These Boots are made for Walking

So in awe am I with my new tramping boots that I decided that this morning would be an excellent opportunity to commence our relationship. And how better to do that than with a walk up the Biokovo Mountain to Makar and Puharici.
My first task was to work out the correct way to lace them up (passed that test), and then to walk with Grace and Dignity as though it is the most natural thing in the world for me (she who wears really high shoes to work) to walk in such huge gallumping boots! To add to the picture I did the Weekend Movie Star going to Yoga thing (cap pulled down, big sunglasses..) so that I would appear Inconspicuous. Did it work? Who knows, my eyes were averted so as not to catch anyone else’s eyes.

Next thing I knew I was marching up Put Makar as though it was the most natural thing in the world, scuffing my boots slightly so that they don’t look so new. They really are comfortable, although I guess they will be hot and sweaty, but it’s a price I’m prepared to pay.

The sides of the road were dotted with renegade red poppies and some other pink flowers, but more importantly, with wild thyme (which I picked, making sure I got a piece with roots to pop in a space on my terrace), and rosemary. The air is filled with the smell of thyme and fig trees, and the sound of hammers, sanding machines, concrete mixers and weed eaters, clearing the grass from under the olive trees. Everyone is busy after the winter, especially people preparing for the onslaught of tourists from the weekend on (its’ Easter already!).

Speaking of yoga, I joined the local gym last night to attend yoga class twice a week. The cost is 200 kuna each month – which is about $49.00. Every yoga teacher has a different style and variations of poses abound, and this was further complicated by the fact that I didn’t understand much of what was said. One of the ladies who spoke a bit of English asked me if I had tried yoga before and looked astounded when I said that I had been practicing yoga for 10 years! I obviously sucked, (and she thought that I should practice harder).
All that aside, I enjoyed it and will go back again next week.

Oh, and by the way, I'd like to introduce Ivana - just sharing the Uke Love...

Top of the Pops

Last year I was sitting drinking wine with a friend in a bar in Dubrovnik and he casually mentioned that in a recent survey New Zealand women came out top… as the most promiscuous in the world! Sto? What?
Well that got me thinking (OK, I never stop thinking)…
1. Which three Contiki Tour bus drivers took part in this survey?
2. What were the terms and definitions of this survey?
3. Who has read the results of this survey – was it the guy who passed me a glass of wine on the beach and then talked to me for an hour? (hope not, I had to lie to him and tell him I had Croatian lessons to go to..)
4. Are they serious?(and is this true?)
5. And why did he mention this to me?

Perhaps it is because NZ women are prolific travellers (is that the right word?) – we are found in every corner of the world- we were early feminists – we don’t have the strong ties to the Catholic Church that the Italian women do (same survey).. *sigh*. I don’t know, I just thought it worth mentioning.

And leading on from that subject, the mothers promenading and coffeeing with their babies along the riva in Makarska seem so, so young¸ some look as though they have just left school. Talking to one of these young mothers, I’m told that the government pays for one year (not a large amount) and it isn’t tagged to the mother – so if a couple decides that the mother will go back to work, the father can stay at home and look after the baby and the household still receives the money. Two babies you receive funds for two years, with a cap at three years. Even with incentives like that, the birth rate is declining, with most couples only having one child. Schools are struggling to keep pupils as competing schools actively market for new pupils.

Baby clothes shops are hugely popular and babies are beautifully dressed, prams are the latest 4WD ones in reds and grays. Children are a real focus in family life, and grandparents are actively involved with their grandchildren, made easier by the fact that families live in the same building – each member of the family living on a separate level. As parents return to work when the child is a year old, grandparents can be seen in parks and on beach with the children. (Yes, if I was a proper grandmother I would be at home helping, not gallivanting around the world).
I had a conversation the other night about the morning abundance of beautifully groomed mothers and was told “well imagine – you get up in the morning, pass the baby to the waiting grandmother and then spend an hour or so doing hair, makeup, etc, and then claim the baby back from the mother in law, and spend the morning in the cafes with the other mothers. How hard can it be?” [this comment from a kiwi Croatian].

And a final comment from a mother in her mid thirties when we talked about the young mothers who look as though they have just left school – “these young people now have lost their dreams and sadly can only see motherhood as the answer to what to do next”.

Mostar

Well, now for something completely different… this morning I leapt out of bed (with gay abandon), rushed into town to the bankomat to get spare funds, raced back to the apartment to get my passport.. and jumped on to the 7 o’clock bus heading to Bosnia, specifically to Mostar. Along the coast towards Split and then up the most incredibly steep road to the top where it plateaued out with deep ravines and gorges with the most delicious rich soil turned over ready for the spring planting, deep soil colour, redolent of the rich Bombay market garden soils. Trick question - how many people does it take to check passports as you pass from Croatia to Bosnia - Herzegovina? - 6 men in uniform, all standing around smoking, and one female policija who gathers all of the passports to check against the computer. Fascinating, but I didnt dare risk photographing them.

Mostar is about two hours into Bosnia-Herzegovina from Makarska, which place, I have to say, was a bit of a shock – third world communist feeling initially.

I got off the bus at the autobusna stanica – broken glass, no signs, no office, the building had been started a while ago and not ever finished, and stood there wondering where to head to, and what to do next. Fortunately there was a Belgian couple looking equally bewildered, and so we combined forces for the day.

The Turks (the Ottoman Empire) conquered the area surrounding Mostar in 1468 and it was they who bought the Muslim religion to the area

- and built the famous bridge crossing the Neretva River, the fast and beautiful aqua coloured river that flows through Mostar.

There were a lot of conversions from the Christian religion to the Muslim one at the time – it was more economical for a start, as the Muslims were taxed at a lower rate – who can argue with that!

This is a town that has been ravaged by war – Montenegro and Serbia declared war on the Turkish occupied state in the 17th Century – Austria and Hungary annexed the area to their empire in 1876, which reign ended with the end of the First World War – it was united into the Kingdom of Yugoslavia at the end of the 2nd World War (bit of map re-drawing involved) and prospered quickly with industrial and agricultural development. Many lives were lost in the WW2 – a specific graveyard has been created for those who died in the fight against facism.
Walking through the town, there are war wounds from the most recent war in 1992-1995, with bombed buildings and houses with sniper holes.

Whole graveyards are dedicated to those that died during that time – graves that show huge numbers (specifically young Muslim people ) who died in 1992, 1993. It would be interesting to know exactly how many lives were lost in this most recent war. The historic bridge has been rebuilt as it was completely bombed, as has the original stari grad, the old village. Walking through this old town, there is still a definite Turkish flavor (right down to the lokum) with beautiful mosques and rugs. The town itself is a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The rest of the city was, to be honest, pretty untidy and unkempt – but with a feeling of prosperity in an odd way – the shops were often upmarket in modern malls with brands and stock that I hadn’t seen in other towns. I even managed to get the sexiest pair of tramping boots you can imagine. Branka said they would have been smuggled in – they were a good price! Mr Erceg, President of the Mountain Climbing Club hasn’t seen the last of me! I just need to walk around my apartment to wear them in – 6 steps one way, then back!

Sunday Walk

I had an unexpected late night last night – bit of a story to it, I may tell you about it later, hence no blog yesterday. Suffice it to say, I wasn’t up as early as I normally am this morning, and once I had rallied myself, I decided to go exploring – a Sunday walk if you will. So here we have a photographic essay …

I checked out the rather vague map to find out the way to Puharici which is one of the original villages on the lower reaches of Biokovo.

From there I worked out the road back to Makar and then back down to the town. The population shifted from these villages years ago moving down into the new town – there was an earthquake in the 1960’s which moved a few people, and for work I guess (and maybe because they had to keep having their gear boxes fixed – seriously steep roads!) so there are not many people left in them, mainly old people. There seems to be a trend now for new houses and renovations of old houses in the old villages, maybe because this is a cheaper housing option than buying in the town.

The Family Housing Concept is pretty straightforward - parents build a house (flat roof¸ leaving a bit of the reinforcing steel exposed), and as the sons marry (sons only mind you), they move back into the next level built on top. Easy. Question from the group – how many levels can you go up? Answer is three. And if you have more children (not likely) then the oldest son moves in with mum and dad with his wife, and gets that level as they shuffle off. Downside? Mother-in –law in your face – upside – mother-in-law often has your meal cooked for you when you get home from work, and built in baby sitters.

Anyway, the garden plots are still being gardened up in the selo

(village) – plots are full of tomato plants, potatoes etc, and the ground under the olive trees is being mown. Each original family in the village has title to garden plots – amongst the land that was passed to my grandfather there were numerous garden plots (about 25), spread over the general area of Tucepi – some only 12 m 2. But everyone in the village knew which bit of land belonged to which family. Working with the natural product available, (stones), the hills have been terraced and walls formed around the gardens. This work was done by the women. I say this just because it is true.

On top of a title of ownership to any of the land, there is a title of useage which outlines who has the legal right to use the land – it’s incredibly complicated and is one of the many things which needs to be sorted out before Croatia can be accepted into the EU¸ which the fortune tellers say will be next year. Or the next. Or soonish. I was talking to a lady here who is trying to sort out the title to some land that belongs to her husband’s family – it is a house of 30 m2 and one of those m2 is owned by a relative who won’t relinquish it – so there is a stalemate. There is a general flurry with NZ Croatians trying to formalize the ownership of family land before the current ownership is set in concrete – speaking of which, there is a lot of concrete around this place! Any bit of land not used for gardening is concreted for parking of cars – which is at a premium.

Anyway, we were walking. From the Makar road, down through the market (not so busy today because it is Sunday – church bells ringing. Now if Marie could help me here – what is the symbolism of the olive branch at this time of year? – (coming into Easter). Everyone coming home from mass was carrying one. And children had little painted eggs – I spotted some in a window –

and the local papers are full of ideas for easter gifts – not stereos and bikes and things on sale for Easter a la Auckland, but, for example, egg shells with sprouting seeds (I tried to photograph this particularly fantastic concept, but it is a bit blurry..)

From there I lay on the beach for a while to read my book (I know, hard work, but someone has to do it – its not all play, it’s a history of Croatia – just in case someone offers me a job as a tourist guide) and then walked around Sv Petar to pick sparagos –

even got a photo of this to show you. It is pretty elusive after the rest of Makarska has walked around the tracks, but managed to find enough for my dinner – with krumpir (potatoes) cooked in rosemary which, if you must know, I purloined. So that’s Sunday. Not difficult – but delightful!

Nervous

Twice this week I needed the word for ‘nervous’ in Croatian. Twice the dictionary was not at my side.

First on Tuesday morning as trener pushed me away from the edge of the landing bay, wobbling slightly, it felt as if it was the first time I had been in a single –trener obviously thought so too. He asked if I could swim and then said “just go 100 metres and back”. Which I did (sort of, a bit further) and saw that the boys were going further. I must have passed scrutiny - Trener said “you go with boys, is ok”. And I did. Straight out into the Adriatic Sea. Imagine that Nanette – no steering required, no checking behind, just rowing! And then back and then out again. “Faster hands away” called trener as I passed the Klub the second time. And I did as trener said (of course).

And the process is the same – hose the boats (but then towel dry), boys chattering (there were three boys rowing) and then lift the boats away. Perfect. Perfect boat, perfect water, perfect morning.
(Aside - I can't even begin to describe how clear and clean (cisto i bistro) and blue the water is...the photos just don't do it justice).
I was hankering for the standard After Rowing Coffee but had diligently brought no money with me so that I wouldn’t be tempted to do coffee in my rowing clothes.

Second Nervous Incident - Later in the morning I thought I would go and find out the cost of a haircut and see whether I needed to make a booking, thinking a haircut in a fortnight would be timely. The assistant in the salon quickly called Bruno (he was out doing coffee) and misunderstanding slightly, thought I meant a haircut this week (Thursday) but social thing that I am, I already had a coffee date in Tucepi- so zasto? Why not now then? And now it was then.

I said malo, a little bit only, not too much, goodness, it’s only three weeks since the last one, but Bruno Scissorhands was on a roll. Snip¸snip, fast as a fast thing. “You want shorter here (my fringe?) Your face¸ like Sharon Stone (really?)..” Ten minutes later ¸a smallish pile of hair on the floor and a big smile from Bruno. Dobro! This man knows how to wield his tools of trade - dried, sprayed and laquered! And then posed for a photo (ha, they think I’m someone!).

I’ll be back there in four of five weeks – cost of a haircut – 100 kuna - (to calculate NZ $ divide by about 3.85)
Just another wee history lesson - in medieval Slavonia, land use by peasants was subject to a tax payable to the land owners. This tax was originally payable in marten pelts (like a weasel) - the Croatian word for marten is kuna. So there you have it!

Ruffled Feathers

The storm has nearly cleared today, with a blue-skied chilliness in the air. When we (my boys and I) ran this morning, I didn’t heat up enough to take my polyprop top off. It was surreal looking at the sea with a backdrop of snow-dusted mountains. We did warm up on the ergomet though – A, B, C exercises (two minutes each) and then twenty minutes rowing.
I caught the taxi van to Tucepi to meet a cousin for coffee to talk about work opportunities. His eyes widened when I suggested that I would be happy working as a sobarica (room maid) and then widened again when said that I would walk back to Makarska.
Sitting in a café in the trg, there are a few pigeons with ruffled feathers (from the wind??). My neighbour (let’s call him Grumpy Old man – GOG) has ruffled feathers too. Here’s the thing.

I have a lovely terrace which is recessed one meter below the road (Exhibit A).

The road is a public road (Antuna Gustava Matosa) but the GOG built the metal fence between the road and the terrace and says that I must not use it to leave my terrace. He motions for me to go around to the other door and scowls. Seriously. Unfortunately (for him) I am immune to scowls. Branka has had trouble with this issue before, so we are ignoring him.

Did I mention my Mountaineering Club experience? Last Sunday, at the kind suggestion of Branka, I got up at 6.30, lunch packed¸ to go on a tramp with the local Mountaineering Club. It was easy to spot the members of the Mountaineering Club as they made their way to the meeting place – tramping boots, checked shirts, trousers with lots of handy pockets and zips, back packs and those alpine stick things (have you got the visuals??). I was feeling slightly nervous by now….
I introduced myself to the leader of the pack (Drago) and he looked me up and down in my running shoes and shorts and said……’no’.
Boots are needed – no rolled ankles.
Long trousers are needed – snakes.
I skulked away like a child sent home from a school outing.

Never mind – I’m determined. I’m looking out for a shop that sells tramping boots (or someone my size that looks like an ex-mountaineer), I’ve just bought trousers (with pockets for Africa) and longer socks. But goodness knows where I will find those alpine stick things!
 

Weather Watch - Day Tripper

Last night a couple of people mentioned in passing that the weather was going to be bad today, that the Bura wind was coming. I took the precaution of moving my outdoor furniture and my clothes drying rack so that it wouldn’t be blown around the terrace. In the middle of night the wind started, with the gentle and then more persistent banging of the shutters, and then the rain came. I don’t think that it rained for long, but it all looked pretty desolate when I got up this morning.

So… I slung anchor and decided to take a day trip to Split – this is a north-bound bus trip of 1 ¼ hrs, a spectacular road winding through the lower reaches of the Biokovo Mountains. My logic was that Split is not as bounded by the Biokovo as Makarska is, and so maybe the weather would be better.
Even in wintery clothes (the most wintery of those that I could find in my belongings) it was pretty cold. Listening to the weather forecast on the bus I heard the word snijeg and the temperature for Split predicted to be osam – eight. I was so cold when I got off the bus, it was all that I could do to find the book shop and then the nearest café, and through shivering teeth, order a hot hot coffee. The main purpose for going to Split apart from escapism, was because I knew that it had a wonderful book shop with a large English section. A new book on the history of Croatia kept me company in the warmth of the café for an hour or so.

The main tourist attraction in Split is the Diocletian Palace which is one of the most imposing Roman ruins in existence. Emperor Diocletian, a native of Dalmatia was one of the most important emperors of the Roman Empire, ruling from 284-305 AD. He voluntarily gave up his power, something totally unprecedented in Roman history, and built the Diocletian palace for his retirement. It was built from stone imported from the island of Brac, marble from Italy and columns and sphinxes from Egypt. (The marble paths can be a bit treacherous in the rain – very slippery!)

Diocletian was a ruthless persecutor of Christians, and the irony is that his mausoleum was subsequently converted into what is now one of the oldest intact Christian churches.

The peristil, where Diocletian was once worshipped as divine, is just beautiful – the stairs down from the Peristil lead to a cellar full of tourist shops, but this area was once accessible by sea – the boats were able to come straight into what is now the podrum. The natural stairs around the courtyard are a perfect meeting place for coffee. Unless the wind is blowing, which it was in abundance today. But there is a wee history lesson for you.

The Diocletian Palace, unlike Dubrovnik, is a living city still, being home to upward of 3000 people. In comparison, Dubrovnik has emptied of the local people who have retired to the local villages, as it is more lucrative to rent out the houses to tourists than to live there.

Buses back to Makarska leave on the hour so by 3 o’clock, with a few books, more smokva (figs), some domaci sir (local cheese) and a beautiful piece of pizza, I climbed back onto the bus. The sun was out and the temperature had increased by a few notches – but as we left the city, the Biokovo Mountains were spectacular, with a fresh dusting of snijeg as the weather forecast predicted! I tried to take photos from the bus, but they just don’t do the road, the mountain or the snow justice.

As I write this, the wind has dropped slightly, but from my window I can see the snow in the afternoon sun. Beautiful.