Last night I went picking wild asparagus (sparoga – the s has a sh sound) in the .. well I guess that it is the woods, but I want to say bush. There are two paths leading around the promontories at either end of the main plaza in Makarska– one is Sveti Petar, and the other one, which is where we went, is Osejava . The weird thing is that the asparagus-like shoots are found near sparogina (again with the sh sound) (which is to all intents and purposes the same plant at Rings Beach which we are being encouraged to blast with Round Up to kill), and do take a bit of spotting. Last night I ate with Branka and her children and she fried the sparoga with scrambled eggs and then a fried egg on the top, with plenty of delicious olive oil and salt and pepper. It is, to my thinking, nicer than the asparagus that is cultivated, and a lot more fun. So addictive is the hunting, that I just couldn’t stop looking, and ended up going out again this morning, ostensibly for a run, but with plastic bag and camera in my hand.
When I got up, the rest of the town was heading to work and my running clothes were very conspicuous. To put it bluntly, I’m picking that no other women, let alone ones my age would be seen publicly in Makarska dressed like that. I know for sure that our penchants for stopping into a café on the way home from rowing in NZ would SO SO SO not be ok here. No, really. I managed to sneak through the town of early morning coffee-ers by keeping my eyes cast downwards, acknowledging what a social miscreant I was.
Once more appropriately dressed, I returned to town to begin The Battle of Red Tape and Local Government.
Step 1 – visit the Grad Hrvatski – the Municipal Chambers, to ask in exquisite broken Croatian if I could please speak to someone about getting my work permit. Without this step I would be working as an illegal worker, and the avenues for employment would be limited.
Step 2 - 2nd floor, room 21 – long conversation punctuated with sighs and smiles and rolled eyes – told that I had to do this, this, this & that – but not in that order.
Step 3 – visit to the police station to let them know where I live so that that part can be endorsed – told that I need to come back with more information. Not enough it seems to have the documents that I have. I am now good at saying Imam domovnica, imam putovnica, ja sam iz novog zelanda. I need proof of where I am staying, and proof that that person owns the house… and the police station closes at 1.
Step 4 - back to the book shop to buy the little blue book Radna Knjizce which will be stamped by all future employers.. but of no use to god or man until the other steps have been completed.
Let’s be clear – at this point I have achieved nothing. Nothing. I need to return to the police tomorrow, and then to the council, and then (I think) to the Employment Office. And each place will stamp documents – and apparently I also have to find a JP who will want to be paid (where is my father when I need him??).
It took most of the day, and each place I visited made me feel more confident with my Croatian – especially when I have made my introduction and then the person responds in Croatian to moi!
And so whilst I was on a roll, I visited a tourist agency to ask about jobs (she wanted to be my new best friend – told me she was from Zagreb, and that people from Zagreb were hard workers and the Dalmatians are a bit lazy), and then I went to another tourist agency, and then had a final call into Biokovo Hotel. Tomorrow I have an appointment to meet with the manager there.
Funny thing – I mentioned to one lady that I was happy doing any work, and that I was ‘ pretty good with a paintbrush, maybe I could work with a decorator doing renovations etc”. To which she rolled her eyes (I LOVE the way they do that, I shall practice in the mirror) and said,” that would not work, women don’t do that sort of work”. Imagine how wrong I have been all this time.
This all took until three o’clock – and there lies the reason that the Croatian women are not overweight. You walk. And walk. No need for buses or taxis, and why bother with a car. And then you stop for a coffee (kava vejliko s mlijekom) and sit and watch the world for a while. You don’t see overweight people here at all.. the walking and the cigarettes I guess.
And while I’m making observations, goodness me, they could do with a bit of help in the bathroom area. Generally showers are crap. (My bathroom is lovely and new and clean). Peta Mathias did a thing on showers when travelling, and I think she called the sort that you normally find 'General Insurance with Multiple Exclusions'. But bathroom towels are small, like drying yourself with something slightly (oh so slightly) larger than a tea-towel. Which leads me to why I have bought a large white towel for 99 kuna tonight…..
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