas burner) and the wind is working itself up to a beautiful crescendo, taking the terrace chairs with it. I love it. The percussion instruments have finished their grom-bling, and now the orchestra will concentrate on the wind instruments! I will sleep with the shutters louvred open and listen to it all night.

Summer Wine

I’m nearing the last of the summer wine.

The weather is about to change and it will be autumn. The weather forecast last night showed that the whole of Croatia is heading for a storm. I woke to slab jugozapadanjak (weak jugo wind) as promised, with dark clouds gathering above Biokovo.

I raced out to the posta (with a ‘sh’) with a box of things that I need to send home – precious things like my tramping boots. Who knows, I may tramp in Auckland now that I have such flash boots.

That done, I sat in plava kava and read the newspaper, skipping through the many pages discussing the soccer games, reading about the population crisis facing Croatia. The weak wind was forcing its hand and becoming strong enough to deposit dust into our coffee cups. The forecast in Slobodan Dalmacija confirmed the change in weather – thunder, lightning, heavy rain.

I was engrossed in my reading when a friend stopped to chat – I told him that I love this warm wind and he gently admonished me, telling me that it is a dangerous wind – people have heart attacks in this wind, and suffer from migraines. I will have to watch myself.

Within five minutes of returning to the apartment there was a loud clap of thunder and the rain came down, retribution for the last two months of stifling heat and blue skies.

And justlikethat it has stopped, leaving a lovely warm wind (I’m aware of my heart beat). Dedicated Weather Watchers tell me that it will rain if there are ‘fluffy caterpillars’ clinging to the craggy peaks of Biokovo, and I can see them up there still.

The grapes are being picked for the new season’s wine and one of the cafes was pressing grapes the other day for the start of the wine making.

Over the next few weeks there will be family outings up the hills to pick the olives for the first pressing of oil. I hope someone will adopt me for the day so that I can be part of it – I’ve got so many things I want to do and see yet!

Ambling along the pine forest track from the beach yesterday (grabbing the last of the summer rays) I heard the distinctive sound of New Zealand accents – two compatriots from Nelson, loving Nugal Beach, the temperature and the hospitality of the country - another immigrant’s daughter wanting to see where her family comes from. We walked back together and sat in a café, comparing notes and experiences.

I have to say that New Zealanders are an intrepid lot. Like me, this guy was drawn towards Biokovo, and so this morning he had started out at 5 to climb up to Vosac – by himself. He obviously didn’t know about how Dangerous it could be, and no Drago to show him the error of his ways - he had no phone, shorts (!), unaware of snakes etc, but did have food and water - he just did it – because that’s what we do. There were a group of young people leaping off a high cliff last week, and listening as I walked past, heard the NZ accent again. You see – cliffs are for doing bombs from, mountains are for climbing.

So, the last of the beach, the sun, the tourists, and my time here – the last of the summer wine.

Korcula

The day after I came back from Sarajevo, with the memories of crowded buses and smokey trains fresh in my memory, Branka told me that she had to go to Korcula (with a ‘ch’) and would I like to come too.

The thought of another bus or ferry didn’t appeal initially, but Korcula is a beautiful place… and I enjoy Branka’s company.. so zasto ne? (with a ‘sh’).

We left the house at 6am to drive to Ploce (again). Ploce would go down in history as the ugliest town that I have seen for a while but it has a port for ferries, a bus station and a train station. Branka has planned the journey with military precision (little bits of papers with bus times, ferries times – she has even called the tourist bureau in Trpanj to check the connecting buses.)

Time for a quick velika kava s miljekom before we board the 7.30 ferry for Trpanj on the Peijesac Peninsular and plenty of time to read the paper together and discuss the issues.

(Bit of an aside – the Prime Minister of Croatia is Jadranka Kosor – she is the one who said that ‘she was going somewhere the day after yesterday’ – remember? Anyway, it has come to pass (and to the media’s attention) that she used what is known here as ‘black funds’ to fund her political campaign at the last election. Her political party is known as HDZ. These are funds that have been scooped off the top of government funds by various means and pocketed for her specific party’s needs.
One of the party faithful who is now perhaps less faithful, kept a paper trail as she was required to do, but then buried the papers in her back yard, perhaps knowing that all tails turn in the end.

When she was questioned about the ‘black funds’ she miraculously produced the papers which showed where the funds had come from. When Jadranka Kosor was asked again about the funds, she was ‘very surprised’ and said that she ‘had no idea how this happened’ and that she ‘certainly had no knowledge of it’. The article in the paper very cleverly suggested that perhaps at the time that the decision to take the funds was being made, Kosor was ‘perhaps doing needlework, writing love poems or collecting serviettes’. There could be no other explanation for her not being aware of the funds.) Ha.

So. The ferry and Trpanj. It’s about an hour on the ferry and then on to a bus to take us across the narrow strip of land to Orebic…. But the best laid plans of mice and men… the bus timetable had been changed the day before and there are now only two buses a day – we have missed the one in this direction, and the return one comes back at 2.20 to fit in with the school children. Shrug of shoulders.

Well, says I, always with a plan¸ we will hitch-hike. We weighed up the odds (two sensible middle-aged women), decided not to let Branka’s children hear about it (bad role models) and put our thumbs out. Half an hour and only two cars later, both of which indicated that they were not going further than the next street, and a taxi van stopped, on his way to Orebic.

Plain sailing after that – took the 12 kuna ferry across to Korcula town- double checked the bus time for the return to the ferry (of course there was nearly two hours to kill between the bus and the ferry, but there would be cafes.)

Branka raced off to her seminar (school psychologist’s seminar on Critical Thinkng- goodness, where would you start) and I wandered around the old town.

It is beautiful. The steps leading up to the main entrance and the towers on the sea side are majestic.

The light is beautiful coming through the narrow streets (ulice ). The town has been cleverly designed with the west streets opening straight out to the sea to take the benefit of the maestral wind, and the east streets curving away from the cold Bura Wind. Talk about town planning!

There are three churches – the beautiful St Marks Cathedral and another one which dates to about the 13th century.

I went into the museum which had a display of pieces by the sculptor Frano Krsinic (with a ‘sh’ and a ‘ch’). The museum was 15 kuna entrance fee – I waited for the lady to get off the phone to take my money – she didn’t so I went on in, clutching my coins – on the way back she ignored me as she continued to talk on the phone so I ignored her and left. We were the only two people in the place. I’m becoming a local.

Rumour has it that Marco Polo was born in Korcula – who can refute it – and there is a museum set up in his birth house.

Korcula Island was one of the many places that was devastated by the bacteria phylloxera which destroyed all grape vines in the 1920’s. In an area that was already facing an economic crisis, and where the local people’s main income was from vine, the only thing that was left for them to do was to emigrate – eleven thousand people left Korcula for South America, New Zealand and Australia.

It was an incredibly hot day (some had the situation covered with hats – what? Chinese tourists?) so I sought the comfort of a jewellery shop with klima – ja samo gledam (I’m only looking) I said.. but I have bought from this shop twice before – my favourite shop, my favourite jeweler. Best range of filigree earrings and necklaces I have seen. I have a new necklace now.

We managed to get back in one piece – ferry, bus, ferry, car. Definitely wouldn’t say this is the easiest way to get to Korcula – but it was an adventure. And don’t tell the kids that we hitch-hiked.

Sarajevo - Final Day

Having talked about the horrors of the war in Sarajevo

(and yes, those are just a few of the thousands of graves in the moslem cemetery - most dated between 1992 and 1995), how about some positivity! Oh, and maybe a gripe about smoking. Moguce (with a ‘ch’).

In my wanderings around the city I took a lot of photos to try and capture the feeling of the place.

It was the first day back at school for the children and so in the morning the streets were filled with kids catching up with friends after the holiday sezona, the little ones all shiny and new with big smiles, and the older ones very cool with their aviator glasses and tight jeans (kiss kiss on each cheek). The school day is held in two shifts so at lunchtime the streets outside the schools were clogged with school kids again - kids arriving, kids leaving, mothers catching up with each other – a bit of a universal thing, the mothers catching up at the school gates. Not the big issue with cars depositing children at school here though – kids here still know how to walk, some were on bikes and a big swarm of them used the tram. The shops were full of signs offering posput or akcija for the return to school (discounts, special offers – you know the drill).

I wandered around taking photos of the churches of all denominations. I found the Glazba Skola (with a ‘sh’) – remember, I told you that Music Schools are important, and that every town has one. A love for Classical music is important, as is learning a musical instrument. Young people were traipsing into the beautiful old building with violins, guitars and clarinets.

Near the National Museum gardens I found tombstones which date back to medieval times.

Sarajevo has a history of tolerance for all the different people who have gathered there to live – maybe this is because the city was always a cross-road of sorts. When the Ottomans annexed the area to their empire (15th Century), the city developed quickly both economically and culturally because caravans arrived from Venice, Vienna, Central Europe, the Mediterranean, and the east through this area. In the Bascarsija area there were 50 ‘hans’ or inns set up to accommodate the travelers. Necessity being the mother of what it is (you know), there emerged the first leather craftsmen, black smiths, saddlers¸ millers and bakers. The streets in Bascarsija were named after the crafts practiced there.

Under the Ottoman rule the tolerance of other religious creeds was apparent. The Ottomans built mosques and hamams – the Sephardic Jews settled in Sarajevo when they were expelled from Spain (1492ish), and both the Orthodox Christians and Catholic churches were present. A real cosmopolitan mix. The Jewish Museum has a whole wall dedicated to stories of Bosnians who risked their own lives to protect and hide Jews during the Second World War.
 
Check out the names on the death notices outside one of the mosques, and you will see what a mix this city has become.

One of the features of the city of which Sarajevo is very proud (it features as the selling point on the free tourist brochure) is the fact that in 1659 there were more than 110 public drinking fountains. Sarajevo is one of the few European cities th

at has had a water supply system for more than 400 years – houses had running water piped into them long before other cities. In the streets there is water aplenty to fill your drinking bottle – and so I did. Delicious cold water.

And a final little tale to amuse myself (I am easily amused).

This is the tale of my homeward journey – slightly cooler as I left the pansion at 6 in the morning, waiting amongst the morning workers for the tram to the train station. I had decided to return to Makarska by train because I thought that I needed to leave the joy of the bus journey for others to experience….(train from Sarajevo to Ploce, bus from Ploce to Makarska).
The ticket was nearly the same price, the journey one hour less, they sold kava and sok (coffee and juice), so it was a no- brainer. I’ve learnt to be early for these adventures to ensure that I get a good seat. Which I did, in a no smoking compartment – big roomy armchairs (filthy dirty and very old, but no one died from filthy dirty or old). Settled in, book, kroasan s cokoladom (croissant with nutella inside).
The compartment (is that what it’s called? – sounds weird) filled up until it was in fact overflowing, with people standing (see, I’m a fast learner).
And then the smoking started.
I leaned over to the guy in front of me and said ‘molim vas, ne pusenje’ (with a ‘sh’), and he quickly put his cigarette out. This power went to my head of course. The next two older guys lit up further down the train…the guard came through and told them that they could not smoke – they could however go to the space between the two carriages to smoke. Which they did –just that one time. The lady further down started smoking and she too was told to go out the back. Which she did- just that one time.
It all went down hill after that – there were five men and two women in that compartment (oh, is it carriage?) who chain smoked if the guard was out of sight, and I was the only one who dared say anything – at this point I gave up though.
Most travelers left the train at Mostar so in the carriage I was left with four chain smokers and a new guard. Who chain smoked with them. When we were whittled down to just three of us, I pointed out the no smoking sign to one of the men as he lit up again, and asked him not to smoke. He said ‘samo jedan’ (only one..) and looked away, continuing to smoke. (He didn’t dare look at me, I was mad as!)
I washed all of my clothes when I got home – it reminded me of the days when you came home from a bar and stinking like an ashtray. Having said all of that, the train was a lovely way to travel – roomy, ambling, rollicking, with a different vista from the one in the bus. Plenty of tunnels and bridges and rivers. I would recommend it. And maybe by the time you get here and take this journey, Bosnia may have sorted out their smoking culture!

Tunel Spasa

I hope that you are still enjoying our wander around Bascarcije. I am.

The guide book suggests a visit to Tunel Spasa (The Tunnel of Hope) and this requires a bit of concentration, tram catching and empathy. Gather all of those things in your kit bag and follow me. We need to take number 1 tram line, just for four stops.

First, a bit of background information for those who are younger than 20 years old, or those who were in a coma between 1992 and 1995.

The Siege of Sarajevo is the longest siege of a capital city in the history of modern warfare. Serbian forces of the Republika Srpska and the Yugoslav People's Army besieged Sarajevo, the capital city of Bosnia and Herzegovina, from 5 April 1992 to 29 February 1996 during the Bosnian War.
After Bosnia and Herzegovina had declared independence from Yugoslavia, the Serbs, lead by Slobodan Milosevic, (whose strategic goal was to create a new Serbian State of Republika Srpska which would include part of the territory of Bosnia and Herzegovina), encircled Sarajevo with a siege force of 18,000 stationed in the surrounding hills, from which they assaulted the city with weapons that included artillery, mortars, tanks, anti-aircraft guns, heavy machine-guns, multiple rocket launchers, rocket-launched aircraft bombs, and sniper rifles. From 2 May 1992, the Serbs blockaded the city. The Bosnian government defense forces inside the besieged city were poorly equipped and unable to break the siege.

All roads were blocked in and out of Sarajevo, the airport was shut, power was cut, food supplies dwindled quickly as did supplies of water and medicine. Four hundred thousand residents were trapped inside the city as Serbian soldiers committed now documented offences against humanity. Thousands were killed and wounded. The term ‘ethnic cleansing’ appeared in the media – thousands of women were raped and many tragically people died of starvation. All buildings were damaged. It wasn’t until June of 1992 that the UN managed to airlift supplies into the besieged city, but the fighting continued.

It is estimated that nearly 10,000 people were killed or went missing in the city, including over 1,500 children. An additional 56,000 people were wounded, including nearly 15,000 children. The 1991 census indicates that before the siege the city and its surrounding areas had a population of 525,980. The current estimates of the number of persons living in Sarajevo range between 300,000 and 380,000 residents.

In January of 1993, Bosnians started digging a tunnel– it started in the garage of a house, went under the airport and ended 960 meters away, outside the area that was being attacked by the Serbians. It was1.5 m high and 1 m wide. Between the time that the tunnel was completed in mid 1993, and the end of the siege, it is recorded that 20,000,000 tons of food were delivered to the starving city through the tunnel, much needed medical supplies were provided and badly wounded civilians were taken through the tunel to receive medical aid. Estimates are that over a million people moved through the tunnel.

The city and its buildings were damaged, some irrepairably, but it would seem that the spirit of the people was not damaged – during the siege, the first Sarajevo Film Festival was held with films brought into the city via the tunnel. Another story is told as follows ; a customer went into a shoe shop to buy a pair of shoes – the owner of the shop said – please, we have already sold a pair of shoes today – our neighbour has a family and no food – please go and buy the shoes from him’.

I am not pointing the finger at the Serbians as the only ones who committed atrocities during the war – I just happen to be talking about Sarajevo.

There are only a few meters left of the original tunnel, but the owners of the house have created an amateurish museumto celebrate the achievement of the tunnel from the building. I don’t have any photos but if you follow this link, it will give you a virtual tour.

http://viewat.org/?i=en&id_aut=8&id_pn=3444&pag=6&sec=pn

What I did notice (bearing in mind that I was only in the city for two days, a mere snapshot really) was that despite everything that we know about the siege, and the huge amount that we will never know or understand, the city feels positive and vibrant.

Faith and Ledgers

Ok fellow travelers – unless you have unclicked me, we are still in the bustling city that is Sarajevo, more particularly in Bascarsije, which you now know how to pronounce because you have been practicing it under your breath as you go about your daily business…

As you know this is a town of mixed religions, but the sight which is most dominant on the horizon is the minarets of the mosques. It is amazing how many of them there are, but more amazing how near they are to each other. How do you choose which one to attend? Are they zoned like schools, or is it just the family favourite, best preacher, most beautiful?? A plethora of choices.

I head straight across the trickling waters of the Miljacka river and into Careva Mosque, a beautiful oasis of calm in a busy city. I have my shawl in my bag to cover my shoulders and head – you see, I have played this game before. Across the courtyard where a man is washing his feet, remove my shoes and am greeted by a man who wants to escort me into the building and explain life to me.

I make the mistake of initially speaking Croatian and he launches into a lengthy explanation in Bosnian which I cannot keep up with – when I explain this to him, he shrugs his shoulders and swaps to a mixture of English and Bosnian. This mosque was built in 1457 and then had work and additions after a fire in 1566 - by order of Suljeman the Great (smattering of Turkish history required here).

Now, this is where I am getting to the good bit, because he explained something to me which hitherto I had not (clearly) understood. Listen carefully and it will all become clear..

He explained that the men come regularly to the mosque to pray – the first call to pray is at dawn and they need to hightail it to the mosque before the sun comes up: the basic requirement is to come back five times during the day to pray, with bonus points if you manage to get there six times. The reason for coming to the mosque rather than throwing up a heartfelt prayer wherever you happen to be at the required time, is that a prayer at the mosque is worth twenty seven times more than a heartfelt but ungrounded prayer. You didn’t know that there was a ledger, but there is! Imagine the maths – it would have been easier if it had been a round number like 20…

Anyway….then he carefully explained what the slightly elevated spaces at the rear of the mosque were for – the women, of course. The women (he carefully explained) had to sit at the back, not as some thought, because they were lesser citizens, or less important, but because men being men… it was perhaps harder to concentrate on their prayers because they could be distracted. Ahem. Of course.

The space for the women was (I carefully mentioned) smaller than the space for the men. Much smaller.

This (and you need to read this part slowly because I am writing it slowly so that you get the full impact of what I am saying) is because the women don’t come to the mosque to pray as often as the men. Because. And their prayers count no matter where they send them from.

The ‘because’ is (and I quote) ‘because they are busy. Women have many roles (I’m still quoting here) – they are wives, they are mothers, they need to do the housework, and some of them need to work. Some of them need to work because women doctors (for example) are needed so that women don’t have to attend men doctors. If they had to go to men doctors they would have to have a man to accompany them, and the men are busy (I’m still quoting..). So there are four reasons why women are too busy to come to the mosque to prayer with the same regularity as the men. Also (still quoting) women take so long to put their make-up on each time they leave the house that they would not get to the mosque on time (chuckling to himself as he tells me this..). Unquote.

He said that it was difficult for women because they need to be accompanied by a male family member before they are married. And then he explained that even for him talking to me it was a problem, which was why he remained standing in the doorway where his colleagues could see us….

Having said all of this though, I understand that the Muslim faith in Sarajevo is a lot less stringent than elsewhere in the world, although friends of mine who used to live in Sarajevo say that it was not an everyday sight twenty years ago to see women in scarves, and certainly not in the full burqua. Times are a changing – the whisperers would have it that overseas funding is being funneled into the mosques for education and to help rebuild the damage done to mosques in the recent war – and

recimo, there is always a quo for any quid given.
So there you are my dears – now you understand it all.