Here’s a tragic story which is featuring in the media at the moment - a few weeks ago 17 year old Antonija Bilic was hitchhiking between and Split when she accepted a ride from a man driving a truck, and she hasn’t been seen since. I can’t find a photo of her to show you, but she is a beautiful young woman. (Tell your teenage daughters NEVER to hitchhike – even if you know that they know that, tell them again!).
Another young woman has come forward to say that she was also offered a ride by a truck driver on the same day, but declined it as she was concerned that the driver of the truck changed directions to come back and offer her a ride. (Good girl, clearly her antennas were working.)
The same truck has been recovered and forensic tests have shown that Antonija was in the truck.
The man suspected of abducting Antonija has been arrested in Bosnia after being assisted by his wife to avoid the border police between Croatia and Bosnia. She has admitted that she met him on the Croatian side of the border, gave him a wetsuit so that he could swim up the river, and met him again on the Bosnian side, cleverly having avoided the police. (Dysfunctional woman standing by her man… ) He has been charged with rape twice before - but has managed to get off on technicalities, and this is where the conversation becomes complicated, so please stop anything else that you may be doing and concentrate...
Dragan Paravinja had a Serbian passport, but now has a Croatian passport . He was charged with rape in Serbia in 2008, was caught in Croatia, but as there are no extradition laws in place between those two countries, he was not returned to Serbia to stand trial and has avoided punishment. He was accused of rape in Germany but managed to escape the country and return to Croatia.
In 2009, a Slovakian woman went missing from outside a restaurant - Dragan Paravinja was staying in the area for three months before the woman disappeared, had tried to approach both the cook and the waitress at the same restaurant, (but was spurned because they thought he was strange –some men are a bit like a hedgehog when you see them – you know instantly that you don’t want to go too near) and then was not seen again in the area after the woman disappeared. Her body was found a month later in the river – she was able to be identified by DNA samples but the body was so badly decomposed that they could not determine the cause of death. Paravinja has now been linked to this murder.
Various other women have come forward making statements concerning rape by a man of a similar description.
He is now in a cell in Bosnia, and this is where it is interesantno, while the powers that be from each country try to decide who gets a bit of him first.
He is on the Wanted List in Serbia for rape, where he has been tried but managed to escape, wanted in Slovenia, wanted in Bosnia and now is wanted for questioning in Croatia. It is like a serious game of chess, where the wrong move could allow him to go free again.
He has told the police that he served in the Serbian Army during the war, and if they pursue this matter further, he has ‘secrets’ about certain people during war that he will make public. (Records show that he did not serve in the war, and a family member described him as a kukavica. (Remember that word? It means coward - and Lazac is the word for a liar with the ‘zh’ sound on the ‘z’, but I don’t know the Croatian for ‘pants on fire’, although I have taught that phrase to Ivana next door – I thought it was necessary for her to know how to say that. Sorry….
He told the police in Bosnia that he tried to rape Antonija, couldn’t do it (??) , killed her and threw her into the river. The police in Croatia, with the help of specialist search and rescue staff from Bosnia, have scoured the river and the surrounding land and found nothing. If the decision is made to return Dragan Paravinja to Croatia, and they find no body, and he recants his confession by stating that he was under stress to confess something, then they have no firm evidence, no body, a rescinded confession - and they may have to release him.
So, what to do? The debate continues as each country wants to see justice done for crimes committed in their country. Who gets the first bite? Which justice system can be sure that any charges against him can stick? And hand up who hopes that there may be a bit of ‘biff’ whilst this charmer is in the cells…….
Thursday 30 June 2011
Wednesday 29 June 2011
Boring (Actually Tunnelling)
I have some good news for all of those (not actually me) who have been having to go the ‘long way round’ for the last 8 months to get places.
Yes, I’m talking about the blocked road on the way to Stupici, the town further south on the highway which passes through Gornje Tucepi (which is about 10 minutes from here), and links up with the austostrada. I know it was a bit confusing for those tourists who didn’t realize that if there was a red X through a road sign it meant that you couldn’t get through… I mean, how much more direct could that message be? And yes, it has meant that some excursions have taken longer than normal, because that road has had to be circumnavigated.
The (recent) history is that 8 months ago, there was a landslide above the road – part of the wonderful Biokovo slipped, which is in itself a fearsome thought. There is a lot of rock up there, and there was an earthquake in this area in 1962 – enough of that line of thought though….
Fortunately when the rock came a-sliding, there was no one there waiting to fall prey to it. A few cars did a quick reversal back up from whence they came but there were no injuries. It was just that the road was incredibly blocked. It would seem that there are various types of rocks up there – the more friable ones that move easily (which this landslide was not) and the really solid dense rocks which this landslide was. In fact the main culprit blocking the road was mainly one huge mother of a rock, a bit like pooh bear in the doorway after a few honeys.
It took a few weeks to consider the situation and the decision was made that it was far too dangerous to try and move the rock – and then another three months to devise a cunning plan – which cunning plan has now been beautifully executed and will soon be completed. The tunnel is 200 metres long and the final few metres were pushed through to the Vrgoracke side this week. It's in all the papers, it's very exciting!
A tunnel has been bored through the rocks, reinforced, given the final touches and…. there is light at the end!
I’m impressed by the tunnels in various spots where they are required here – long winding tunnels on the austostrada, even a few on the coastal road between Makarska and Split – rock in the way? Make a tunnel!
The villages which have been isolated by the closed road will be celebrating with the tunnel makers at the opening on the 15th of July. And those who have been having to go the long way round will breathe a sigh of relief at less time sitting in a hot car! They just need to take the red crosses from the road signs so we all know exactly where we are heading.
Yes, I’m talking about the blocked road on the way to Stupici, the town further south on the highway which passes through Gornje Tucepi (which is about 10 minutes from here), and links up with the austostrada. I know it was a bit confusing for those tourists who didn’t realize that if there was a red X through a road sign it meant that you couldn’t get through… I mean, how much more direct could that message be? And yes, it has meant that some excursions have taken longer than normal, because that road has had to be circumnavigated.
The (recent) history is that 8 months ago, there was a landslide above the road – part of the wonderful Biokovo slipped, which is in itself a fearsome thought. There is a lot of rock up there, and there was an earthquake in this area in 1962 – enough of that line of thought though….
Fortunately when the rock came a-sliding, there was no one there waiting to fall prey to it. A few cars did a quick reversal back up from whence they came but there were no injuries. It was just that the road was incredibly blocked. It would seem that there are various types of rocks up there – the more friable ones that move easily (which this landslide was not) and the really solid dense rocks which this landslide was. In fact the main culprit blocking the road was mainly one huge mother of a rock, a bit like pooh bear in the doorway after a few honeys.
It took a few weeks to consider the situation and the decision was made that it was far too dangerous to try and move the rock – and then another three months to devise a cunning plan – which cunning plan has now been beautifully executed and will soon be completed. The tunnel is 200 metres long and the final few metres were pushed through to the Vrgoracke side this week. It's in all the papers, it's very exciting!
A tunnel has been bored through the rocks, reinforced, given the final touches and…. there is light at the end!
I’m impressed by the tunnels in various spots where they are required here – long winding tunnels on the austostrada, even a few on the coastal road between Makarska and Split – rock in the way? Make a tunnel!
The villages which have been isolated by the closed road will be celebrating with the tunnel makers at the opening on the 15th of July. And those who have been having to go the long way round will breathe a sigh of relief at less time sitting in a hot car! They just need to take the red crosses from the road signs so we all know exactly where we are heading.
Sunday 26 June 2011
Don't Ask, Don't Say
Oooh, I heard another new expression today – and it was to describe me!
As you know, I didn’t lead a sedentary life in New Zealand – always busy, always doing something. Creatures of habit that we are, I seem to have transferred the same energy to this life. A friend and I were sitting brain-storming ideas for new projects here in Makarska (to inspire those who need work) and she laughed and said ‘imas crve u guzici’. And if you want to pronounce it properly, put a ‘sh’ on the ‘s’, and a ‘su’ like in ‘measure’ on the ‘z’. And if you must know, it means ‘you have a worm in your bum’, bit like our ‘ants in your pants’ but funnier! We rolled around the floor laughing!
Apart from the worms and ants, the conversation drifted on to the subject of the ‘Gay Pride’ parades held recently in Zagreb and Split. The one in Split ended up in a bit of a battle, with lines drawn (more lines!) and people taken to hospital with injuries.
There are a few subjects which remain tabu in some circles – they all start with ‘G’ and ‘Gay’ seems to be one of them. The issue goes straight to the heart of a population that is staunchly rooted in the Catholic church – most people dont want this issue to be out in the open and acknowledged, better not to talk about it.
As New Zealanders, we went through this conversation about 20 years ago. If someone said ‘oh, Gay Parade’ in Auckland now, everyone would yawn. My initial reaction was ‘seriously?’ when I heard that there was to be a parade, but it revolves around the same issues that the gay population want to have recognized. What is standard in New Zealand is still impossible here – the right to marry, to adopt children, and the same rights in dissolution of relationships with regards to property sharing (or unsharing).
It seems a bit like an anachronism seeing these battles take place again. All the same arguments abound – the old chestnut from the Catholic Church that this is an illness, that the world will dissolve into sexual depravity if gay rights are recognized formally. That they exist is irrelevant. One brave psychologist interviewed in the paper suggested (Shakespeare again) that those who felt so strongly about the issue perhaps needed to look at why they felt so threatened by it! Brave indeed.
Moving on from that (quickly), Bura is back! You can hear each new gust of wind long before the intensity belts against the shutters – the ferocity is almost animal like, you can almost imagine the eyes on the wind. And the sound – it roars like a very fast train coming through. The Bura supporters are right though – the air has cleared, the colour of the sea has changed back to the deep blue, and the temperature has dropped, nicely so. Last night the promenaders on the riva had an extra layer or two, but the air was not so heavy, and the step was more energetic. There were just as many people out wandering along the promenade at midnight as there were at nine at night. Guess that that’s why the church bells need to be so insistent at seven in the morning – to drag reluctant sleepers out of bed after a late evening with friends.
As you know, I didn’t lead a sedentary life in New Zealand – always busy, always doing something. Creatures of habit that we are, I seem to have transferred the same energy to this life. A friend and I were sitting brain-storming ideas for new projects here in Makarska (to inspire those who need work) and she laughed and said ‘imas crve u guzici’. And if you want to pronounce it properly, put a ‘sh’ on the ‘s’, and a ‘su’ like in ‘measure’ on the ‘z’. And if you must know, it means ‘you have a worm in your bum’, bit like our ‘ants in your pants’ but funnier! We rolled around the floor laughing!
Apart from the worms and ants, the conversation drifted on to the subject of the ‘Gay Pride’ parades held recently in Zagreb and Split. The one in Split ended up in a bit of a battle, with lines drawn (more lines!) and people taken to hospital with injuries.
There are a few subjects which remain tabu in some circles – they all start with ‘G’ and ‘Gay’ seems to be one of them. The issue goes straight to the heart of a population that is staunchly rooted in the Catholic church – most people dont want this issue to be out in the open and acknowledged, better not to talk about it.
As New Zealanders, we went through this conversation about 20 years ago. If someone said ‘oh, Gay Parade’ in Auckland now, everyone would yawn. My initial reaction was ‘seriously?’ when I heard that there was to be a parade, but it revolves around the same issues that the gay population want to have recognized. What is standard in New Zealand is still impossible here – the right to marry, to adopt children, and the same rights in dissolution of relationships with regards to property sharing (or unsharing).
It seems a bit like an anachronism seeing these battles take place again. All the same arguments abound – the old chestnut from the Catholic Church that this is an illness, that the world will dissolve into sexual depravity if gay rights are recognized formally. That they exist is irrelevant. One brave psychologist interviewed in the paper suggested (Shakespeare again) that those who felt so strongly about the issue perhaps needed to look at why they felt so threatened by it! Brave indeed.
Moving on from that (quickly), Bura is back! You can hear each new gust of wind long before the intensity belts against the shutters – the ferocity is almost animal like, you can almost imagine the eyes on the wind. And the sound – it roars like a very fast train coming through. The Bura supporters are right though – the air has cleared, the colour of the sea has changed back to the deep blue, and the temperature has dropped, nicely so. Last night the promenaders on the riva had an extra layer or two, but the air was not so heavy, and the step was more energetic. There were just as many people out wandering along the promenade at midnight as there were at nine at night. Guess that that’s why the church bells need to be so insistent at seven in the morning – to drag reluctant sleepers out of bed after a late evening with friends.
Saturday 25 June 2011
Claiming your stake
I’m not sure where this narrative will go, but I was pondering as I was out walking this morning, and the words ‘staking claim’ came into my head.
I have already talked about the GOM next door who claims that the fence surrounding my terasa is his and that I cannot pass through the space in the rail to exit my space – he has done a similar thing on the other side, constructing a fence over public property where a through road is planned but not yet constructed, and then planting olive trees on land outside his boundary. He has planted a climber on the fence so that eventually it will become impossible to climb the fence, which is what everyone does, including his wife. I can only imagine that his world is small and so he is trying to ensure that he doesn’t lose an inch of it.
People are down on the beach early in the morning – as soon as the beach sweepers have finished their job (and it was a big job this morning because Bura is blowing and there is a carpet of pine needles everywhere) they tumble out of their apartments and lay out their towel and mats, weighing them down with stones so that they don’t blow away. It is only 7 in the morning and the sun hasn’t even reached the beach yet. They are making sure that they get a ‘spot’, staking their claim.
Yesterday Ivana and I went to our ‘bomb’ spot - a couple had put their towels right where the bombers jump from. Eventually they went to the shop to buy something, they left their towels there (of course) weighed down by stones so that they wouldn’t lose their spot. They were gone for over an hour, during which time we merrily jumped into the sea (I didn’t mean to make such a big splash, but things happen… and it was a good bomb) and when they returned, they yelled at the kids for splashing their towels – (they didn’t suspect me for a moment!).
What I am thinking is that there are visible (and invisible) lines everywhere as people frantically try to stake claim and make sure that no one gets any more than their fair share (defined as ‘slightly less than my fair share if at all possible’). If a café owner spreads his chairs and tables slightly out of the defined area, a neighbour may either match the incursion or suddenly the ‘redarstvo’ inspectors may pay a visit to check permits.
So… Is this because the pie is small and slices are fine, or is it the result of a geographical history where boundaries have been drawn and rubbed out with such frequency, and visible and invisible lines have been imposed externally, that the importance of the area upon which you can put your feet and stake your claim has become more important. (Or am I just observing a normal phenomenon in a situation where space is at a premium, viz, somewhere to lay your towel on these incredibly crowded beaches).
As I said, I’m wasn’t sure where the narrative would lead, but this is where it has ended up.
I have already talked about the GOM next door who claims that the fence surrounding my terasa is his and that I cannot pass through the space in the rail to exit my space – he has done a similar thing on the other side, constructing a fence over public property where a through road is planned but not yet constructed, and then planting olive trees on land outside his boundary. He has planted a climber on the fence so that eventually it will become impossible to climb the fence, which is what everyone does, including his wife. I can only imagine that his world is small and so he is trying to ensure that he doesn’t lose an inch of it.
People are down on the beach early in the morning – as soon as the beach sweepers have finished their job (and it was a big job this morning because Bura is blowing and there is a carpet of pine needles everywhere) they tumble out of their apartments and lay out their towel and mats, weighing them down with stones so that they don’t blow away. It is only 7 in the morning and the sun hasn’t even reached the beach yet. They are making sure that they get a ‘spot’, staking their claim.
Yesterday Ivana and I went to our ‘bomb’ spot - a couple had put their towels right where the bombers jump from. Eventually they went to the shop to buy something, they left their towels there (of course) weighed down by stones so that they wouldn’t lose their spot. They were gone for over an hour, during which time we merrily jumped into the sea (I didn’t mean to make such a big splash, but things happen… and it was a good bomb) and when they returned, they yelled at the kids for splashing their towels – (they didn’t suspect me for a moment!).
What I am thinking is that there are visible (and invisible) lines everywhere as people frantically try to stake claim and make sure that no one gets any more than their fair share (defined as ‘slightly less than my fair share if at all possible’). If a café owner spreads his chairs and tables slightly out of the defined area, a neighbour may either match the incursion or suddenly the ‘redarstvo’ inspectors may pay a visit to check permits.
So… Is this because the pie is small and slices are fine, or is it the result of a geographical history where boundaries have been drawn and rubbed out with such frequency, and visible and invisible lines have been imposed externally, that the importance of the area upon which you can put your feet and stake your claim has become more important. (Or am I just observing a normal phenomenon in a situation where space is at a premium, viz, somewhere to lay your towel on these incredibly crowded beaches).
As I said, I’m wasn’t sure where the narrative would lead, but this is where it has ended up.
Thursday 23 June 2011
Salad Days
It’s far too hot to be inspirational tonight. It must still be about 28 degrees outside and it is 7.30 at night. I’ve spent a fair bit of time on the beach today – it’s a win lose situation – it’s hot in the sun, but the sea is the only way to cool down. You can imagine the colour I have turned though.
I told you that I planted basil on my terasa, and as I had such a good crop of it, I have just made a big batch of pesto to share with my neighbours. We gossiped over the fence with bruschetta, pesto and salami (you may have a visual there, but it will be wrong – there is no fence, we just stand in the hall chatting, joking that we are gossiping over a fence) and I mentioned my latest cunning plan.
I think I can see a chink in the market for food. Salads. The green market is brimming, brimming I say, with fresh domaci product. Delicious greens, huge capsicums of every hue, tomatoes like nothing you have tasted before… imagine the salads! I make fantastic salads in my kitchenette and sit here all self congratulatory while I eat them, but the salads in the restaurants are, to coin a phrase, crap. Boring and a bit of an afterthought on the menus. Always a disappointment.
I’ve questioned Ivan about the type of food in the mainstream tourist restaurants, and the answer is that the tourists are given what they want. Most of the tourists are Eastern Block, and so they want to eat Wiener schnitzel, beef steak and chips, or pizza. And it looks as though that is what they eat regularly (they generally are a chubby lot..)
But as I wander around the town, I hear a new generation of tourists emerging – there are lots of English speaking voices on the riva and in the cafes in town (although I can’t hear these same voices on the beach), and I would imagine that a salad bar would go down a treat. You know, maybe five to choose from, take-away in a punnet of some sort with a fork and a glass of squeezed juice. Healthy, nutritious and easy to take on a picnic with a loaf of bread and some delicious cheese. And low maintenance to make and supply.
If I keep mentioning it, maybe someone will pick it up. I hope someone will, and soon. Or maybe I could… I’ve done it before -Lunch on the Run!
(BTW, thanks to John – he has gathered information that shows that although the incidence of fatal accidents is high in Croatia, the percentage of 15 -24 year olds causing the accidents is low– maybe the driving school thing works!)
I told you that I planted basil on my terasa, and as I had such a good crop of it, I have just made a big batch of pesto to share with my neighbours. We gossiped over the fence with bruschetta, pesto and salami (you may have a visual there, but it will be wrong – there is no fence, we just stand in the hall chatting, joking that we are gossiping over a fence) and I mentioned my latest cunning plan.
I think I can see a chink in the market for food. Salads. The green market is brimming, brimming I say, with fresh domaci product. Delicious greens, huge capsicums of every hue, tomatoes like nothing you have tasted before… imagine the salads! I make fantastic salads in my kitchenette and sit here all self congratulatory while I eat them, but the salads in the restaurants are, to coin a phrase, crap. Boring and a bit of an afterthought on the menus. Always a disappointment.
I’ve questioned Ivan about the type of food in the mainstream tourist restaurants, and the answer is that the tourists are given what they want. Most of the tourists are Eastern Block, and so they want to eat Wiener schnitzel, beef steak and chips, or pizza. And it looks as though that is what they eat regularly (they generally are a chubby lot..)
But as I wander around the town, I hear a new generation of tourists emerging – there are lots of English speaking voices on the riva and in the cafes in town (although I can’t hear these same voices on the beach), and I would imagine that a salad bar would go down a treat. You know, maybe five to choose from, take-away in a punnet of some sort with a fork and a glass of squeezed juice. Healthy, nutritious and easy to take on a picnic with a loaf of bread and some delicious cheese. And low maintenance to make and supply.
If I keep mentioning it, maybe someone will pick it up. I hope someone will, and soon. Or maybe I could… I’ve done it before -Lunch on the Run!
(BTW, thanks to John – he has gathered information that shows that although the incidence of fatal accidents is high in Croatia, the percentage of 15 -24 year olds causing the accidents is low– maybe the driving school thing works!)
Wednesday 22 June 2011
Driving School
As we were lying on the beach this afternoon (actually I was doing bombs off the pontoon at Sveti Petar with Ivana but don’t tell anyone) we heard the police siren wailing – and as we walked home we spotted the police car on the corner of the street along from our street – lights still flashing – and decided to walk around the long way so that we could be nosey and see what had happened (rubber neckers at their worst). There was a shiny blue bike buckled and twisted on top of a silver car. And a pool of blood. I nearly stepped in it and was quickly persuaded back by the policeman standing on point.
It’s not the first time I have heard the siren¸ but it is the first accident that I have seen. I’m not sure of the accident rate in Makarska, but have been assured that the details of this accident will be in the Makarska Kronika next week. I will check it out.
In the meantime though, I thought you might like to hear about the hurdles that teenagers must jump through to get their licence, because it is a slightly different process than in New Zealand. The same age limit applies in the first instance- you can get your licence at 16 years but you can’t drive alone until you are 18. I guess that means that you can sit the theory at 16 and then you can start learning to drive – and here’s the rub.
I’m pretty proud of the fact that I taught both of my children to drive. In fact, it was during this process that my son heard me swear for the first time in his life – I had nerves of steel until he hit the rubbish bin after being told to stop, and then burst the rear tyre by hitting the concrete step. (They both now, of course think that they need to tell ME how to drive, but I guess that’s the process of aging –from both points of view).
In Croatia, you can only learn to drive with a driving school. Those in charge of the wheel at these schools have invested a lot of money themselves to become qualified to teach – I understand that this is in the vicinity of 8,000 euro and a substantial period in training to get the diploma which allows you to get into a car with a teenager (who no doubt already believes themselves to be a better drive than anyone older than them).
What’s more, the cost of tutelage by such an instructor doesn’t come cheap – it costs about 1,000.00 euro. This involves not only the practical side of driving, but there is also a first aid course that needs to be completed. A nice wee niche market. (I would be interested in seeing some statistics on teenage boys and car accidents here if anyone can help).
The police here have a zero tolerance for drink driving - cell phones are completely banned while driving, and headlights must be switched on at all times. I know these things because I googled them.
I have not seen many cars with their lights on (I would be fine here with my old Saab) and have been in the local buses along the winding coast road with the bus driver texting or talking on the phone. Sto reci. (with a ‘sh’ on the ‘s’).
Anyway, it’s a public holiday here today - Anti-Fascist Struggle Day which is a celebration of the beginning of the uprising of Croatian antifascist partisans against German and Italian occupying forces on June 22, 1941. Shops have been closed, beaches are full (fuller). It feels like a Sunday.
It’s eight o’clock in the evening as I write this- I’m sitting on my terasa listening while the music teacher along the road plays Irving Berlin’s ‘Blue Skies’ on his trumpet – it’s about 28 degrees and there is not a cloud – delicious.
It’s not the first time I have heard the siren¸ but it is the first accident that I have seen. I’m not sure of the accident rate in Makarska, but have been assured that the details of this accident will be in the Makarska Kronika next week. I will check it out.
In the meantime though, I thought you might like to hear about the hurdles that teenagers must jump through to get their licence, because it is a slightly different process than in New Zealand. The same age limit applies in the first instance- you can get your licence at 16 years but you can’t drive alone until you are 18. I guess that means that you can sit the theory at 16 and then you can start learning to drive – and here’s the rub.
I’m pretty proud of the fact that I taught both of my children to drive. In fact, it was during this process that my son heard me swear for the first time in his life – I had nerves of steel until he hit the rubbish bin after being told to stop, and then burst the rear tyre by hitting the concrete step. (They both now, of course think that they need to tell ME how to drive, but I guess that’s the process of aging –from both points of view).
In Croatia, you can only learn to drive with a driving school. Those in charge of the wheel at these schools have invested a lot of money themselves to become qualified to teach – I understand that this is in the vicinity of 8,000 euro and a substantial period in training to get the diploma which allows you to get into a car with a teenager (who no doubt already believes themselves to be a better drive than anyone older than them).
What’s more, the cost of tutelage by such an instructor doesn’t come cheap – it costs about 1,000.00 euro. This involves not only the practical side of driving, but there is also a first aid course that needs to be completed. A nice wee niche market. (I would be interested in seeing some statistics on teenage boys and car accidents here if anyone can help).
The police here have a zero tolerance for drink driving - cell phones are completely banned while driving, and headlights must be switched on at all times. I know these things because I googled them.
I have not seen many cars with their lights on (I would be fine here with my old Saab) and have been in the local buses along the winding coast road with the bus driver texting or talking on the phone. Sto reci. (with a ‘sh’ on the ‘s’).
Anyway, it’s a public holiday here today - Anti-Fascist Struggle Day which is a celebration of the beginning of the uprising of Croatian antifascist partisans against German and Italian occupying forces on June 22, 1941. Shops have been closed, beaches are full (fuller). It feels like a Sunday.
It’s eight o’clock in the evening as I write this- I’m sitting on my terasa listening while the music teacher along the road plays Irving Berlin’s ‘Blue Skies’ on his trumpet – it’s about 28 degrees and there is not a cloud – delicious.
Tuesday 21 June 2011
Bukovi
I arrived back from Italy on Saturday morning – first thing I did was to rush down to look on the notice board for the mountain club to see what is happening - Oh, I do love Sundays with the Planinara Klub!
So….the kombie was leaving at 5 am, an early morning by anyone’s standards – the temperature was already about 25 degrees as we left Makarska – frantically trying to get the aircon working, hunkering down for a long drive. Mmm the music is going, and there is plenty of time to snooze.
First we follow the coast road, then up that splendid hard corner onto the road towards Bosnia (you know, we have travelled this road a few times now..) out onto the autostrada, through the toll gates…. falling asleep … coffee stop, back into the kombie, lots of laughing and joking.
The villages that we pass through have seen the worst of the war – most are all but empty, many houses lie destroyed by bombs, roofs collapsed, walls caving in – some with ‘prodaje se’ (for sale) signs, but who would. Villages of ghosts, where the cemeteries are full. The music suddenly seems discordant.
And then the rain starts, the wind picks up and the temperature starts dropping. Four hours later when we reach our destination, it is though we have come to the top of the world, and dropped into a plateau between the mountains. A damp plateau. This town has seen a recent face lift – the school is new and the housing is more modern, with piles of firewood around the houses – winters are cold, even now is cold. This is not to say that the town is bustling – it is early morning and the only person we see is the guy who is handing out wet suits. The tramp part is off – the raft part is on!
A quick marenda (snack) and clutching our wet suits and booties we climb back into the kombie – another 30 minutes deeper into the countryside (more empty houses, but some are showing a determination to regenerate – gardens are full, and there are signs of life emerging). And just when we thought you couldn’t go any further, you could! Out of the kombie and into a yellow kombie which may or may not have a warrant…. It is raining hard and the mud track that we are following is turning into a stream, we can see it through the sliding door which keeps opening...
Now, at this point, we are all looking sideways at each other, wondering what on earth – there is no-where out of the rain to change, there don’t seem to be any boats, no-one seems to be in charge , and the yellow kombie guys seem a bit flustered… stoically we follow the leader along another path in the rain, around a corner to the most magnificent waterfall. I’ve seen screen savers of waterfalls that need to be replaced immediately with this sight! This is Strbacki Buk – with a ‘sh’ on the ‘s’ (please) and a ‘ch’ on the ‘c’ (please). A buk is a waterfall and comes from the word for the thundering noise that it makes. The Štrbački Buk waterfalls are on the Una River, spanning the border between Bosnia and Herzegovina and Croatia.
We shrug our wetsuits on and stand in awe – awe at the sound, the smell, the sight of the spray coming off the fall. Of course the humourous guide tells us that the boats (where are they, in his pocket??) will be launched above this first waterfall..
We trek along a railway track that bounds the river - it is not currently operating (another thing that had a pauza with the war) but is under repair - down some steps and into the most verdant glade I have ever seen – the intensity of the colour of the mahovina (moss) is luxurious, velvet-like. I love it!
I tell the story of the patupaiarehes to one of our group – it may have been lost in translation, but for those who want to know (go on, I know you want to hear about it, it’s a Kiwi classic!)… ‘In the misty mountain tops or deep in the forests lived the patupaiarehe – fairy-like beings who were seldom seen. They could lure people away from safety with the music of their flutes, and had magical powers and special knowledge..and as soon as the people were alone and sat or lay down to rest, they would cover them with moss, to be trapped in the forest forever.. *sigh* I digress…
Evo ga, Mr Guide does produce boats (two) from his pocket (almost), together with a portable pump – Mr Guide then explains to the group the basics of rafting – turns to Ms Engleski and says – ‘there are five words to remember - RELAX – just to move with the motion of the boat DANCE – just to let the boat and the water take you on a dance CONTINUE just to keep going forward with the river LOVE to love the river and the movement PASSION to be so taken by the sights that no cameras are needed to remember…
There it is! Simple.
Climb in the boats and away we go – four in one, six in the other – down the falls, through the rapids, squeals of delight (and that was just Niksa!). We stopped to drink with cupped hands at a spring that was feeding the river - cisto i bistro - ; stopped again to check out a cave above the river (where six of the workers on the track lived for 6 months), and stopped again to see another spring that emerged from under a cave to join the river. Una is one of the biggest springs in Europe – divers have plunged to try and see how deep it is exactly but were not able to reach the hidden depths, and it disappears under the rocks and emerges to join the river.
Did you enjoy that? We did! Oh and did I mention that in this special green and damp place on the earth, the temperature had dropped to 11 degrees when we started rafting?
We needed Jagermeister to warm up, honestly. And kava. And then food ….. and finally returned home at midnight, twelve happy but tired little trampers. There. I told you it would be good!
So….the kombie was leaving at 5 am, an early morning by anyone’s standards – the temperature was already about 25 degrees as we left Makarska – frantically trying to get the aircon working, hunkering down for a long drive. Mmm the music is going, and there is plenty of time to snooze.
First we follow the coast road, then up that splendid hard corner onto the road towards Bosnia (you know, we have travelled this road a few times now..) out onto the autostrada, through the toll gates…. falling asleep … coffee stop, back into the kombie, lots of laughing and joking.
The villages that we pass through have seen the worst of the war – most are all but empty, many houses lie destroyed by bombs, roofs collapsed, walls caving in – some with ‘prodaje se’ (for sale) signs, but who would. Villages of ghosts, where the cemeteries are full. The music suddenly seems discordant.
And then the rain starts, the wind picks up and the temperature starts dropping. Four hours later when we reach our destination, it is though we have come to the top of the world, and dropped into a plateau between the mountains. A damp plateau. This town has seen a recent face lift – the school is new and the housing is more modern, with piles of firewood around the houses – winters are cold, even now is cold. This is not to say that the town is bustling – it is early morning and the only person we see is the guy who is handing out wet suits. The tramp part is off – the raft part is on!
A quick marenda (snack) and clutching our wet suits and booties we climb back into the kombie – another 30 minutes deeper into the countryside (more empty houses, but some are showing a determination to regenerate – gardens are full, and there are signs of life emerging). And just when we thought you couldn’t go any further, you could! Out of the kombie and into a yellow kombie which may or may not have a warrant…. It is raining hard and the mud track that we are following is turning into a stream, we can see it through the sliding door which keeps opening...
Now, at this point, we are all looking sideways at each other, wondering what on earth – there is no-where out of the rain to change, there don’t seem to be any boats, no-one seems to be in charge , and the yellow kombie guys seem a bit flustered… stoically we follow the leader along another path in the rain, around a corner to the most magnificent waterfall. I’ve seen screen savers of waterfalls that need to be replaced immediately with this sight! This is Strbacki Buk – with a ‘sh’ on the ‘s’ (please) and a ‘ch’ on the ‘c’ (please). A buk is a waterfall and comes from the word for the thundering noise that it makes. The Štrbački Buk waterfalls are on the Una River, spanning the border between Bosnia and Herzegovina and Croatia.
We shrug our wetsuits on and stand in awe – awe at the sound, the smell, the sight of the spray coming off the fall. Of course the humourous guide tells us that the boats (where are they, in his pocket??) will be launched above this first waterfall..
We trek along a railway track that bounds the river - it is not currently operating (another thing that had a pauza with the war) but is under repair - down some steps and into the most verdant glade I have ever seen – the intensity of the colour of the mahovina (moss) is luxurious, velvet-like. I love it!
I tell the story of the patupaiarehes to one of our group – it may have been lost in translation, but for those who want to know (go on, I know you want to hear about it, it’s a Kiwi classic!)… ‘In the misty mountain tops or deep in the forests lived the patupaiarehe – fairy-like beings who were seldom seen. They could lure people away from safety with the music of their flutes, and had magical powers and special knowledge..and as soon as the people were alone and sat or lay down to rest, they would cover them with moss, to be trapped in the forest forever.. *sigh* I digress…
Evo ga, Mr Guide does produce boats (two) from his pocket (almost), together with a portable pump – Mr Guide then explains to the group the basics of rafting – turns to Ms Engleski and says – ‘there are five words to remember - RELAX – just to move with the motion of the boat DANCE – just to let the boat and the water take you on a dance CONTINUE just to keep going forward with the river LOVE to love the river and the movement PASSION to be so taken by the sights that no cameras are needed to remember…
There it is! Simple.
Climb in the boats and away we go – four in one, six in the other – down the falls, through the rapids, squeals of delight (and that was just Niksa!). We stopped to drink with cupped hands at a spring that was feeding the river - cisto i bistro - ; stopped again to check out a cave above the river (where six of the workers on the track lived for 6 months), and stopped again to see another spring that emerged from under a cave to join the river. Una is one of the biggest springs in Europe – divers have plunged to try and see how deep it is exactly but were not able to reach the hidden depths, and it disappears under the rocks and emerges to join the river.
Did you enjoy that? We did! Oh and did I mention that in this special green and damp place on the earth, the temperature had dropped to 11 degrees when we started rafting?
We needed Jagermeister to warm up, honestly. And kava. And then food ….. and finally returned home at midnight, twelve happy but tired little trampers. There. I told you it would be good!
Monday 20 June 2011
Italy is wonderful – gorgeous architecture seeped in history which the Italians live nonchalantly with, fantastic shops and fashion, tasty simple food, stunning wines, and a glorious attitude to life. The colours are muted but the attitudes are not- voices are raised in excitement, arms waived and shoulders shrugged.
In a crowd it is easy to see who is Italian and who is not simply by the body language and the expressive faces.
Talking to a couple of English speaking women who have been living in Italy for 30 years, they say that an outsider can never quite replicate it – particularly if they come from countries (like NZ and England) where largess is not part of the fabric.
The women seem to move with such confidence, and the men are shameless in their admiration, but not offensive (unless they actually fall off their bikes because they are looking at you..). And again, the children are the centre of the universe – you don’t often see children grizzling or having a tantrum.
I had wondered where all the 60 year old-ish women were hidden (lots of gorgeous teenagers, stunning 20s to 40s, wonderful old nonas on push bikes pedaling around the villages and nonos sitting in cafes). And after crossing the Adriatic Sea overnight, I discovered that they must all be heading to Medugorje! When I came from Rome to Croatia initially the whole plane (except for me) all seemed to be from the same community in Italy, and were all going on a pilgrimage to Medugorje (that middle ‘d’ sounds like the ‘j’ in jam), and on the overnight ferry yesterday it was the same thing - heaps of rounded, ‘set hair’ Italian mothers –plus a priest in a wheelchair and a few nuns - all heading to Medugorje!
So, a little background about Medugorje (I’ve taken this from the website)
“It was June 24, 1981, the Feast of John the Baptist, the proclaimer of the coming Messiah. In the evening the Virgin Mary appeared to two young people, Mirjana Dragicevic * and Ivanka Ivankovic.* The next day, four more young people, Marija Pavlovic,* Jakov Colo, Vicka Ivankovic,* and Ivan Dragicevic saw the Virgin Mary, bringing the total to six visionaries. These visionaries are not related to one another. Three of the six visionaries no longer see Our Lady on a daily basis. As of July, 2009, the Virgin is still appearing everyday to the remaining three visionaries; that’s well over 12,820 apparitions.”
As you can see, this is serious stuff! I was going to say ‘it’s not every day that you see visions’ but as you can see, for some it IS every day! (Wouldn’t that be exhausting??). Medugorje is the new Lourdes – and what a fortunate turn of circumstances for that small town in Bosnia! What was a poor village is now a bustling town with a prosperous facelift. I’ll leave that thought where it lies.
So - from Makarska to Istria to Venice to Verona to Treviglio to Milan to Lake Como… and back again. In my absence schools have closed for the summer holidays (three months of closed!) and the beach here in Makarksa has new toys – a floating aqua park has appeared anchored just off the shore (30 kuna for 30 minutes) and the number of bodies on the beach has doubled. I struggled to find a place to put my towel at 5 o’clock this evening when I went down to cool off in the sea, and ended up about 6 inches away from the next person. No-one cares though.
The thing I have missed most while I was away from here is the music – the music on the bus, the singing teenagers in the water, the music in the shops and the cafes. The Italians are hot… but they don’t have the music.
In a crowd it is easy to see who is Italian and who is not simply by the body language and the expressive faces.
Talking to a couple of English speaking women who have been living in Italy for 30 years, they say that an outsider can never quite replicate it – particularly if they come from countries (like NZ and England) where largess is not part of the fabric.
The women seem to move with such confidence, and the men are shameless in their admiration, but not offensive (unless they actually fall off their bikes because they are looking at you..). And again, the children are the centre of the universe – you don’t often see children grizzling or having a tantrum.
I had wondered where all the 60 year old-ish women were hidden (lots of gorgeous teenagers, stunning 20s to 40s, wonderful old nonas on push bikes pedaling around the villages and nonos sitting in cafes). And after crossing the Adriatic Sea overnight, I discovered that they must all be heading to Medugorje! When I came from Rome to Croatia initially the whole plane (except for me) all seemed to be from the same community in Italy, and were all going on a pilgrimage to Medugorje (that middle ‘d’ sounds like the ‘j’ in jam), and on the overnight ferry yesterday it was the same thing - heaps of rounded, ‘set hair’ Italian mothers –plus a priest in a wheelchair and a few nuns - all heading to Medugorje!
So, a little background about Medugorje (I’ve taken this from the website)
“It was June 24, 1981, the Feast of John the Baptist, the proclaimer of the coming Messiah. In the evening the Virgin Mary appeared to two young people, Mirjana Dragicevic * and Ivanka Ivankovic.* The next day, four more young people, Marija Pavlovic,* Jakov Colo, Vicka Ivankovic,* and Ivan Dragicevic saw the Virgin Mary, bringing the total to six visionaries. These visionaries are not related to one another. Three of the six visionaries no longer see Our Lady on a daily basis. As of July, 2009, the Virgin is still appearing everyday to the remaining three visionaries; that’s well over 12,820 apparitions.”
As you can see, this is serious stuff! I was going to say ‘it’s not every day that you see visions’ but as you can see, for some it IS every day! (Wouldn’t that be exhausting??). Medugorje is the new Lourdes – and what a fortunate turn of circumstances for that small town in Bosnia! What was a poor village is now a bustling town with a prosperous facelift. I’ll leave that thought where it lies.
So - from Makarska to Istria to Venice to Verona to Treviglio to Milan to Lake Como… and back again. In my absence schools have closed for the summer holidays (three months of closed!) and the beach here in Makarksa has new toys – a floating aqua park has appeared anchored just off the shore (30 kuna for 30 minutes) and the number of bodies on the beach has doubled. I struggled to find a place to put my towel at 5 o’clock this evening when I went down to cool off in the sea, and ended up about 6 inches away from the next person. No-one cares though.
The thing I have missed most while I was away from here is the music – the music on the bus, the singing teenagers in the water, the music in the shops and the cafes. The Italians are hot… but they don’t have the music.
Saturday 18 June 2011
Where is George?
Ok, resuming transmission…
A day in the lake area was fun – we took the early train to Milan from Trevilgo, and then onto a fast train to Lake Como. I had a good book (an excellent book called ‘Book Book ‘ by Fiona Farrell - borrowed from Joy, the wonderful lady from New Zealand who has created a wee NZ niche in Trevilgo and still sounds like a Kiwi after 30 years away from home) to try and power read on the train so that it could be returned to her before I returned to Croatia, but we got distracted because our seating companions were a lovely young couple on their honeymoon - originally Albanians, resident in Lebanon and incredibly international. It was an interesting conversation as they described their lives in Beirut. Good jobs, he in men’s fashion, she in the local council, good work hours, fantastic shopping, fantastic restaurants and night life, and incredibly safe, incredibly safe! – no problem to walk around the city at night... Unless ‘something crazy happened and there were guns’. I guess ‘safe’, like ‘old ’ has a frame of reference. They were charming and enchanted with the romance of Venice which they had just visited, and had gorgeous matching wedding rings – Cartier, I think… (so cute).
When the train arrived at Lake Como there was a cold wind blowing – we wandered around the old town, checked out the Basilica and then discovered a photograph exhibition – gorgeous black and white scenes developed on cotton fabric and then washed with an emulsion to create a smoky effect. The photographer himself arrived and checked us out and we charmed him with intelligent questions. Unfortunately they were ‘one-offs’ and already framed, too big, too heavy and too expensive to consider.
It is still low season technically speaking, so the funicular was having a few safety tweaks and was closed for the week – so we took the bus to the top of the hill (a hair-raising experience where there was a lot of faith in the condition of the brakes). There were only four of us in the minibus due to the fact that when some German Tourists asked for instructions to get tickets for the bus, the old lady sitting behind us dismissed them unceremoniously by telling them that they had to wait for the next bus and told the driver to leave. We couldn’t work out how old she would have been (obviously older than her taupe wig) - she was from Lake Como originally, but lives in Cape Town, returning to her apartment for six months of the year, which she had been doing for 31 years, just following the sun. We asked for advice about a café at the top of the hill, but she said she wouldn’t know because she doesn’t trust anyone enough to eat out… I suggested that perhaps we should eat at her house with her and she giggled.
And in true Italian style, the train back to Milan was delayed by an hour. We sat on the platform watching the locals shrug their shoulders and roll their eyes each time a new announcement came over the speakers.
Joy texted Sharon to invite us to eat with her – gorgeous pasta, wonderful wine – and more thought- provoking conversation,which all illustrated a point that was made by Joy last time we ate together – Sharon had commented that she had been a bit disappointed in the food she had had so far in restaurants, and Joy made the point that the food itself is not the point in Italian eating, but that it is the sitting and taking time with family and friends that is what it is all about – that the food is secondary to the company but as a result, the experience enhances the food. And the point was illustrated as we sat there talking – the food was simple but divine, but the company made the act of eating and the actual food even better. Joy is a special person, and as we walked around the village the other night with her (on our search for the perfect eclipse of the moon) it was obvious that she is well known and respected in the community as she was greeted warmly by others out walking.
It’s time to return to Croatia to my wee apartment (after staying a few days in a gorgeous penthouse apartment with Sharon – thanks Sharon!!) – I have Croatian lessons organized, the kids will be wanting me to row with them, and my tramping boots will be missing me! And there may be a trip to Slovenia to do some rock climbing coming up
PS We didn't spot George.. he must have been in Croatia looking for us!
A day in the lake area was fun – we took the early train to Milan from Trevilgo, and then onto a fast train to Lake Como. I had a good book (an excellent book called ‘Book Book ‘ by Fiona Farrell - borrowed from Joy, the wonderful lady from New Zealand who has created a wee NZ niche in Trevilgo and still sounds like a Kiwi after 30 years away from home) to try and power read on the train so that it could be returned to her before I returned to Croatia, but we got distracted because our seating companions were a lovely young couple on their honeymoon - originally Albanians, resident in Lebanon and incredibly international. It was an interesting conversation as they described their lives in Beirut. Good jobs, he in men’s fashion, she in the local council, good work hours, fantastic shopping, fantastic restaurants and night life, and incredibly safe, incredibly safe! – no problem to walk around the city at night... Unless ‘something crazy happened and there were guns’. I guess ‘safe’, like ‘old ’ has a frame of reference. They were charming and enchanted with the romance of Venice which they had just visited, and had gorgeous matching wedding rings – Cartier, I think… (so cute).
When the train arrived at Lake Como there was a cold wind blowing – we wandered around the old town, checked out the Basilica and then discovered a photograph exhibition – gorgeous black and white scenes developed on cotton fabric and then washed with an emulsion to create a smoky effect. The photographer himself arrived and checked us out and we charmed him with intelligent questions. Unfortunately they were ‘one-offs’ and already framed, too big, too heavy and too expensive to consider.
It is still low season technically speaking, so the funicular was having a few safety tweaks and was closed for the week – so we took the bus to the top of the hill (a hair-raising experience where there was a lot of faith in the condition of the brakes). There were only four of us in the minibus due to the fact that when some German Tourists asked for instructions to get tickets for the bus, the old lady sitting behind us dismissed them unceremoniously by telling them that they had to wait for the next bus and told the driver to leave. We couldn’t work out how old she would have been (obviously older than her taupe wig) - she was from Lake Como originally, but lives in Cape Town, returning to her apartment for six months of the year, which she had been doing for 31 years, just following the sun. We asked for advice about a café at the top of the hill, but she said she wouldn’t know because she doesn’t trust anyone enough to eat out… I suggested that perhaps we should eat at her house with her and she giggled.
And in true Italian style, the train back to Milan was delayed by an hour. We sat on the platform watching the locals shrug their shoulders and roll their eyes each time a new announcement came over the speakers.
Joy texted Sharon to invite us to eat with her – gorgeous pasta, wonderful wine – and more thought- provoking conversation,which all illustrated a point that was made by Joy last time we ate together – Sharon had commented that she had been a bit disappointed in the food she had had so far in restaurants, and Joy made the point that the food itself is not the point in Italian eating, but that it is the sitting and taking time with family and friends that is what it is all about – that the food is secondary to the company but as a result, the experience enhances the food. And the point was illustrated as we sat there talking – the food was simple but divine, but the company made the act of eating and the actual food even better. Joy is a special person, and as we walked around the village the other night with her (on our search for the perfect eclipse of the moon) it was obvious that she is well known and respected in the community as she was greeted warmly by others out walking.
It’s time to return to Croatia to my wee apartment (after staying a few days in a gorgeous penthouse apartment with Sharon – thanks Sharon!!) – I have Croatian lessons organized, the kids will be wanting me to row with them, and my tramping boots will be missing me! And there may be a trip to Slovenia to do some rock climbing coming up
PS We didn't spot George.. he must have been in Croatia looking for us!
Thursday 16 June 2011
Italia!
So the pauza has been fun so far!
I met Sharon in the Verona P N train station and we taxied into town to a lovely hotel in the centre of the ’old’ part of town (my perspective of what ‘old’ is has changed somewhat), dumped the bags and dragged ourselves reluctantly out into the streets of designer shops.. oh all right, we went wandering the historic sites and tourist attractions first – and there were a few obvious ones which were all in walking distance.
Just at the end of the street we tumbled upon the Arena di Verona (who could miss it), seriously, take a look at it! Slightly different from others I have seen (being a connoisseur of Roman Ruins) in that it is constructed from bricks, not marble. This arena dates back to the 1st century AD and was the ‘in’ place for gladiators. It’s now the ‘in’ place for opera and there was a tasty menu of the performances coming up over the next few months. Not being an opera fan, or perhaps just because I haven’t been exposed to the joys of opera, I didn’t recognize the various operas but if you happen to be in Verona in the next few months…
We found the Dal Cappello house in another street around the corner from the main piazza –the house, famed for the Romeo and Juliet story was owned by the Dal Cappello family. Other star-crossed lovers had added their names to the walls of the house, and a collection of padlocks (a la the wall of padlocks near the first town in the Cinque Terra villages) had been started on the gateway. *sigh*. Such romance.
There is an amazing castle with huge walls near the arena, but at that point is was nearly nine o’clock, we had been wandering for nearly 4 hours and were starving. The local Trattoria won out.
But speaking of designer stores, there are a lot. ‘Zara’ had arrived in Verona the night before with a grand opening, and was tucked in next to the serious grown up designer stores. And for future reference it isn’t easy to try clothes on in a small cubicle if you have your dog with you – it tends to get tangled up in the curtain. I only mention it in case you were thinking of trying it…
Exhausted from the opulence of these stores, we caught the train to Treviglio where Sharon is based for a month – an arduous task if ever I saw one. The apartment is in the ‘old’ part of town (cobbled streets, piazzas, church bells tolling) and is totally delightful.
At seven we promenaded to Sharon’s friend’s house – and spent the evening deep in philosophical conversations regarding happiness, contentment, pois, and cultural appropriateness. And that was only after one glass of champagne. We wandered back into the village in search of food (which we found) and in search of the eclipse of the moon (which we didn’t find, even though the sky was clear). The food was divine, and the company superb – four displaced women, all in their 50s – all with a clear ideas on life and the meaning thereof – a Kiwi in Treviligo for 30 years, a Welsh woman living in Bergamo and Sharon and I. Suffice it to say it was a late night. At 1 in the morning we were reliving our Kiwi childhood with a set of pois which lit up when twirled….
I met Sharon in the Verona P N train station and we taxied into town to a lovely hotel in the centre of the ’old’ part of town (my perspective of what ‘old’ is has changed somewhat), dumped the bags and dragged ourselves reluctantly out into the streets of designer shops.. oh all right, we went wandering the historic sites and tourist attractions first – and there were a few obvious ones which were all in walking distance.
Just at the end of the street we tumbled upon the Arena di Verona (who could miss it), seriously, take a look at it! Slightly different from others I have seen (being a connoisseur of Roman Ruins) in that it is constructed from bricks, not marble. This arena dates back to the 1st century AD and was the ‘in’ place for gladiators. It’s now the ‘in’ place for opera and there was a tasty menu of the performances coming up over the next few months. Not being an opera fan, or perhaps just because I haven’t been exposed to the joys of opera, I didn’t recognize the various operas but if you happen to be in Verona in the next few months…
We found the Dal Cappello house in another street around the corner from the main piazza –the house, famed for the Romeo and Juliet story was owned by the Dal Cappello family. Other star-crossed lovers had added their names to the walls of the house, and a collection of padlocks (a la the wall of padlocks near the first town in the Cinque Terra villages) had been started on the gateway. *sigh*. Such romance.
There is an amazing castle with huge walls near the arena, but at that point is was nearly nine o’clock, we had been wandering for nearly 4 hours and were starving. The local Trattoria won out.
But speaking of designer stores, there are a lot. ‘Zara’ had arrived in Verona the night before with a grand opening, and was tucked in next to the serious grown up designer stores. And for future reference it isn’t easy to try clothes on in a small cubicle if you have your dog with you – it tends to get tangled up in the curtain. I only mention it in case you were thinking of trying it…
Exhausted from the opulence of these stores, we caught the train to Treviglio where Sharon is based for a month – an arduous task if ever I saw one. The apartment is in the ‘old’ part of town (cobbled streets, piazzas, church bells tolling) and is totally delightful.
At seven we promenaded to Sharon’s friend’s house – and spent the evening deep in philosophical conversations regarding happiness, contentment, pois, and cultural appropriateness. And that was only after one glass of champagne. We wandered back into the village in search of food (which we found) and in search of the eclipse of the moon (which we didn’t find, even though the sky was clear). The food was divine, and the company superb – four displaced women, all in their 50s – all with a clear ideas on life and the meaning thereof – a Kiwi in Treviligo for 30 years, a Welsh woman living in Bergamo and Sharon and I. Suffice it to say it was a late night. At 1 in the morning we were reliving our Kiwi childhood with a set of pois which lit up when twirled….
Tuesday 14 June 2011
And so to Venice.
Venice is tired – tired of tourists who walk on the wrong side of the path, who stop without warning and block the path, who sit in front of shops eating in the street. It is tired of tourists who just don’t think.
We were on the vaporetto and watched with horror as a German father lept on to the boat as the gate was closing and the boat had pulled away from the stop – his wife followed him, and then his daughter lept… narrowly missing falling into the canal… leaving one small son standing at the stop. What could have been so urgent that they couldn’t have waited another 4 minutes for the next taxi.
And what an incredible city to be abandoned in. The father yelled to the son to catch the next boat – without realizing perhaps that the next boat may not be the same line or follow their route. Then the vaporetto driver yelled at the father. And the mother yelled too. We wondered if there is a lost and found box for children to be located at the end of the day. Which could be a good place to leave those children who were too tired and hot and whose parents had become impatient and were having arguments in the street.
Its not a city to rush in or to be rushed – if you need to get a bus or a train, you have to plan on getting tangled in large groups of tourists all following the steps of a guide, all stopping to photograph each other and to peer into shop windows.
I chatted to a charming woman in a shoe shop (charming because she described my large feet as ‘elegant’) and she explained that it does get frustrating with so many people in the streets – but added that it is a wonderful city to live in when there are not so many visitors.
It still holds a charm for me though – the hidden corners, the quiet echo of passing people in the evening. It is redolent of the romantic stories of the various personalities that have made Venice their home – the lives of the likes of Betty Gugenhiem and her bohemian ‘crowd’. I would love to attend a real masked ball, even found the right dress for the occasion
in a back water alley (literally, not figuratively). The intrigue and the mystery, the romance of the unmasking..
We stayed in Albergo Alex which is beautifully aged and elegant, like the wonderful woman who runs the hotel. It is perfect because it is so close to everything that you need to find. That is, when you are not lost – which is wonderfully simple to do – and maybe the best plan here is to put an afternoon aside to get yourself lost and just see what you find! It’s like a personality test for control freaks.
We accidentally found the art exhibition of New Zealander Michael Parekowhai - but it was closed. Apparently the exhibition is a beautifully carved black grand piano with a bull sitting on top of it.What's the symbolism there? The piano is sitting in the foyer of a grand palace on the Grand Canal - the accoustics would be wonderful. Shame we couldn't get to see it. Sram ti bilo! We had come all the way from the Antipodes to see your work Michael! (or that's what we told the curator when we met her).
We found the fresh market this morning and wowed ourselves with the produce available - and wondered how the convenience of the convenience market which has opened up opposite Albergo Alex since I first visited here four years ago has affected the wonderful culture of shopping at the market in the morning rather than gathering all of your needs from the one place. The changing face of Venice...
Venice is tired – tired of tourists who walk on the wrong side of the path, who stop without warning and block the path, who sit in front of shops eating in the street. It is tired of tourists who just don’t think.
We were on the vaporetto and watched with horror as a German father lept on to the boat as the gate was closing and the boat had pulled away from the stop – his wife followed him, and then his daughter lept… narrowly missing falling into the canal… leaving one small son standing at the stop. What could have been so urgent that they couldn’t have waited another 4 minutes for the next taxi.
And what an incredible city to be abandoned in. The father yelled to the son to catch the next boat – without realizing perhaps that the next boat may not be the same line or follow their route. Then the vaporetto driver yelled at the father. And the mother yelled too. We wondered if there is a lost and found box for children to be located at the end of the day. Which could be a good place to leave those children who were too tired and hot and whose parents had become impatient and were having arguments in the street.
Its not a city to rush in or to be rushed – if you need to get a bus or a train, you have to plan on getting tangled in large groups of tourists all following the steps of a guide, all stopping to photograph each other and to peer into shop windows.
I chatted to a charming woman in a shoe shop (charming because she described my large feet as ‘elegant’) and she explained that it does get frustrating with so many people in the streets – but added that it is a wonderful city to live in when there are not so many visitors.
It still holds a charm for me though – the hidden corners, the quiet echo of passing people in the evening. It is redolent of the romantic stories of the various personalities that have made Venice their home – the lives of the likes of Betty Gugenhiem and her bohemian ‘crowd’. I would love to attend a real masked ball, even found the right dress for the occasion
in a back water alley (literally, not figuratively). The intrigue and the mystery, the romance of the unmasking..
We stayed in Albergo Alex which is beautifully aged and elegant, like the wonderful woman who runs the hotel. It is perfect because it is so close to everything that you need to find. That is, when you are not lost – which is wonderfully simple to do – and maybe the best plan here is to put an afternoon aside to get yourself lost and just see what you find! It’s like a personality test for control freaks.
We accidentally found the art exhibition of New Zealander Michael Parekowhai - but it was closed. Apparently the exhibition is a beautifully carved black grand piano with a bull sitting on top of it.What's the symbolism there? The piano is sitting in the foyer of a grand palace on the Grand Canal - the accoustics would be wonderful. Shame we couldn't get to see it. Sram ti bilo! We had come all the way from the Antipodes to see your work Michael! (or that's what we told the curator when we met her).
We found the fresh market this morning and wowed ourselves with the produce available - and wondered how the convenience of the convenience market which has opened up opposite Albergo Alex since I first visited here four years ago has affected the wonderful culture of shopping at the market in the morning rather than gathering all of your needs from the one place. The changing face of Venice...
Sunday 12 June 2011
A Piratic Excursion
Well, today was another one out of the lucky dip bag.
Yesterday, when we realized that we had another day in Rovinj up our sleeves (due to the fact that ferries only travel to Venice daily in the high season) we took the bold move of booking an ‘excursion’.
To be exact, a Panorama Tour to the Limski Kanal to see the Lim Fjord, (with an hour pauza) and then a 20 minute pauza in cavern.
We arrived at the wharf 20 minutes early so that we would get good seats on the boat. For some reason the guy welcoming us onto the boat presumed that we were German (no!) and was pretty excited when we explained just how far we had come across the world just to go on this Excursion
We had been told that there would be a gratis drink on the tour – what we weren’t told was that immediately the boat left the wharf we were plied with drinks – firstly some rakija (blew Danica’s head off) then some domaci vino, voda, naranca, rakija, vino … and so on. Most of the tourists were Germans, some were Czechs .
The barman was also the Excursion Commentator and was able to move quickly through that boat in three different languages (never forgetting us in the corner) to explain Points of Interest.
Point of Interest number 1 – ‘the next beach we pass is a nature beach’. Laughter from the boat.
• Point of Interest number 2 – ‘the boat passing us is a nature boat’. Laughter from the boat.
• Point of Interest number 3 – ‘the next beach is a nature beach’ as our boat went closer to the rocks – Laughter from the boat….
We travelled up an inlet until we came to a wharf where we all piled out for the hour pauza – we wondered when where the fjord was but we were already in it! To be honest, we were imagining something more dramatic, but we realized how stupid we were, we marvelled at the rock formations etc etc.
And so to the caves.
The boat stopped at a wharf next to an obvious cave – we were told that we had an option – either stay on the boat for the 20 minutes pauza or go and look at the caves for 5 kuna. Now, remembering that Dad had said ‘don’t miss out on any opportunities’ we piled off the boat, resolute in our determination to maximize on our opportunity.
It was a Pirates Bar in a cave – who knew! For your 5 kuna you got to walk through the bar clutching the postcard that you received as the entrance coupon. By now we were nearly hysterical and decided that this was a photo opportunity that we couldn’t turn down – and here are the fruits of our Pirates Cave photos.
Onda, we piled our way back onto the boat, drank more wine, sailed close to the nature beach again and were docked again by 6.00 pm. And that dear readers, will be put into the archives as ..well, and experience. An Excursion if you will. Cheers.
By the way, we are off to Venice tomorrow and there may be a pauza - not sure about my internet connection there…..xx
Yesterday, when we realized that we had another day in Rovinj up our sleeves (due to the fact that ferries only travel to Venice daily in the high season) we took the bold move of booking an ‘excursion’.
To be exact, a Panorama Tour to the Limski Kanal to see the Lim Fjord, (with an hour pauza) and then a 20 minute pauza in cavern.
We arrived at the wharf 20 minutes early so that we would get good seats on the boat. For some reason the guy welcoming us onto the boat presumed that we were German (no!) and was pretty excited when we explained just how far we had come across the world just to go on this Excursion
We had been told that there would be a gratis drink on the tour – what we weren’t told was that immediately the boat left the wharf we were plied with drinks – firstly some rakija (blew Danica’s head off) then some domaci vino, voda, naranca, rakija, vino … and so on. Most of the tourists were Germans, some were Czechs .
The barman was also the Excursion Commentator and was able to move quickly through that boat in three different languages (never forgetting us in the corner) to explain Points of Interest.
Point of Interest number 1 – ‘the next beach we pass is a nature beach’. Laughter from the boat.
• Point of Interest number 2 – ‘the boat passing us is a nature boat’. Laughter from the boat.
• Point of Interest number 3 – ‘the next beach is a nature beach’ as our boat went closer to the rocks – Laughter from the boat….
We travelled up an inlet until we came to a wharf where we all piled out for the hour pauza – we wondered when where the fjord was but we were already in it! To be honest, we were imagining something more dramatic, but we realized how stupid we were, we marvelled at the rock formations etc etc.
And so to the caves.
The boat stopped at a wharf next to an obvious cave – we were told that we had an option – either stay on the boat for the 20 minutes pauza or go and look at the caves for 5 kuna. Now, remembering that Dad had said ‘don’t miss out on any opportunities’ we piled off the boat, resolute in our determination to maximize on our opportunity.
It was a Pirates Bar in a cave – who knew! For your 5 kuna you got to walk through the bar clutching the postcard that you received as the entrance coupon. By now we were nearly hysterical and decided that this was a photo opportunity that we couldn’t turn down – and here are the fruits of our Pirates Cave photos.
Onda, we piled our way back onto the boat, drank more wine, sailed close to the nature beach again and were docked again by 6.00 pm. And that dear readers, will be put into the archives as ..well, and experience. An Excursion if you will. Cheers.
By the way, we are off to Venice tomorrow and there may be a pauza - not sure about my internet connection there…..xx
Saturday 11 June 2011
Of saints and death by Lions
Once upon a time there was a lovely young girl called Euphemia who was born around 290 AD, and became a Christian. Emperor Diocletian, (you know the guy from Split) was outraged by both her choice of religion and her commitment to remaining a virgin, and had her tortured mercilessly before being thrown to the lions (common practice with Christians) in 304. (Goodness, do the maths there – she was only 14!! Teens just get so committed to causes!) Her body was later taken to Constantinople where it remained until 800.
One dark stormy night, the body disappeared from its place in Constantinople, only to reappear off the coast of Rovinj in a spectral# boat! The townspeople were unable to budge the heavy sarcophagus until a small boy appeared with two cows (also spectral) and told the townspeople that the saint had appeared to him in a dream. The sarcophagus was then dragged to the top of the hill and placed in the small church of St George – and is now sitting in the beautiful church of St Euphemia which replaced St George in the 1700s.
Each anniversary of the 16th of September, devotees congregate at the church of St Euphemia*.
And although it wasn’t the 16th of September today, there were plenty of people who climbed their way to the top of the hill in Rovinj to touch the sarcophagus and offer prayers.
Now, here’s the thing – we walked up that hill, up the cobbled path to the church. We have also seen the size of the marble tomb of St Euphemia, and for the record, getting it into the church would have been no mean feat. I leave that thought with you. I would suggest that it would have taken more than a young boy with a vision.
In the meantime though, this young saint has the responsibility of the welfare of the town of Rovinj.
Many young girls have been given the name of Euphemia, and a bronze representation of her sits atop the 60 m bell tower on a rotating base as a weather vane.
Note – *St Euphemia is the largest baroque building in Istria - it is a magnificent church in size and adornment. But what was it with lions and Christians???
# Spectral means ghostly.
The last photos here are of the external chimneys that I mentioned in my last blog, and a beautifully decorated wedding boat in the harbour! Next time I get married I will do it here!!
One dark stormy night, the body disappeared from its place in Constantinople, only to reappear off the coast of Rovinj in a spectral# boat! The townspeople were unable to budge the heavy sarcophagus until a small boy appeared with two cows (also spectral) and told the townspeople that the saint had appeared to him in a dream. The sarcophagus was then dragged to the top of the hill and placed in the small church of St George – and is now sitting in the beautiful church of St Euphemia which replaced St George in the 1700s.
Each anniversary of the 16th of September, devotees congregate at the church of St Euphemia*.
And although it wasn’t the 16th of September today, there were plenty of people who climbed their way to the top of the hill in Rovinj to touch the sarcophagus and offer prayers.
Now, here’s the thing – we walked up that hill, up the cobbled path to the church. We have also seen the size of the marble tomb of St Euphemia, and for the record, getting it into the church would have been no mean feat. I leave that thought with you. I would suggest that it would have taken more than a young boy with a vision.
In the meantime though, this young saint has the responsibility of the welfare of the town of Rovinj.
Many young girls have been given the name of Euphemia, and a bronze representation of her sits atop the 60 m bell tower on a rotating base as a weather vane.
Note – *St Euphemia is the largest baroque building in Istria - it is a magnificent church in size and adornment. But what was it with lions and Christians???
# Spectral means ghostly.
The last photos here are of the external chimneys that I mentioned in my last blog, and a beautifully decorated wedding boat in the harbour! Next time I get married I will do it here!!
Friday 10 June 2011
Rentatourist
Oh my goodness, we have been SUCH tourists today! We woke up to heavy rain in the night, and as it was still raining a bit this morning we felt inspired to go sight-seeing. In a rental car! Me, driving on the right hand side of the road (it was like a mantra – right hand side, right hand side…).
I had been told that ‘must sees’ in Istria (apart from the obvious, Rovinj) were Motovun and Hum. Motovun because it is a beautiful elevated walled city and Hum because it is officially the smallest town in the world!
It took us a while to get going in the morning – had to visit the green market here in Rovinj, had to have coffee and brioche, had to wait while the car was groomed, so eventually set off at about 12, armed with mineral water ,cherries, smokva and flat peaches. Rovinj is circled by a ring of one way streets so it took a while to get out – a few false starts.
Let me just walk you through the things that you have to get used to when you are driving on the right hand side of the road – the rear view mirrors take a while to work out, the safety belt doesn’t need to be pulled from the right hand side, the gear stick is on the right hand side not the left, the roundabouts don’t roundabout on the right side….. it took a while to get used to driving – a bit of concentration!
So, first to the town of Bale because that was where big Eddie said that there was a funny church –
still unsure what he meant – the church of St Elisabeth was a beautiful Catholic Church with a crypt underneath it. The town surrounding it was quaint. The lovely thing about this trip is that there are not crowds of tourists and so this little town was nearly all ours.
As was Motovun which is a captivating town perched on a hill in the Mirna River Valley – the Venetians decided to fortify the town with a wall in the 14th Century. We parked the car half way up the hill and walked to the main gate – a narrow cobbled road leading up to the centraltrg/ piazza (and these things are all named in two languages, Italian and Croatian). The gorgeous old church (Sv Stjepan) was deadly quiet apart from the quiet working of four young artists renovating the friezes in the central altar area.
We did a fancy bit of circumnavigation to find Hum (nearly drove to Slovenia) because it isn’t on the maps, and we almost gave up when we saw a spray-painted sign on the side of a bridge. Hum has become famous for being the smallest town in the world, although we are not sure of the criteria that they have applied to wear this laurel. It is a walled city in that entry is through a massive set of bronze doors depicting the 12 months of work in the year. There is a beautiful chapel, St Jerome, which has frescoes in unusually bright colours – which we managed to glance at as the old woman doing the vacuuming blocked our entrance. We asked if we could go in and look at the crke (church) but the lady wielding the vacuum said ‘no’. Never mind, we saw a bit of it. The local people were preparing for a party tomorrow – they were expecting about 1,000 people which is a lot of extras in a small place! The population of Hum is currently 24. Each year a mayor is elected and so the people currently living in Hum have each had a few turns at being mayor. There is a lovely stone table underneath the trees where matters of town importance are discussed by the residents.
The town is manicured and groomed – we decided that someone with a marketing degree who lives there decided that they must put Hum on the map to generate an income to make the continuity of the town viable. We supported that concept by buying some beautiful truffle pag cheese from the souvenir shop.
And then somehow the co-pilot managed to find the direct route back to Rovinj in time to return the rental car by 8 o’clock. Fantastic team work – no accidents, only a few wrong turns, only one pedestrian had to scarper off the road because I was intent on hugging the curb (it still makes me giggle to think of it) – well done us!
I had been told that ‘must sees’ in Istria (apart from the obvious, Rovinj) were Motovun and Hum. Motovun because it is a beautiful elevated walled city and Hum because it is officially the smallest town in the world!
It took us a while to get going in the morning – had to visit the green market here in Rovinj, had to have coffee and brioche, had to wait while the car was groomed, so eventually set off at about 12, armed with mineral water ,cherries, smokva and flat peaches. Rovinj is circled by a ring of one way streets so it took a while to get out – a few false starts.
Let me just walk you through the things that you have to get used to when you are driving on the right hand side of the road – the rear view mirrors take a while to work out, the safety belt doesn’t need to be pulled from the right hand side, the gear stick is on the right hand side not the left, the roundabouts don’t roundabout on the right side….. it took a while to get used to driving – a bit of concentration!
So, first to the town of Bale because that was where big Eddie said that there was a funny church –
still unsure what he meant – the church of St Elisabeth was a beautiful Catholic Church with a crypt underneath it. The town surrounding it was quaint. The lovely thing about this trip is that there are not crowds of tourists and so this little town was nearly all ours.
As was Motovun which is a captivating town perched on a hill in the Mirna River Valley – the Venetians decided to fortify the town with a wall in the 14th Century. We parked the car half way up the hill and walked to the main gate – a narrow cobbled road leading up to the centraltrg/ piazza (and these things are all named in two languages, Italian and Croatian). The gorgeous old church (Sv Stjepan) was deadly quiet apart from the quiet working of four young artists renovating the friezes in the central altar area.
We did a fancy bit of circumnavigation to find Hum (nearly drove to Slovenia) because it isn’t on the maps, and we almost gave up when we saw a spray-painted sign on the side of a bridge. Hum has become famous for being the smallest town in the world, although we are not sure of the criteria that they have applied to wear this laurel. It is a walled city in that entry is through a massive set of bronze doors depicting the 12 months of work in the year. There is a beautiful chapel, St Jerome, which has frescoes in unusually bright colours – which we managed to glance at as the old woman doing the vacuuming blocked our entrance. We asked if we could go in and look at the crke (church) but the lady wielding the vacuum said ‘no’. Never mind, we saw a bit of it. The local people were preparing for a party tomorrow – they were expecting about 1,000 people which is a lot of extras in a small place! The population of Hum is currently 24. Each year a mayor is elected and so the people currently living in Hum have each had a few turns at being mayor. There is a lovely stone table underneath the trees where matters of town importance are discussed by the residents.
The town is manicured and groomed – we decided that someone with a marketing degree who lives there decided that they must put Hum on the map to generate an income to make the continuity of the town viable. We supported that concept by buying some beautiful truffle pag cheese from the souvenir shop.
And then somehow the co-pilot managed to find the direct route back to Rovinj in time to return the rental car by 8 o’clock. Fantastic team work – no accidents, only a few wrong turns, only one pedestrian had to scarper off the road because I was intent on hugging the curb (it still makes me giggle to think of it) – well done us!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)