Rovinj - first impressions

Goodness, what a long day!!

We raced out of bed in Split at 6 this morning, were on the bus to Zadar by 8.30, arrived there at 11.30, did a quick circuit of the old town and the supermarket (Konzum), on the bus to the airport by 2, flying by 3.30, in Pula by 4.00! Talk about the Amazing Race! It has nothing on us.

I remembered the name of the old woman whose house I stayed in last time I was here… asked for her by name, and here we are for three days. I loved Rovinj the first time I came here, and Samuel and Danica can see what the appeal is here. Walking around the marina

the sky was ominous(we have misses hail storms in Makarska) - and the water was filled with jellyfish!

Funny, the taxi driver who brought us here from the airport was the same guy who brought me here in August – Big Eddie – he pointed out the 800 year old olive trees, and the ‘funny church’ – his words, and I still don’t get why it is funny!

Rovinj is contained in an egg-shaped peninsular. Originally it was an island and was first mentioned in the 7th century as Ruvigino – there is a large Italian community here, and all street signs are in both Croatian and Italian. The food has a strong Italian influence as does the sense of dress-style. Bright coloured jeans abound (love them!).

The population expanded in the 18th century with an influx of immigrants fleeing the Turkish invasion of Bosnia and continental Croatia – this is when the island of Rovinj became a peninsular. The town has bounced from Austrian to French to Austrian to Italian rule. Wandering around the streets tonight, most of the tourists seem to be German – someone suggested that this is because it is still low season – Germans like to save money!
There are the most gorgeous little bars everywhere – we had wine and pizza bread in one at 6 this evening, followed by a lovely meal in another one on the piazza at 10 (yes, they are Italian piazzas, not Croatian trgs). With rakija sa medom on the house. Apparently New Zealanders are not common in this part of the world, so we were worth some attention. Or maybe it was Danica’s new shoes or Samuel’s new t shirt…. There has been a bit of retail therapy in the last few days!

The streets are cobbled and incline towards the cathedral at the top of the main hill in the town – windows, balconies, shutters and porticos, all in a confusion of styles from gothic, renaissance, baroque and neoclassical – with the inclusion of the unique feature of ‘fumaioli’ – the word is more Italian than Croatian- the exterior chimneys on the houses. I’ll get some photos of these tomorrow!

In the meantime, this Amazing Race has exhausted us all. We are tucked into two sobe in the home of Maria – one street back from the riva, in a house that would be hun

dreds of years old – the well is still in the back yard. And Maria herself must be a hundred, with only a few teeth left in her head, but her house is cisto ( with a ‘ch’ on the ‘c’, clean) and the beds are comfortable. Plus the bonus prize here is that she has towels bigger than tea-towels and she doesn’t mind if you take them to the beach. Which we will do tomorrow, weather permitting.

Old Ground

Apologies for going over old ground, but I’m back in Split with Danica and Samuel – we are planning a marathon day tomorrow, leaving Split early in the morning and taking the bus to Zadar to catch a plane to Pula, to take a bus to Rovinj (I’m puffing just at the thought of it all!). We need to be in Rovinj so that we can enjoy that gorgeous town for two days before we leave on a ferry to Venice!

Split doesn’t ever lose it’s magic for me – the tiny streets that wend their way through the palace, the open ‘trgs’ with cafes dotted around, the unexpected way that you can turn up in the opposite direction to where you thought you were heading.

We wandered around the shops, did the basement history tour, looked in the beautiful Katedrala (actually, I didn’t go in, my dress had too much shoulder exposed) and then ate a delicious late afternoon meal with a friend.

As the evening wore on, the streets filled with people wandering, meeting for coffee and wine, meandering with gelatos.

And then we had the most wonderful experience – we were heading up a small alley and heard a klapa group singing – we quickly followed the sound until we found them – four young guys singing in the most beautiful harmony, unaccompanied, just singing in the vestibule for the joy of the acoustics. There was no expectation of donations, no promotional thing going on, just singing - because they could.

The vestibule (to quote the guide book) is the best preserved part of the imperial palace. The circular ground floor is topped by a cupola which was once covered in mosaics – although the centre of the dome has disappeared and is now open to the sky. There are various alcoves in the bricked walls which add to the acoustics. The sound was magical and we stood transfixed through four songs. And then they just wandered away.

Our apartment is in the Diocletian Palace itself, four stories above the evening murmur of the people gathered in the cafés on the riva. Kids are running around, teenagers are doing what teenagers do. It’s pleasant. I can’t think of any other way to describe what I see out the window. Pleasant and family and relaxed. A great way to finish the day.

Village Life

Last night was a delight.

Our cousin Mark picked Danica, Samuel and I up from my apartment and took us to their apartment half way up the hill between Gornje Tucepi (upper Tucepi) and new Tucepi (the tourist town by the sea). Mark is a 5th cousin and also a Jakic from Tucepi, and he and his wife Kay are here for the third time. We decided that we would all go up to the selo (village) together to check out the old houses. They have been staying in a renovated apartment with a gorgeous courtyard and a mulberry tree outside it. The place is beautifully peaceful, but requires a car trip to go anywhere – and he has discovered that as a tourist, he is at the bottom of the pecking order on the road – if he meets a car on the narrow road, he is bullied into reversing out of the way – the locals rule.

A lot of the residents in the selo moved down to the coast after the earthquake here in 1961 – still more moved as it became important for jobs and education which were closer to town, and then only the old ones were left up there for a few years. Now places are being purchased as holiday homes by people from other countries, and it is becoming almost economical to live up there. There are young people renovating family houses and tending the garden plots.

We decided to walk from Mark and Kay’s apartment up the single lane road until we came to the village – we wandered first to the left hand side of Sv Ante (the beautiful church) where there is a cluster of houses all with terraced gardens. One of these houses was our cousin Zlata’s mother’s house, and her husband Drago goes up each day to work in the garden. When we ate at their house on Sunday, everything on the table was from his garden – including the olive oil, the vinegar in the dressing on the salad, and the wine.

Maria is an old lady who lives a few doors from Zlata’s parent’s house and she stopped to chat to us. I explained who I was and she laughed and said that she already knew – Drago had been up in the garden and told Maria about us, including the fact that we had been for lunch at his house the day before.

Mark’s grandfather’s house is in a different area from our grandfather’s house – and the house would have been two storied - the structure is still there, the floor of the second story has gone, the arch is still solid - but since the last time that Mark and Kay visited Tucepi, a whole wall of stones has been removed. We looked around as we walked to see who had new walls of the same stone!

They are stuck with the same dilemma – each time they come here they visit the old house, see that it has deteriorated further and wish that they could fix it up and use it. But the logic of this is plain – the other option is to gift it to a relative to renovate on the basis that there is always a room for them to stay in – but this option is also fraught with issues.

From there we wandered further up the hill through more houses, some renovated, some original, and some in various states of decay, and then around and down to the road where our grandfather lived. The house is barely recognisable, with vines and blackberry bushes growing over the structure – there look to have been three buildings on the land.

I would love to clear it all back to see exactly what was there. Unfortunately due to an error in the court system in Makarska, the land that was to pass to my mother and her two sisters has been transferred to a cousin. The court records state that my grandfather died with no Will and no issue and therefore the land went to the closest relative, a cousin in Australia. The lawyer with the file has explained that in the same court document there is a copy of Granddad’s Will, noting that he had three daughters. A shrug of the shoulders and ‘sto raditi´ - what to do. It would require funds to try and undo the situation – and everytime I am up on the land in the village, I feel motivated to try and do something about it. But then, what. And how.

I struggle to understand the feeling of absolute connection that I feel in this old village – I love talking to the old people who obviously wonder who on earth we are – and talking to Mark and Kay, they feel exactly the same way. There is no explanation, there is no logic. But then what sort of life would it be if you just behaved logically. (I wouldn’t be over here have this experience for a start!).

Picture me under a tree

I may have found a niche market here.

Yesterday I had phone call from the librarian to say that he was trying to write a letter to a distant relative in New Zealand and he was stuck on a particular word, and he wondered whether I would be able to help. I suggested that I visit him at the library today and have a look at what he wanted.

It may have been a ruse because he kept me there for nearly two hours showing me all sorts of information about his family. Numerous books have been written about this Hvar family from Sucuraj (with a ‘ch’ for the ‘c’), and descendents have been flung around the world in a pretty erratic but impressive way. He told me about his grandmother who died at 103 years old, and about the poem that he wrote when she died which was then translated into English by a New Zealand poet (Pervin?) – and he promised me a copy.

He explained that the original family moved there from Bosnia to get away from the Turks, and then explained what the Italians did when they took over the village, and then what the Germans did when they took over the village, and then what the English did when they bombed the village to get rid of the Germans… Sucuraj (with a ‘ch’ for the ‘c’) was a wonderful village to control strategically. A perfect sleepy Island village for war participation. I was totally engrossed in all of this information and his stories.

I wrote the letter back to the relative for the librarian, explaining that the person he was looking for had died in Switzerland, and even though they had been told that he was a lawyer, the fact that he died at age 21 made it unlikely that he had finished his qualifications. The librarian said that he didn’t know how to thank me, and shook my hand and kissed each cheek.

Which gets me back to my niche market. There are men who sit under trees in Indian Villages who work as letter writers! I could to do that!!! What do you think?

Walk In the Park - Part 4

I apologise for the break in transmission – I’ve been having a busy social time with my visitors. We have wined and dined, walked and visitored… it’s lovely having Danica and Samuel here. And today with a sleight of hands, I convinced them to come with me on a walk with the Planinara Klub.

When I looked at the notice in town (my dictionary and I) I wasn’t quite sure how long the walk would be - but thought it was about 4 hours long. No beans stew though, the notice said ‘hrana – iz torbe’ . A BYO day.
(Did I mention that I splashed out and bought myself a new back pack – one of those super dooper things with pockets and clip things, padding and places everywhere to put stuff. Red and Grey. Mmm)!

So, the destination is Kamesnica (a ‘sh’ over the ‘s’) which is in Bosnia Herzegovina. The notice board said that we would be leaving at 6.30 and back at 5 in the evening. And despite my telling Danica and Samuel that it was a 4 hour walk, well, it wasn’t. Transport is by kombi which means all piling into cars and sharing the cost of benzin.

It’s about an hour and a half from Makarska, involves a passport check which I must tell you about – only because we don’t have a perspective on internal boundaries as New Zealanders. Unlike the passport office that you go through on the coast road to Dubrovnik, this one is on a little back road – just a couple of portable offices on the ground. First you hand your passports to the Croatian Police who flick through them and hand them back, then you drive two meters, hand your passports to the Bosnian Police who flick through your passports and hand them back. They don’t share the same office, but I wondered if they knew each others names, chatted when business was light…

Anyway, half an hour later with cars parked at the edge of a little village, we started walking, twenty eight of us snaking through the forest – a few grassed bits, then very quickly into a steep beeched forest – we saw a mole (dead) and heard a cuckoo or two. (Interesting aside, the word for cuckoo is kukavica, which is the same word applied to a man who is a coward, a pathetic man).

The ‘stick envy’ thing was apparent with Samuel who quickly found a stick for himself – then two for Danica, and then twisted my arm to try one – I’ve been converted. They do make life easier when you are going up (and we were ) and I discovered that they are good when you are going down too. Who knew. There was a lot of up – Danica made grumbling noises about why she had been convinced to do this…. But she quickly got into the rhythm of it.

We stopped at the mountain hut (Planinare Kuca) and had marenda (a snack) and then carried on (some stayed behind and waited there). The destination was 1856 m high – up through the forest, then onto a massive karst ridge and then up to the summit.

Looking down at one point there was a massive man-made lake which feeds the hydro electric plants – and then one of the guys told us that all of the villages that we could see from up there were empty after the war, with all of the local people bar a few hundred, killed. I wasn’t sure what to say because it would depend on where the sympathies of the story teller lay.

To get to the summit took just over three hours – with a quick mental maths calculation you will see that our 4 hour day is at least 6 ½ hours now. A bit of muttering was had by those who had been told it was a 4 hour tramp. With a lot of steep up. But the company is good and the walking quick – Roko is seventy five and the fittest finest man.

At the top we posed for photos, ate a bit more food ‘iz torbe’, then it started to get a bit cold and we headed down again – a lot faster going down but not necessarily easier!

Back at the mountain hut we finished off what was left in our back packs, but in addition, the open fire was smoking away when we arrived, and the most beautiful sausages were cooked on a wire frame, with succulent pork and slabs of fresh bread (kruh) – a feast! Samuel really enjoyed that. A bit of singing, a bit of sleeping in the sun…water from the fresh spring (delicious)… a lot of sunblock.

And then the black clouds which had threatened at the top decided that they wanted to be taken seriously and the thunder started (‘grom’) - we headed back down. It didn’t rain, but the atmosphere in the forest with the thunder was wonderful.

Nearly seven hours of walking, 1856 meters up and down, delicious food, music….we are stinky smelly sweaty, and ready to rest… but first you have to stretch and limber down (because everyone else is doing it!).

Hope you are impressed by these photos, by the height that we walked, especially the two guests who weren’t expecting such a long day – it was fantastic.

Visitors

SAMUEL
This is not Allison writing the blog today, but it is Samuel, the son-in-law with a quick moment of first impressions.
Well, She’s pretty hot here! (I thought I’d start with a typical kiwi blokie statement). Of all of the countries I’ve been to on our trip so far Italy and Croatia, this is my favorite. I feel at home! Why? The beach, the sea. It is absolutno lijepa plaza (absolutely beautiful). Speaking of being at home near the sea I was spiked by a Kina today.
The local beer seems nice Karlovacko (with a thingy above the c). The people seem nice, maybe a little localized like a small NZ town where everyone watches your every move and nothing you do fits in (that’s me not fitting).
Diving is on the agenda for Monday, how exciting! the visibility must be 20, 30 maybe even 40 meters. We ate John Dory last night that’s right we share the same species in NZ and I don’t see this fish migrating all the way to the Adriatic sea….very dumb, slow fish and ugly.
I am leaving with a quote from a book that Allison bought. This is helping me understand the history and culture of Croatia. ‘they would never hurt a Fly’ war Criminals on trial in the Hague. It is a fantastic depiction of those who were in the war that are now being called to account.
Here we go “a Human being lives by his ability to forget” Agree, disagree, up to you?
DANICA
It is hot – the mountains coming into Dubrovnik on the Ferry were beautiful and the early morning arrival put out an airy feeling. With matching roof tops spread wide across the mountain faces, and the clearer than clear water, I actually felt like I was on holiday. I’ve filled my need for figs, almonds and gelato, had one for you Nan (oh alright, and wine) and we purchased two amazing photographs from a local photographer in the stari grad, Dubrovnik, one for my father.
We went for a run this morning, almost too hot but the track along the waterfront and into the bush was worth it.
First session in the sun this afternoon. After kava on the promenade and fresh fruit from the markets, what more could you want. We lay a foot away from the (absent) tide, I’d forgotten how clear the water is here. Even way over my head I could see the bottom, clear enough to know not to grab the dark spikey thing from the bottom. .
I have met some of the friends Mum has made, very lovely and all speaking English well. I’ve decided it should be mandatory for New Zealand schools to learn a second languages until University (not that I went there), at least the lovely ones (not German, American or Australian).
Mum’s language has got really good, I’m very proud of her. Pity so many of the locals speak English to her as soon as she opens her mouth. She needs to wear a T-shirt that says ‘Actually can speak a little.’
Eating out for a traditional meal tonight, meat, meat and a little more meat – hoping I’ll blend in with the other vegetarians here – none.
Ciao

Pauza

No pressure, but thought that I had better do a blog tonight because tomorrow there won’t be one because I will be in Dubrovnik meeting Danica and Samuel and hauling them back to Makarska on the bus. The greeting party when they arrive may be a cast of thousands!
There are cousins and friends, neighbours and a few other random people who are waiting to meet my family.
The bus leaves at 5.30 in the morning and Danica and Samuel will have to wait around in a café for an hour before I get there. So it’s an early night for me, and alarms set on both phones.
Danica is going to take a hip hop class on Saturday (Samuel offered too, but...).

I’ve just been sitting with my neighbours, looking at u-tube clips of Jermaine and his Geeking. Jermaine was Danica’s teacher at dance school – check them out, especially the Maori Boy one filmed in Aotea Square – and then had to show them Frosty Boy and the BMX Kid because it is just so New Zealand and I love the concept of God doing bombs! (My neighbours are New Zealand born, so they understood the humour).

Oh, and funny thing, I have a new pupil to teach to row – my first girl! I’m pretty excited about that. We both turned up this evening at 6.00 … but there was no rowing… maybe Saturday morning.

And even the yoga is having a pauza – everyone has too many summer commitments, so classes are on hold until, well, I guess until the tourists are gone. I will have to keep twisting and stretching in the privacy of my own apartment. It was getting hot in the room anyway, and I don’t fancy bikram yoga.

And just in case you had given up .... here's a wee article for those to whom they think it applies. The heading says 'with love, it's never too late'

... these two met each other again after 50 years apart, and wow, look at that sparkle in their eyes!

I’ll be back! Vidimo se.