I finally did something that I haven’t yet done since I’ve been in Finland…I stayed in the country for three consecutive weekends! This decision was influenced by a few things, 1) I was exhausted after all my recent (months of) travel, 2) I got staffed on a hectic three-week case, and 3) Finland is actually very nice in the summer! One thing very special to Finland is the Finnish archipelago on the southwestern side of the country which is basically a scattering of thousands of islands from, quite literally, here to Sweden. The Finnish archipelago has more islands than any other archipelago in the world, approximated at around 40,000 if you count every land mass and rock that breaks the surface of the sea. Only 257 of these measure more than one square kilometer and even fewer are inhabited. However, due to the jokamiehenoikeus, literally translated as ”every man’s rights,” in Finland any person may go on any Finnish property to bike, ski, hike, camp, or hunt (providing he or she has the proper permits) as long as the visit does not harm the property or bother the owners. There are some loose guidelines with respect to what is outside of the reasonable limits (i.e. you can’t camp in the immediate vicinity – yards or gardens – of private homes) but you can basically do and go wherever you want in the country as long as you are respectful.
One of the best ways to take advantage of jokamiehenoikeus and the unique Finnish landscape is to island hop by bike in the Finnish archipelago. There is a 240 km route starting from Turku which you can do by alternating short ferry rides with cycling and is usually done over the course of five or so days in the summertime. There are ferries running between the largest of the islands, bridges between others which are very near one another, and personal sailboat or front crawl stroke options for the others. I wanted to explore the archipelago sometime this month and with a trip to Norway scheduled for next weekend, this was my last chance. Word on the street is that Finnish summer is coming to an end post haste!
I have been very busy at work so wasn’t sure I could swing a weekend away but packed my backpack for the weekend anyway and decided I’d make a game time decision at work on Friday. I figured I could take my computer along and decided to go for it. When will I be in Finland in the summer again? I had looked up trains to Turku that morning and the last one leaving Helsinki which would allow me to rent a bike and then take the bus to a village called Kustavi was at 3pm. I finished a meeting at 2:45pm, changed clothes frantically (I only had a small backpack for the weekend so couldn’t bring anything extra), and ran to the train station to catch my 3:03pm train. I arrived panting at 3:01pm only to find out that the train was late. Figures!
We ended up leaving Helsinki at 3:30pm for the two hour ride. As mentioned, I had planned on renting a bike when I got to Turku and then catching the bus to Kustavi but this assumed that my train would get to Turku at 5pm, giving me an hour or so to rent my bike and get to the bus station for the 6:15pm bus to Kustavi. Now that my train was late the whole plan was starting to fall apart. I hadn’t been able to commit to the weekend before that day around noon so hadn’t reserved a bike or any accommodations. I started calling from the train to get things figured out and the train was going so fast that my USB wireless laptop connection kept failing as did my cell phone connection. I was finally able to get access for a few minutes on one of my many devices (cell phone, separate blackberry, and laptop with USB internet connection) which allowed me get the phone number for the bike rental shop in Turku. Annoyingly, their website said nothing about opening hours in either Finnish or Swedish (which I am getting pretty good at deciphering for survival’s sake if not for full understanding) so I wasn’t even sure they would still be around when I got to Turku and would not have any time to waste finding out. I tried calling about 15 times during which I got a busy signal 10 times and hung up on by the Finnish phone system, got no answer and no option to leave a message 3 times, and got a live person twice who didn’t speak English so hung up on me. Ugh.
I gave up on the bike rental for the time being and starting calling to secure accommodations in Kustavi. Thankfully, I had emailed the Kustavi tourist office earlier that week and had asked for a list of places to stay. (Places in rural Finland are almost always and solely advertised in Finnish so it’s impossible to find them with an English Google search.) I started at the top of the list and started making phone calls…out of a grand total of five options in the village (and two of those were actually out of town a ways) I got one “sorry – no room available,” one “I have room but it is impossible,” ummmm…ok…took that as another no room available, one no answer, and two non-English speaking patrons who just started yelling whatever they were trying to tell me, making the common cross-cultural mistake that louder words somehow convey their meaning better. If I don’t know the word to begin with I don’t know it any better when it’s yelled at me! (I will never, ever make the “talk louder so they will understand you” mistake again after this year!) One of the associates on my case graciously offered to help me and called the Turku bike and tourist office to help me get some details as I tried to figure out a back-up plan. He found out that the bike rental shop was out of bikes (very good to know before making a frantic run over there!) but that the tourist office had some and would be open until 6pm. Thank you, Jonni!
My initial plan had been to bus the 60 km to Kustavi that night and then split the remaining 180 km (this includes ferry rides) of the trail back to Turku over the next couple days. Kustavi was sounding booked and I wasn’t willing to take the chance that one of the non-English speaking places had a room because, if not, I’d be up a creek in the middle of Finnish nowhere. I had planned on starting in Kustavi and then cycling to Nauvo to stay for the second night so knew of some possible accommodations in that area. I started calling and emailing for rooms in Nauvo, hoping I’d get some sort of confirmation before I had to commit myself to a bus ride into the island wilderness.
I finally got in touch with a recommended bed and breakfast about 5 km outside of Nauvo which had one room still available. I told the owner that I’d take it and I’d be there as soon as possible – hold that room! My train arrived in Turku at 5:35pm and I jumped out quickly to find a taxi to the tourist office. I got to the tourist office a few minutes later and told the woman at the desk my plans to rent a bike and get to Nauvo. She suddenly looked a little panicked and ran off to the find the bus schedule. She rushed back and put it in front of me circling the last departure of the day to Nauvo at 6:20pm. It was now 5:50pm and I wasn’t worried – this lady clearly didn’t know what kind of traveler I am! Thirty minutes is plenty of time. She said, “I don’t know if bike is allowed on bus.” Oh. Now that is a bummer. I had assumed that would be a given and if I wasn’t able to take a Turku bike on the bus, I wouldn’t be able to do the loop (because I wouldn’t be able to return a bike rented elsewhere to the original rental location). “Bus station is 20 minute walk so….” she was struggling with the words and couldn’t quite finish her thought so I did it for her, “…so I better hurry!” She smiled and nodded a big nod. “YES!” I thanked her, grabbed a map, and headed out the door. I didn’t want to risk getting turned away by the last bus of the day because I had a bike with me so decided to just go and rent one when I got to Nauvo. No option to do the loop now but what can you do?
I headed off toward the bus station and usually when someone says it takes 20 minutes it takes me less than 10 minutes. I was paying attention to where I was on the map and this time the 20 minute approximation was actually wishful thinking. I would probably have made it but it would have been cutting it close so I when I saw a taxi driver standing next to his car, I waved him down. The map turned out not to be very representative of the actual distance so this ended up being a good call. I made it to the station, boarded the bus, and was finally on my way to Nauvo.
Nauvo is the Finnish name for the island and Nagu is the Swedish name. Almost every city and island name in western Finland has interchangeably used Finnish and Swedish names (the Swedish name for Turku which is also posted on all road signs and train timetables is Åbo, for example). If Sweden and Finland are the two extremes on a continuum, the islands between the countries form the tangible transition section from one country and culture to the other. I don’t speak Finnish or Swedish and trying to get around and make myself understandable in one language of place names is hard enough let alone having two options and no idea which one to use in a given situation! The dual-culture piece of this part of Finland is also pretty special to the place so while it actually made it a bit harder for me to navigate (anything that would have been translated to English was now in Swedish instead) it was also a really interesting cultural blend to see in action.
I got off my bus in Nauvo / Nagu which was more a bus stop than a village and then had to figure out how to get to my accommodations for the night 5 km away. I called to ask how they would recommend getting from “town” to the bed and breakfast and the owner’s wife told me that since my bus was already gone (I apparently could have gotten off a couple stops down the road), that she’d be happy to drive in and pick me up. Ten minutes later a very cute woman pulled up in the family station wagon to pick me up. Gotta love small (tiny) town travel!
I was staying at a bed and breakfast on an old homestead which was founded in 1760, 250 years ago this year. Wow! The woman who picked me up was the wife of the owner who was the 8th generation owner of the establishment. Some of the old barn buildings had been converted into a bed and breakfast and hotel while he and his family live in the old, very beautiful main house. The bed and breakfast was truly Finnish cottage style and was more like staying in someone’s home than at a hotel. I had a very simple bedroom and then shared a bathroom, kitchen, and sitting area with the other guests. I usually don’t like this kind of setup (who wants to run into strangers in your jammies in the middle of the night on your way to the bathroom?) but it was so relaxed and low key that it was actually really pleasant. Finns are so quiet and respectful in general anyway that when you put them in a shared house you really hardly notice they are there. If I was looking for some solitude and a break from the city I definitely got it! The summer tourist season ended a week ago (not that I expect it was very crazy even in “tourist season”) and I was on a homestead 5 km outside a village on an island requiring a ferry ride to get there. I like peace and quiet and this may have been even too much for me! Absolutely no, and I really mean no, possible distractions means that you will deal with any demons you may have brought with you before you’re gone – there’s no escaping or ignoring them in the archipelago! The only bad thing about being in the middle of the archipelagan nowhere is there is also no access to food…I grabbed an on-the-run sandwich in the train station in Turku at 5:30pm on Friday and breakfast didn’t start until 8am the next morning. I was starving! (I also realized how much I snack in the evening!)
I rented a bike the next morning and took off for a day of exploration in the archipelago. The day was absolutely and stunningly perfect – bright blue skies and sunshine all around. Another reason I had delayed this trip was because the rain had started to come intermittently to Helsinki and to Turku in the last few weeks (supposedly the beginning of the “horrible autumn” as I’ve been told – yikes!) and I was really trying to avoid biking in the rain. This weekend was also questionable but it was do or die so I just went with it and was handsomely rewarded on the weather front. It was pretty windy but otherwise gorgeous and a perfect temperature at around 75°F. After the crazy cold winter and the last several weeks of uncharacteristically hot and humid summer in Helsinki, I had absolutely no complaints! (Incidentally, this is the hottest summer in Finland since they have been able to measure temperature. My apartment was so hot one day that I found a melting chocolate bar in my kitchen cabinet. Oy.)
I had a great day riding from Nauvo / Nagu to Korpoo / Korpo to Houtskär and back again, stopping at a few beaches, taking four ferries, and checking out some really beautiful farms along the way. It was really fun and relaxing to be biking on the islands with only a few cars passing by every once in a while (car ferries turn out to be excellent traffic control!). The ferry rides themselves were fun too and it really was a great way to see the archipelago. I only wish I could have had another couple days to do the whole loop! (Although after all my solo travel it would have been nice to have someone along to talk to on this trip…Finland is just so QUIET. The silence is really almost deafening!) I took a slightly different route back and did some extra exploration of Nauvo before heading to the village grocery store (wasn’t going to play the starving-all-night game again!) and then to my little cottage. All in all, I estimate that I biked around 70-80 km so it was quite a full day! And shockingly, I didn’t even get a little bit lost. Not even for a kilometer! (I was on the brink of disappointed...the trip was almost too uneventful without my typical figure-out-how-not-to-sleep-outside-tonight trouble-shooting exercise!)
As I was relaxing that evening, I got a call and then a text from an unknown number… “Andrea, would it be alright with you if we served breakfast starting at 9am tomorrow?” I laughed thinking about my new buddies at the homestead who really treated their guests as friends and were hoping to sleep in on Sunday – so cute! Gave the stay a very different, truly homey feel.
I got up for breakfast that morning (delayed till 9am) and although I had been planning on spending another day biking, the bus connections back to Helsinki out of the summer holiday season weren’t great and I only had a morning 10:45am option or a 6pm option which would get me into Helsinki at almost 11pm. I had errands to run and decided that once you’ve seen 50 islands you’ve basically seen them all so opted for the 10:45am bus. The owner of the property personally drove me to the bus stop after checking the schedule (a confusing array of Finnish and Swedish abbreviations, times, routes, exclusions, inclusions, valid throughs, etc.) himself and then, when we arrived at the bus stop a few minutes early to find no bus, also checked with a woman at the bus stop convenience store. They both looked at the schedule and confirmed, “Yes. The bus should come at 10:45am. It must have missed a ferry from Korpoo so is a bit late.” No problem. I was happy to sit outside in the sun.
So I sat outside in the sun…the bus was only 5 minutes late after all…then 15 minutes late, then 20, then 30…at this point I would miss my connection to Helsinki anyway and the ferry from Korpoo to Nauvo was only 10 minutes long so couldn’t have delayed the bus this long (unless it sank with the bus on it!). I tried to decipher the schedule again myself and was worried about the “++” next to the bus departure for Sundays. I translated the Swedish words next to it which read “only during school summer holiday” and gulped. I was pretty sure the Finnish schools had started up again last Tuesday. I went back in and asked the same woman at the café counter to look at the schedule again, just to make sure I hadn’t misread something or she knew of a schedule change (you really never know!). She read it and said, “Yes, yes. It should be coming….maybe it missed a ferry?....Oh! Wait! That one is only Monday through Saturday! Next bus comes at 1:45pm.” It was currently 11:15am. Ugh. A year ago I would have been going crazy at the inefficient use of time and inability to perfectly maximize every minute of my day but I have learned to go with the flow since coming here. (I had to adjust or I would have driven myself crazy!) So, I spent the next few hours hanging out at the bus stop café in Nauvo, getting some work done and making some cultural Finnish archipelago observations! Nothing lost!
The 1:45pm bus finally came and I was back on my way to Helsinki. I realized when I arrived back in the city that it has taken eight months but I finally feel at home here. I got off the bus, knew where I was, went to the grocery store, knew where the food I wanted was, and walked home in perfect 70°F weather. (Maybe I only feel at home now because it is San Francisco weather sans the fog!) I have been warned that this weather will be short-lived but so is the rest of my time here which is crazy, sad, and exciting all at the same time…there are still so many things to do and places in which to get lost!
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Bewitched, bothered, and bambusa'ed
Our first point of business before leaving Dubrovnik and Croatia was to secure our transportation. We were planning on staying in Kotor, Montenegro (which Ron and Paul had already lovingly dubbed “the ‘Gro”) for the next couple days which is only 90km from Dubrovnik but, according to my estimates, probably four hours of travel if taking the bus (including connections and wait-time). Because we only had a couple days in the city (and the country!), we decided to rent a car to try to maximize fun time and minimize bus time (a.k.a. decidedly not fun time).
Ron and I went to pick up the car on Friday morning and it was definitely a much less formal and much more entertaining process than renting a car would be in the US. First, we sat and waited while the two employees on duty did their best to try to rent to an older French couple…who only spoke French. It was a hilarious 25 minutes of conversation where the woman renting the car spoke a bizarre mix of 50% Croatian, 30% Spanish, 20% English, but added a splash of French in by answering “yes, yes” or “oui, oui” to everything she possibly could. (If you’re really trying you can actually answer “yes, yes” too many questions!) The couple renting the car spoke 90% French and 10% Spanish so you can imagine how smoothly this process went. Despite the serious confusion and lack of common language, the French couple finally walked out with a pair of keys and, after they were gone, the woman at the agency looked at me and Ron and said, “Thank God for English!” and rolled her eyes toward the door. “Who travels to Croatia and only knows French?”
After a much smoother English-only process, we went out with our rental agent to inspect the car before taking off. His boss jumped up and asked for the contract. She looked at us and said, “I have to check his work today because he came to work drunk last night.” Her employee didn’t even bat an eye and replied, “I was drunk before I came to work. Now I am just hungover." Important clarification. She handed him back the contract and raised her eyebrows with a “oui, oui, whatever” look on her face.
We proceeded to check the car and our agent began walking around it and marking all the many scratches and dents on the contract. “There’s one here…and a big scratch here…and here…people think they are James Bond when they are driving and I just don’t understand…and another one here…oh, wow, big one here…don’t they know that if they try to fight the wall that they will always lose?!...and this one…you know what? Why don’t we just draw one big circle around the entire car?!” Ron and I were cracking up the whole time. We finally got out of there with our “gently used” (decidedly abused) vehicle and were on our way to pick up Paul and Amanda.
We made the relatively short trip in two hours and arrived in Kotor which is cradled in a back nook of the southernmost fjord in Europe. Like much of the Croatian coastline, it was also under Venetian rule for around 400 years (at which time it was called “Cattaro”) but belonged to Austria for most of the 19th century until after WWI. Kotor is known for being spectacularly beautiful with a gorgeous old town and crumbling fortress walls nestled into a mountain and it did not disappoint. It really was a pretty awesome location. We let Paul and Amanda out near the old town to try to find a place to stay and Ron and I continued on to find our hotel and park the car.
I had out my trusty Google Maps and so we set off. Per the directions, we went a couple kilometers past the old town, took a left, and then drove another couple kilometers into the hills. I thought this was a bit strange as I always booked hotels or apartments as close to the center of town as I could but I had booked so many places for this trip (and all my previous trips!) at this point that I really couldn’t remember what I had booked let alone where exactly it was. I had the address, phone number, and the name of the place but no other details. (And seriously, should I really need any?)
Ron patiently took directions as we got closer and closer to the address and further and further from the old town. Strangely, however, it didn’t look like we were near any kind of hotels. We were basically in Kotor suburbia. We drove directly to the address and were sitting, very confused, outside someone’s home. Well, that clearly wasn't right. The road was blocked so I told Ron to drive down and around the “block” (a series of a badly paved or dirt roads between homes) and see if the hotel was just on the other side of the barricade. We drove to the other side and still, nothing but homes. Ron was hungry and getting increasingly annoyed (and also increasingly vocal about his annoyance). I was confused and frustrated too but had the exact address so wasn’t sure what was going on. I called the hotel but couldn’t get through although, not understanding the automated message in Montenegrin, I wasn’t sure if this meant that the line was busy, that I was supposed to enter a number for reception or help, or that the number didn’t even exist…at this point I was getting extremely nervous that I might have gotten scammed and there was not actually a hotel at all. Yikes!
We decided to drive back down to the main road and ask in the market. I hopped out and asked a woman selling snacks and drinks at an outdoor stand if she spoke English…nope, not a word. I went into the market and asked one of the employees if she spoke any English…again, nope, not a word. I was sick of asking (and, to be honest, didn’t expect to get a better answer unless I went back to the more touristy old town) and Ron seemed to be on the ragged edge of snapping if I didn’t figure out where to go very soon, so ensued a miming show with Blackberry reading addendums and the writing of key words on the backs of my old receipts to help guide the “conversation.” Through this mess of an attempt at communication I was finally able to figure out that the street name was actually the word for “Old Town” (Stari Grad) and that the hotel didn’t have a street, it was just a building number in the old town. Clearly. That makes so much sense.
I was so happy though that I thanked the woman profusely, exchanged a quick, “Ciao, ciao!” and ran back to the car. I gave the good news to Ron who didn’t actually look as happy as I had expected. Instead of a big smile I got the hook-jab combo of “Why didn’t you know that before we got here?” and “I’ve been hungry for the last 30 minutes of Kotor wandering!” looks. Sorry! It's my first time here too!
We parked and ran into the old town to find our hotel and, after scrambling around the bumpy (but beautiful), marble streets and alleys for a bit finally ran into the hotel (turns out having an address in “Old Town” isn’t super helpful when you’re trying to find an actual building…good thing that the old town is small!). We checked in, threw our bags in the door, and headed out immediately to find Ron some food. He seemed to be on the brink of a hunger-induced meltdown and I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that so we walked out of the door of the hotel, walked ten meters to “Pizza Pronto,” and had pizza in our hands in literally less than two minutes. Can’t get any more pronto than that! Thankfully, Ron was able to cope with life once again. Disaster averted!
We met up with Paul and Amanda who had not yet had a chance to eat and, shocker, Paul led another mad charge to find and review every single menu in the old town. I was pretty over the menu hunt after five days of it but used the opportunity to check out our “new” old town. Kotor is much smaller and much less touristy than Dubrovnik (thank goodness!) and, as such, was really a very charming relief. There were certainly tourists around but they weren’t completely clogging the streets and the town itself seemed more real and less “Disneyland.” Dubrovnik is gorgeous but it’s almost so pretty that it looks like a movie set. Kotor looked more lived in and real and I liked it already. We finally settled on a restaurant for lunch (no surprise at this point that it was the first place we had checked 45 minutes earlier at the start of the search) and decided that we’d wait until early evening to walk up the 1,350 steps to the top of the fortress surrounding the city when it was a bit cooler out (80° instead of 90°F – you take what you can get!). We spent the afternoon checking out the city and just relaxing before our hike up the fortress walls.
The walk up to the fortress was awesome…lovely stone steps winding their way up what look like the equivalent of city walls on the side of a mountain fjord. The views of the fjord were fantastic, as were the remains of the old posts, a beautiful church with a knockout view, and, finally, the fortress at the top. We all made our way up and, true to form, I was climbing all over everything and standing places I probably shouldn’t stand (on a crumbling stone wall over a deep gorge) in an attempt to get the best pictures I could. Ron had become very protective of my camera over the trip as 1) I had some amazing pictures, and 2) because of number one, Ron had stopped taking his own pictures. Subsequently, I was standing on a decently precarious ledge when Ron said, “Hey! You shouldn’t be standing up there. It’s not safe…” I was thinking, “Awww…that is so nice that he’s thinking of my safety!” only to be slammed back in my (comparatively low) place with “…and if you do fall can you at least make sure to throw your camera back?” My jaw dropped to the ground. “I’ll be here to catch it!” he added helpfully. I said, “Well, it’s a good thing I know where I stand with you!” Ron laughed and came over to give me a hug. Remember, we had just (very quickly) come up 1,350 steps so were all pretty gross. I said, “Normally I would tell you not to hug me right now but after that comment you deserve to get slimed!” Punk.
We all headed back down again and then, as only crazy Americans (maybe crazy Californians is more appropriate) would do, Ron, Paul, and I decided to do it again for an extra workout. As the only normal one in the group, Amanda left to head back to her hotel while the rest of us ran up one more time, completely baffling all the other (non-American) tourists on the steps. We got some pretty confused looks from people as they realized we were coming up again. (Side story…the longest set of steps I can find in Helsinki is 50 steps high and I will sometimes run them in an attempt to create a poor man’s version of Lyon Street. As 50 steps is very short, I run them 20 times before I’m bored out of my mind and have to do something else. I have never seen anyone else running these steps and, in fact, they are actually the hang out where people meet to drink beer. The last time I went a bus full of Europeans started clapping for me. It was pretty embarrassing.)
After having such a great day in Kotor, we were ready for another great night out and started out with drinks at our hotel. We had been drinking wine and watching VH1 in the hotel (100 biggest music celebrity scandals or something equally intellectual) so were pretty happy by the time we left for dinner after 10pm. I think we put Amanda in charge of picking a restaurant and, lo and behold, we found one in five minutes (sorry, Paul!). At some point that night Amanda had figured out that my birthday had been a couple weeks before and that I had celebrated alone in Ljubljana so she had decided that we were celebrating it together that night. There was a man playing guitar and singing on the small square there and at some point I had gone to the bathroom and when I came back outside to the table he immediately began singing some sort of Montenegrin rendition of “Happy Birthday” which had somewhat similar lyrics and a very dissimilar tune. It was really cute. (Thank you, Amanda!)
We had heard that one of the famous drinks in Montenegro was called a “bambusa” or “bambuse” and was a mix of red wine and Coke. Amanda had been waiting for this all week and, finally given the menu option at dinner, was able to order one. The wine and bambusas kept flowing and everything just became more and more fun (and funnier). Dinner was capped off with a special happy birthday “banana split” (which Amanda had asked for and was supposed to coincide with the song but they had gotten this all mixed up) which consisted of a banana, a spoonful of ice cream, and a mountain of whipped cream. We weren’t complaining though (who doesn’t like whipped cream?!) and made short order of that before heading to another bar.
It was at that point that I wanted to try a bambusa and asked for it with diet Coke. The waitress shook her head and said, “No, no bambusa with diet Coke. Only regular. We have to open a bottle for that instead of just using machine.” I said, “Well, then can you bring me red wine and a bottle of diet Coke and I will make it myself?” She smiled and nodded quickly. The table was laughing at me and Ron definitely uttered the words “high maintenance.” It was actually pretty good even if it may not be the most sophisticated drink. (Ron then proceeded to drink nearly all of my high maintenance bambusa which probably worked out for the best for me anyway given how we all felt the next morning.) Amanda was definitely bambusa’ed at this point and although we were sitting at an outdoor café in the old town, she would jump up and run over to the neighboring bar / club every time she heard a song she liked and start dancing. So cute and so funny!
Ron and I were thinking of calling it a night so we all got up and walked toward the dancing Amanda. She was standing next to a group of Croatian girls who, when we walked up, starting yelling, “Dance! Dance!” and, of course, all being bambusa’ed, we did. So there we were in the middle of a square in Kotor dancing with a group of Croatians. One of them yelled over the music, “Where are you from?!” Paul replied with, “The United States. California.” He said “California” and the Croatian girls all yelled in unison, “CALIFORNIA! YEAH!” One of them continued, “I know Tupac! California Love!” to which Paul did as anyone would do in this position...and responded with a full-on white-boy rendition of California Love (a very good version, I have to say). Those Croatian girls went crazy for this and were singing (screaming) with him as we all danced in the square. I am not sure I have laughed so hard in years. It was pretty amazing.
One of the girls then threw in, “And New York, I love New York!” to which Paul, now in his rapper element, responded with another white-boy rap song, this time Jay-Z’s “Empire State of Mind.” So it was the four of us, about six Croatian girls, all screaming, “In New YOOOOORRRRK! Concrete jungle where dreams are made…there’s nothing you CAN’T do….these streets will make you feel BRAND NEW!!...” It was pretty ridiculous but absolutely hilarious. Amanda yelled and pointed at me, “It’s her BIRTHDAY!” The girls all screamed and gave me a birthday kiss on the cheek. One of them asked me, “How old are you?” I said, “Twenty-nine.” She stepped back, furrowed her brow, and said, “No! Nineteen!” I laughed (but I definitely liked her even better after that!). She pointed to Paul and Amanda, “Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?” Someone said yes. Then she pointed to me and Ron, “Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?” Ron said, “No, we are just very good friends…” at which point she cut him off and yelled, obviously, “KISS!” then they all (including Paul and Amanda) began chanting, “KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS!” I laughed and Ron, knowing there was no other way out, laid one on me and the whole group yelled, “YEEAAAAHHH!” and continued to jump and dance around.
We started taking pictures together and another random group of girls walked by, one of them wearing a beauty queen-ish sash. One of our new Croatian friends grabbed the beauty queen by the arm and pulled her into the picture. I’m pretty sure there a few pictures of Ron, Paul, and about ten random girls including a sash-wearing beauty queen in the Kotor old town square posted in a few places on Facebook right about now! (I actually don’t have any of them and am hoping Amanda got some – they must be hilarious!) One of the girls asked where we were going and we said we didn’t know. She said, “You MUST come to MAXIMUS!” (She said it “max-eee-MOOOOOOSE!”) Somebody heard the name Maximus and the whole group started going crazy about max-eee-MOOOSE!!! So, naturally, we were on our way to Maximus.
Maximus turned out to be a huge, confusing, crazy club…crazy because every room you entered or turn you took resulted in a new dance floor and a different kind of music. We first followed our new friends to the main stage area where there were a lot of very serious looking Montenegrin men standing at tables, not smiling and not dancing, just drinking and listening to the music. Then the main attraction of the night came out which was basically the Montenegrin equivalent of Ricky Martin. It was pretty funny but, unfortunately, not great dance music and all the serious guys in the place were killing the mood. (I was standing at a table with some Montenegrin girls and some random guy there made us take our purses off the table. He apparently didn’t want them there. Mind your own business, dude! And while you're at it, chill out too!)
It was about 2am and I was getting tired as was Ron. I told Amanda that we were thinking that we’d leave soon and she said she was ready to go too. Now, someone just had to (successfully) tell Paul. Ron took one for the team...and Paul was not happy. Ron, Amanda, and I figured we could handle him if the three of us joined forces so we all started walking toward the exit together…but had to walk through another dance floor which just so happened to be playing American rap music so we, of course, all stopped mid-step and started dancing. Paul was ecstatic – he was ready to stay out all night (every night…) but then the music changed and we were ready to go again. We started walking out again but Paul took his stall tactics up a notch, jumped on Ron’s back, starting waving one arm around like he was riding a bull, and kept right on dancing from his piggyback perch. One of the bouncers tried to pull Paul down but wasn’t successful. Ron finally escaped; I grabbed his hand and pulled him out the door. Amanda almost made it but Paul sucked her back into Maximus at the last second. It was perfectly dramatic end to a great birthday night.
The bambusas caught up to us the next morning, as they tend to do, and let’s just say we were definitely not ready to run up the fortress steps once, let alone twice, that morning. I had read about a beautiful drive with around 30 “hairpin” turns up the side of one of the mountains which offered amazing views of the fjord and then took you through part of a national park on the way back down the other side. Steep, hairpin turns can be difficult to maneuver as a driver, and deal with as a passenger, when you’re feeling great so taking it on hungover was a bit of a challenge. Ron did an amazing job as our fearless driver (poor guy was the only one in the group who could drive a manual transmission so got stuck as driver the whole time) and we really did get some awesome views. It was a bit overcast and a little rainy that morning which was actually nice with respect to seeing the fjord. It was a really beautiful and worthwhile drive (although I didn’t have to do any of the work driving so maybe Ron would disagree!).
We came down through the national park and saw some lovely little mountain towns and villages before getting back to the coast where we then turned south to head towards Sveti Stefan. Sveti Stefan is a picture-perfect island just off the coast packed with pretty terracotta-roofed houses and connected to the mainland by a small walkway. Sveti Stefan was actually a fishing village until the middle of the 20th century when someone decided to turn the community into a luxury hotel. (Bizarre!) It became less popular and fell into decline in the 1990’s during the demise of the former Yugoslavia. It is again being turned into a resort and supposedly set to open sometime this year. Unfortunately, this meant that we weren’t able to actually explore the town and island but we were able to at least visit and see it.
We had been hoping to spend time at the beach there that day but despite some hopeful cloud-parting moments earlier that day, the rain clouds were still heavy and socked in. We ate lunch at a great restaurant in town (fabulous Serbian dishes and, finally, cheap!) and then decided to head down to the beach to check things out even if we weren’t able to enjoy it that day. Sveti Stefan really does look like an oasis or something – really too beautiful and perfect to not be a movie set! It was drizzling a little bit but wasn’t terrible and then just as we got to the walkway out to the island, the heavens opened and just started dumping rain. Ron, Paul, and Amanda ran to stand underneath the awning of a building about 100m away and I jumped under a beach umbrella with a guard for Sveti Stefan. I had my camera out and needed to put it back in its bag before running out in the pounding rain. I got the camera in the bag and the guard and I huddled under the flimsy umbrella. We were getting slammed from every direction. The wind was blowing hard and the umbrella hardly seemed to be protecting us from anything. I figured I better just suck it up and run to building, and I guess the guard was waiting for me, because as soon as I made a slight indication that I was going to run he looked at me and said, “Ok, bye bye!” and was off before I could even say goodbye myself, leaving me under the pathetic umbrella alone. I took off my sandals, did my best to protect the camera, and ran through the now inches of standing water on the ground to the building where the others were standing. Figures – the one 30 minute period we were actually standing outside all day coincided exactly with the one 30 minute window of torrential rain!
We waited out the rain and then wandered around the grounds of a nearby (now muddy) monastery before jumping back in the car to check out another nearby town called Budva. It took us nearly two hours to go only eight kilometers from Sveti Stefan to Budva because of insane and inexplicable traffic just outside the city. Ron was a trooper and didn’t complain a bit, despite having to drive a manual for two hours in stop and go traffic. After the rain, the clouds and cleared and it had actually become a beautiful day. We were hoping to explore the old town in Budva and then hit the beach for a bit but by the time we got to Budva, I think we had all gotten a bit drained from the car ride. Paul and Amanda prioritized beach time while Ron and I went on a sladoded mission in the old town. Also bizarre was the fact that we couldn’t find a single sladoded shop in Budva’s entire old town. We were tripping over sladoded sellers in every other old town but couldn’t find one in Budva to save our lives! We were persistent, however, and found a great place right outside the city walls…it was so good that I almost decided to skip dinner and just gorge on sladoded! Ron and I ended up spending our short time in Budva sitting outside the city walls…as far away from any other tourists and marble streets as we possible could. I think we might have finally had our share of old towns!
We had a great, if a bit more subdued, final night out together in Kotor and just had a fun dinner before making another sladoded run for Ron at the end of the night. The sladoded shop we stopped at didn’t have labels for the flavors so Ron asked about a few of them and settled on the flavor described as “nuts” since he’d had such great peanut-flavored sladoded in Budva. He tasted it and his eyes got wide. “This is awesome!” He offered his cone to the group, “Anyone want a lick of the nuts?”...There was a slight pause before the other three of us burst out into loud, uncontrollable laughter as Ron hid his face in his hands, “I can’t believe I just said that. Anyone want a lick of the nuts?!” We burst out laughing again. This wasn’t the first amazing Ron comment from the trip but it just might be the funniest and was a hilarious end to the final evening.
Unfortunately, we had to leave relatively early the next day to make the drive and get through passport control at the border in time to make our flights. I wanted a diet Coke for the road so ran into one of the coffee shops outside the old town while Ron and I waited for Paul and Amanda to arrive. “One diet Coke, please.” I said. I had paid one euro in Kotor for diet Coke over the past couple days so pulled out a euro coin and laid it on the counter. The man came back with a can of diet Coke and said, “Two euros, please.” I said, “Two euros? For a can of Coke?” He said simply, “Yes.” “That is a rip-off!” He laughed and I grumbled as I fished through my wallet and, for once, didn’t actually have much change. I pulled out a 50 euro bill. The man put his hands up and backed away like I had a weapon or something and said, “No, no, no!” He took a small step forward and pushed the bill back at me. “Too big! We don’t have change here!” I was already annoyed about the price and was now also annoyed about him having no change and wasting time when I was in a hurry. I said, “Well, you shouldn’t charge two euros for a Coke then!” Not sure how much sense that made but I was mad! The man and his colleague behind the counter laughed again. I said, “I don’t know if I have anything smaller.” They stood there staring at me while I searched. Now really irritated I looked up and said, “Well? Are you going to look for change or what?” They chuckled again just as I found another euro coin hidden in my bag. “Aaahh!! Yes! You have euro!” Ron stepped inside the door to tell me that Paul and Amanda had arrived just in time to hear me say, “This is a rip-off! This would only be fifty cents in the United States!!!” at which point he apparently shut his mouth, did an about face, and quickly walked back out. I can’t blame him…I was little embarrassed myself! Might have been a good time to take a vacation from the vacation! I walked out in a huff as the guys at the coffee shop just laughed. Then Ron and Paul made fun of me for scolding the guys at the shop only to still pay the two euros. (“Ever heard of market pricing?” they joked. Very funny.)
We left to head back to Croatia and the Dubrovnik airport and had a good final car trip together. I told Ron the directions were really easy…stay on the same road and if in doubt, stick to the coast. We drove happily for a bit, sharing stories and laughing about the trip, when Ron suddenly said, “Andrea, um, which way? Which way?” as we approached a split in the road. I had about three seconds notice and I said, “I don’t know. Just stay straight. We’re not supposed to turn off this road.” I watched our location for a few minutes on my Blackberry and we were on a nonexistent road, at least according to Google Maps. I said, “Well, better turn around. Looks like we should have actually taken that last turn.” Ron turned around and we were back on the right road a couple minutes later. He joked, “Just stay straight, huh?!” I looked him, blinked, and thought, seriously? We went 2km off track in a car with a GPS map and you are worried about getting lost? Good thing you weren’t with me in Finland when I was 30km off on skis without a map, phone, or enough clothing to survive the night! Sometimes you have to get off track a little bit to see the good stuff (or so I tell myself, usually while lost)!
We were making great time until we hit border control and then had to sit in line for a bit to get through. We pulled up to the station (which was on the passenger side of the car – how much sense does that make?) and I had to hop out to give the man our passports. He asked the usual, “How long were you in Montenegro? What were you doing there? Where are you going?” I answered all his questions and then he flipped open the passports to check that they matched up to those of us in the car. He looked at my passport and said, “Ahn – drae – uh?” He looked into the car for Ahn-drae-uh and, standing in front of him, I said, “Yes.” and nodded indicating that it was me. He looked back at the passport picture, held it out in front of him to get a better look, squinted his eyes, and then looked back at me. “You? Ahn-drae-uh?” He looked again at the passport picture and kind of shrugged as if to say, “Wow. Never would have guessed.” Plate face (my horribly round and wide passport picture) strikes again! The whole car erupted in laughter and I was just happy he didn’t recognize me as plate face. It was the perfect exit from Montenegro and a fittingly funny end to my trip.
Sadly, I had to say my goodbyes at the airport so my three travel companions could head on to Prague. I let Ron say goodbye to my camera too…it almost felt like we had joint custody of it at that point since he had grown so attached. I promised to take good care of the camera and gave hugs all around. Thanks to all for making the trip such a great one and to Ron especially for coming to Europe to visit and for being such a fantastic partner in crime! Looking forward to reliving the bambusa with you all when I get back to San Francisco!
Ron and I went to pick up the car on Friday morning and it was definitely a much less formal and much more entertaining process than renting a car would be in the US. First, we sat and waited while the two employees on duty did their best to try to rent to an older French couple…who only spoke French. It was a hilarious 25 minutes of conversation where the woman renting the car spoke a bizarre mix of 50% Croatian, 30% Spanish, 20% English, but added a splash of French in by answering “yes, yes” or “oui, oui” to everything she possibly could. (If you’re really trying you can actually answer “yes, yes” too many questions!) The couple renting the car spoke 90% French and 10% Spanish so you can imagine how smoothly this process went. Despite the serious confusion and lack of common language, the French couple finally walked out with a pair of keys and, after they were gone, the woman at the agency looked at me and Ron and said, “Thank God for English!” and rolled her eyes toward the door. “Who travels to Croatia and only knows French?”
After a much smoother English-only process, we went out with our rental agent to inspect the car before taking off. His boss jumped up and asked for the contract. She looked at us and said, “I have to check his work today because he came to work drunk last night.” Her employee didn’t even bat an eye and replied, “I was drunk before I came to work. Now I am just hungover." Important clarification. She handed him back the contract and raised her eyebrows with a “oui, oui, whatever” look on her face.
We proceeded to check the car and our agent began walking around it and marking all the many scratches and dents on the contract. “There’s one here…and a big scratch here…and here…people think they are James Bond when they are driving and I just don’t understand…and another one here…oh, wow, big one here…don’t they know that if they try to fight the wall that they will always lose?!...and this one…you know what? Why don’t we just draw one big circle around the entire car?!” Ron and I were cracking up the whole time. We finally got out of there with our “gently used” (decidedly abused) vehicle and were on our way to pick up Paul and Amanda.
We made the relatively short trip in two hours and arrived in Kotor which is cradled in a back nook of the southernmost fjord in Europe. Like much of the Croatian coastline, it was also under Venetian rule for around 400 years (at which time it was called “Cattaro”) but belonged to Austria for most of the 19th century until after WWI. Kotor is known for being spectacularly beautiful with a gorgeous old town and crumbling fortress walls nestled into a mountain and it did not disappoint. It really was a pretty awesome location. We let Paul and Amanda out near the old town to try to find a place to stay and Ron and I continued on to find our hotel and park the car.
I had out my trusty Google Maps and so we set off. Per the directions, we went a couple kilometers past the old town, took a left, and then drove another couple kilometers into the hills. I thought this was a bit strange as I always booked hotels or apartments as close to the center of town as I could but I had booked so many places for this trip (and all my previous trips!) at this point that I really couldn’t remember what I had booked let alone where exactly it was. I had the address, phone number, and the name of the place but no other details. (And seriously, should I really need any?)
Ron patiently took directions as we got closer and closer to the address and further and further from the old town. Strangely, however, it didn’t look like we were near any kind of hotels. We were basically in Kotor suburbia. We drove directly to the address and were sitting, very confused, outside someone’s home. Well, that clearly wasn't right. The road was blocked so I told Ron to drive down and around the “block” (a series of a badly paved or dirt roads between homes) and see if the hotel was just on the other side of the barricade. We drove to the other side and still, nothing but homes. Ron was hungry and getting increasingly annoyed (and also increasingly vocal about his annoyance). I was confused and frustrated too but had the exact address so wasn’t sure what was going on. I called the hotel but couldn’t get through although, not understanding the automated message in Montenegrin, I wasn’t sure if this meant that the line was busy, that I was supposed to enter a number for reception or help, or that the number didn’t even exist…at this point I was getting extremely nervous that I might have gotten scammed and there was not actually a hotel at all. Yikes!
We decided to drive back down to the main road and ask in the market. I hopped out and asked a woman selling snacks and drinks at an outdoor stand if she spoke English…nope, not a word. I went into the market and asked one of the employees if she spoke any English…again, nope, not a word. I was sick of asking (and, to be honest, didn’t expect to get a better answer unless I went back to the more touristy old town) and Ron seemed to be on the ragged edge of snapping if I didn’t figure out where to go very soon, so ensued a miming show with Blackberry reading addendums and the writing of key words on the backs of my old receipts to help guide the “conversation.” Through this mess of an attempt at communication I was finally able to figure out that the street name was actually the word for “Old Town” (Stari Grad) and that the hotel didn’t have a street, it was just a building number in the old town. Clearly. That makes so much sense.
I was so happy though that I thanked the woman profusely, exchanged a quick, “Ciao, ciao!” and ran back to the car. I gave the good news to Ron who didn’t actually look as happy as I had expected. Instead of a big smile I got the hook-jab combo of “Why didn’t you know that before we got here?” and “I’ve been hungry for the last 30 minutes of Kotor wandering!” looks. Sorry! It's my first time here too!
We parked and ran into the old town to find our hotel and, after scrambling around the bumpy (but beautiful), marble streets and alleys for a bit finally ran into the hotel (turns out having an address in “Old Town” isn’t super helpful when you’re trying to find an actual building…good thing that the old town is small!). We checked in, threw our bags in the door, and headed out immediately to find Ron some food. He seemed to be on the brink of a hunger-induced meltdown and I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of that so we walked out of the door of the hotel, walked ten meters to “Pizza Pronto,” and had pizza in our hands in literally less than two minutes. Can’t get any more pronto than that! Thankfully, Ron was able to cope with life once again. Disaster averted!
We met up with Paul and Amanda who had not yet had a chance to eat and, shocker, Paul led another mad charge to find and review every single menu in the old town. I was pretty over the menu hunt after five days of it but used the opportunity to check out our “new” old town. Kotor is much smaller and much less touristy than Dubrovnik (thank goodness!) and, as such, was really a very charming relief. There were certainly tourists around but they weren’t completely clogging the streets and the town itself seemed more real and less “Disneyland.” Dubrovnik is gorgeous but it’s almost so pretty that it looks like a movie set. Kotor looked more lived in and real and I liked it already. We finally settled on a restaurant for lunch (no surprise at this point that it was the first place we had checked 45 minutes earlier at the start of the search) and decided that we’d wait until early evening to walk up the 1,350 steps to the top of the fortress surrounding the city when it was a bit cooler out (80° instead of 90°F – you take what you can get!). We spent the afternoon checking out the city and just relaxing before our hike up the fortress walls.
The walk up to the fortress was awesome…lovely stone steps winding their way up what look like the equivalent of city walls on the side of a mountain fjord. The views of the fjord were fantastic, as were the remains of the old posts, a beautiful church with a knockout view, and, finally, the fortress at the top. We all made our way up and, true to form, I was climbing all over everything and standing places I probably shouldn’t stand (on a crumbling stone wall over a deep gorge) in an attempt to get the best pictures I could. Ron had become very protective of my camera over the trip as 1) I had some amazing pictures, and 2) because of number one, Ron had stopped taking his own pictures. Subsequently, I was standing on a decently precarious ledge when Ron said, “Hey! You shouldn’t be standing up there. It’s not safe…” I was thinking, “Awww…that is so nice that he’s thinking of my safety!” only to be slammed back in my (comparatively low) place with “…and if you do fall can you at least make sure to throw your camera back?” My jaw dropped to the ground. “I’ll be here to catch it!” he added helpfully. I said, “Well, it’s a good thing I know where I stand with you!” Ron laughed and came over to give me a hug. Remember, we had just (very quickly) come up 1,350 steps so were all pretty gross. I said, “Normally I would tell you not to hug me right now but after that comment you deserve to get slimed!” Punk.
We all headed back down again and then, as only crazy Americans (maybe crazy Californians is more appropriate) would do, Ron, Paul, and I decided to do it again for an extra workout. As the only normal one in the group, Amanda left to head back to her hotel while the rest of us ran up one more time, completely baffling all the other (non-American) tourists on the steps. We got some pretty confused looks from people as they realized we were coming up again. (Side story…the longest set of steps I can find in Helsinki is 50 steps high and I will sometimes run them in an attempt to create a poor man’s version of Lyon Street. As 50 steps is very short, I run them 20 times before I’m bored out of my mind and have to do something else. I have never seen anyone else running these steps and, in fact, they are actually the hang out where people meet to drink beer. The last time I went a bus full of Europeans started clapping for me. It was pretty embarrassing.)
After having such a great day in Kotor, we were ready for another great night out and started out with drinks at our hotel. We had been drinking wine and watching VH1 in the hotel (100 biggest music celebrity scandals or something equally intellectual) so were pretty happy by the time we left for dinner after 10pm. I think we put Amanda in charge of picking a restaurant and, lo and behold, we found one in five minutes (sorry, Paul!). At some point that night Amanda had figured out that my birthday had been a couple weeks before and that I had celebrated alone in Ljubljana so she had decided that we were celebrating it together that night. There was a man playing guitar and singing on the small square there and at some point I had gone to the bathroom and when I came back outside to the table he immediately began singing some sort of Montenegrin rendition of “Happy Birthday” which had somewhat similar lyrics and a very dissimilar tune. It was really cute. (Thank you, Amanda!)
We had heard that one of the famous drinks in Montenegro was called a “bambusa” or “bambuse” and was a mix of red wine and Coke. Amanda had been waiting for this all week and, finally given the menu option at dinner, was able to order one. The wine and bambusas kept flowing and everything just became more and more fun (and funnier). Dinner was capped off with a special happy birthday “banana split” (which Amanda had asked for and was supposed to coincide with the song but they had gotten this all mixed up) which consisted of a banana, a spoonful of ice cream, and a mountain of whipped cream. We weren’t complaining though (who doesn’t like whipped cream?!) and made short order of that before heading to another bar.
It was at that point that I wanted to try a bambusa and asked for it with diet Coke. The waitress shook her head and said, “No, no bambusa with diet Coke. Only regular. We have to open a bottle for that instead of just using machine.” I said, “Well, then can you bring me red wine and a bottle of diet Coke and I will make it myself?” She smiled and nodded quickly. The table was laughing at me and Ron definitely uttered the words “high maintenance.” It was actually pretty good even if it may not be the most sophisticated drink. (Ron then proceeded to drink nearly all of my high maintenance bambusa which probably worked out for the best for me anyway given how we all felt the next morning.) Amanda was definitely bambusa’ed at this point and although we were sitting at an outdoor café in the old town, she would jump up and run over to the neighboring bar / club every time she heard a song she liked and start dancing. So cute and so funny!
Ron and I were thinking of calling it a night so we all got up and walked toward the dancing Amanda. She was standing next to a group of Croatian girls who, when we walked up, starting yelling, “Dance! Dance!” and, of course, all being bambusa’ed, we did. So there we were in the middle of a square in Kotor dancing with a group of Croatians. One of them yelled over the music, “Where are you from?!” Paul replied with, “The United States. California.” He said “California” and the Croatian girls all yelled in unison, “CALIFORNIA! YEAH!” One of them continued, “I know Tupac! California Love!” to which Paul did as anyone would do in this position...and responded with a full-on white-boy rendition of California Love (a very good version, I have to say). Those Croatian girls went crazy for this and were singing (screaming) with him as we all danced in the square. I am not sure I have laughed so hard in years. It was pretty amazing.
One of the girls then threw in, “And New York, I love New York!” to which Paul, now in his rapper element, responded with another white-boy rap song, this time Jay-Z’s “Empire State of Mind.” So it was the four of us, about six Croatian girls, all screaming, “In New YOOOOORRRRK! Concrete jungle where dreams are made…there’s nothing you CAN’T do….these streets will make you feel BRAND NEW!!...” It was pretty ridiculous but absolutely hilarious. Amanda yelled and pointed at me, “It’s her BIRTHDAY!” The girls all screamed and gave me a birthday kiss on the cheek. One of them asked me, “How old are you?” I said, “Twenty-nine.” She stepped back, furrowed her brow, and said, “No! Nineteen!” I laughed (but I definitely liked her even better after that!). She pointed to Paul and Amanda, “Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?” Someone said yes. Then she pointed to me and Ron, “Are you boyfriend and girlfriend?” Ron said, “No, we are just very good friends…” at which point she cut him off and yelled, obviously, “KISS!” then they all (including Paul and Amanda) began chanting, “KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS!” I laughed and Ron, knowing there was no other way out, laid one on me and the whole group yelled, “YEEAAAAHHH!” and continued to jump and dance around.
We started taking pictures together and another random group of girls walked by, one of them wearing a beauty queen-ish sash. One of our new Croatian friends grabbed the beauty queen by the arm and pulled her into the picture. I’m pretty sure there a few pictures of Ron, Paul, and about ten random girls including a sash-wearing beauty queen in the Kotor old town square posted in a few places on Facebook right about now! (I actually don’t have any of them and am hoping Amanda got some – they must be hilarious!) One of the girls asked where we were going and we said we didn’t know. She said, “You MUST come to MAXIMUS!” (She said it “max-eee-MOOOOOOSE!”) Somebody heard the name Maximus and the whole group started going crazy about max-eee-MOOOSE!!! So, naturally, we were on our way to Maximus.
Maximus turned out to be a huge, confusing, crazy club…crazy because every room you entered or turn you took resulted in a new dance floor and a different kind of music. We first followed our new friends to the main stage area where there were a lot of very serious looking Montenegrin men standing at tables, not smiling and not dancing, just drinking and listening to the music. Then the main attraction of the night came out which was basically the Montenegrin equivalent of Ricky Martin. It was pretty funny but, unfortunately, not great dance music and all the serious guys in the place were killing the mood. (I was standing at a table with some Montenegrin girls and some random guy there made us take our purses off the table. He apparently didn’t want them there. Mind your own business, dude! And while you're at it, chill out too!)
It was about 2am and I was getting tired as was Ron. I told Amanda that we were thinking that we’d leave soon and she said she was ready to go too. Now, someone just had to (successfully) tell Paul. Ron took one for the team...and Paul was not happy. Ron, Amanda, and I figured we could handle him if the three of us joined forces so we all started walking toward the exit together…but had to walk through another dance floor which just so happened to be playing American rap music so we, of course, all stopped mid-step and started dancing. Paul was ecstatic – he was ready to stay out all night (every night…) but then the music changed and we were ready to go again. We started walking out again but Paul took his stall tactics up a notch, jumped on Ron’s back, starting waving one arm around like he was riding a bull, and kept right on dancing from his piggyback perch. One of the bouncers tried to pull Paul down but wasn’t successful. Ron finally escaped; I grabbed his hand and pulled him out the door. Amanda almost made it but Paul sucked her back into Maximus at the last second. It was perfectly dramatic end to a great birthday night.
The bambusas caught up to us the next morning, as they tend to do, and let’s just say we were definitely not ready to run up the fortress steps once, let alone twice, that morning. I had read about a beautiful drive with around 30 “hairpin” turns up the side of one of the mountains which offered amazing views of the fjord and then took you through part of a national park on the way back down the other side. Steep, hairpin turns can be difficult to maneuver as a driver, and deal with as a passenger, when you’re feeling great so taking it on hungover was a bit of a challenge. Ron did an amazing job as our fearless driver (poor guy was the only one in the group who could drive a manual transmission so got stuck as driver the whole time) and we really did get some awesome views. It was a bit overcast and a little rainy that morning which was actually nice with respect to seeing the fjord. It was a really beautiful and worthwhile drive (although I didn’t have to do any of the work driving so maybe Ron would disagree!).
We came down through the national park and saw some lovely little mountain towns and villages before getting back to the coast where we then turned south to head towards Sveti Stefan. Sveti Stefan is a picture-perfect island just off the coast packed with pretty terracotta-roofed houses and connected to the mainland by a small walkway. Sveti Stefan was actually a fishing village until the middle of the 20th century when someone decided to turn the community into a luxury hotel. (Bizarre!) It became less popular and fell into decline in the 1990’s during the demise of the former Yugoslavia. It is again being turned into a resort and supposedly set to open sometime this year. Unfortunately, this meant that we weren’t able to actually explore the town and island but we were able to at least visit and see it.
We had been hoping to spend time at the beach there that day but despite some hopeful cloud-parting moments earlier that day, the rain clouds were still heavy and socked in. We ate lunch at a great restaurant in town (fabulous Serbian dishes and, finally, cheap!) and then decided to head down to the beach to check things out even if we weren’t able to enjoy it that day. Sveti Stefan really does look like an oasis or something – really too beautiful and perfect to not be a movie set! It was drizzling a little bit but wasn’t terrible and then just as we got to the walkway out to the island, the heavens opened and just started dumping rain. Ron, Paul, and Amanda ran to stand underneath the awning of a building about 100m away and I jumped under a beach umbrella with a guard for Sveti Stefan. I had my camera out and needed to put it back in its bag before running out in the pounding rain. I got the camera in the bag and the guard and I huddled under the flimsy umbrella. We were getting slammed from every direction. The wind was blowing hard and the umbrella hardly seemed to be protecting us from anything. I figured I better just suck it up and run to building, and I guess the guard was waiting for me, because as soon as I made a slight indication that I was going to run he looked at me and said, “Ok, bye bye!” and was off before I could even say goodbye myself, leaving me under the pathetic umbrella alone. I took off my sandals, did my best to protect the camera, and ran through the now inches of standing water on the ground to the building where the others were standing. Figures – the one 30 minute period we were actually standing outside all day coincided exactly with the one 30 minute window of torrential rain!
We waited out the rain and then wandered around the grounds of a nearby (now muddy) monastery before jumping back in the car to check out another nearby town called Budva. It took us nearly two hours to go only eight kilometers from Sveti Stefan to Budva because of insane and inexplicable traffic just outside the city. Ron was a trooper and didn’t complain a bit, despite having to drive a manual for two hours in stop and go traffic. After the rain, the clouds and cleared and it had actually become a beautiful day. We were hoping to explore the old town in Budva and then hit the beach for a bit but by the time we got to Budva, I think we had all gotten a bit drained from the car ride. Paul and Amanda prioritized beach time while Ron and I went on a sladoded mission in the old town. Also bizarre was the fact that we couldn’t find a single sladoded shop in Budva’s entire old town. We were tripping over sladoded sellers in every other old town but couldn’t find one in Budva to save our lives! We were persistent, however, and found a great place right outside the city walls…it was so good that I almost decided to skip dinner and just gorge on sladoded! Ron and I ended up spending our short time in Budva sitting outside the city walls…as far away from any other tourists and marble streets as we possible could. I think we might have finally had our share of old towns!
We had a great, if a bit more subdued, final night out together in Kotor and just had a fun dinner before making another sladoded run for Ron at the end of the night. The sladoded shop we stopped at didn’t have labels for the flavors so Ron asked about a few of them and settled on the flavor described as “nuts” since he’d had such great peanut-flavored sladoded in Budva. He tasted it and his eyes got wide. “This is awesome!” He offered his cone to the group, “Anyone want a lick of the nuts?”...There was a slight pause before the other three of us burst out into loud, uncontrollable laughter as Ron hid his face in his hands, “I can’t believe I just said that. Anyone want a lick of the nuts?!” We burst out laughing again. This wasn’t the first amazing Ron comment from the trip but it just might be the funniest and was a hilarious end to the final evening.
Unfortunately, we had to leave relatively early the next day to make the drive and get through passport control at the border in time to make our flights. I wanted a diet Coke for the road so ran into one of the coffee shops outside the old town while Ron and I waited for Paul and Amanda to arrive. “One diet Coke, please.” I said. I had paid one euro in Kotor for diet Coke over the past couple days so pulled out a euro coin and laid it on the counter. The man came back with a can of diet Coke and said, “Two euros, please.” I said, “Two euros? For a can of Coke?” He said simply, “Yes.” “That is a rip-off!” He laughed and I grumbled as I fished through my wallet and, for once, didn’t actually have much change. I pulled out a 50 euro bill. The man put his hands up and backed away like I had a weapon or something and said, “No, no, no!” He took a small step forward and pushed the bill back at me. “Too big! We don’t have change here!” I was already annoyed about the price and was now also annoyed about him having no change and wasting time when I was in a hurry. I said, “Well, you shouldn’t charge two euros for a Coke then!” Not sure how much sense that made but I was mad! The man and his colleague behind the counter laughed again. I said, “I don’t know if I have anything smaller.” They stood there staring at me while I searched. Now really irritated I looked up and said, “Well? Are you going to look for change or what?” They chuckled again just as I found another euro coin hidden in my bag. “Aaahh!! Yes! You have euro!” Ron stepped inside the door to tell me that Paul and Amanda had arrived just in time to hear me say, “This is a rip-off! This would only be fifty cents in the United States!!!” at which point he apparently shut his mouth, did an about face, and quickly walked back out. I can’t blame him…I was little embarrassed myself! Might have been a good time to take a vacation from the vacation! I walked out in a huff as the guys at the coffee shop just laughed. Then Ron and Paul made fun of me for scolding the guys at the shop only to still pay the two euros. (“Ever heard of market pricing?” they joked. Very funny.)
We left to head back to Croatia and the Dubrovnik airport and had a good final car trip together. I told Ron the directions were really easy…stay on the same road and if in doubt, stick to the coast. We drove happily for a bit, sharing stories and laughing about the trip, when Ron suddenly said, “Andrea, um, which way? Which way?” as we approached a split in the road. I had about three seconds notice and I said, “I don’t know. Just stay straight. We’re not supposed to turn off this road.” I watched our location for a few minutes on my Blackberry and we were on a nonexistent road, at least according to Google Maps. I said, “Well, better turn around. Looks like we should have actually taken that last turn.” Ron turned around and we were back on the right road a couple minutes later. He joked, “Just stay straight, huh?!” I looked him, blinked, and thought, seriously? We went 2km off track in a car with a GPS map and you are worried about getting lost? Good thing you weren’t with me in Finland when I was 30km off on skis without a map, phone, or enough clothing to survive the night! Sometimes you have to get off track a little bit to see the good stuff (or so I tell myself, usually while lost)!
We were making great time until we hit border control and then had to sit in line for a bit to get through. We pulled up to the station (which was on the passenger side of the car – how much sense does that make?) and I had to hop out to give the man our passports. He asked the usual, “How long were you in Montenegro? What were you doing there? Where are you going?” I answered all his questions and then he flipped open the passports to check that they matched up to those of us in the car. He looked at my passport and said, “Ahn – drae – uh?” He looked into the car for Ahn-drae-uh and, standing in front of him, I said, “Yes.” and nodded indicating that it was me. He looked back at the passport picture, held it out in front of him to get a better look, squinted his eyes, and then looked back at me. “You? Ahn-drae-uh?” He looked again at the passport picture and kind of shrugged as if to say, “Wow. Never would have guessed.” Plate face (my horribly round and wide passport picture) strikes again! The whole car erupted in laughter and I was just happy he didn’t recognize me as plate face. It was the perfect exit from Montenegro and a fittingly funny end to my trip.
Sadly, I had to say my goodbyes at the airport so my three travel companions could head on to Prague. I let Ron say goodbye to my camera too…it almost felt like we had joint custody of it at that point since he had grown so attached. I promised to take good care of the camera and gave hugs all around. Thanks to all for making the trip such a great one and to Ron especially for coming to Europe to visit and for being such a fantastic partner in crime! Looking forward to reliving the bambusa with you all when I get back to San Francisco!
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Searching for sladoded, strudel, and sand
My final night in Zadar was great...I got mistaken for a photographer (much more exciting than engineer turned management consultant – my fancy new camera gives me much more credibility than I deserve!) and a movie star (many Europeans, particularly those in more rural areas, recognize the American accent as being from Hollywood since much of what they know about the US is from the movies – they also recognize the southern American accent which they typically associate with George Bush…not quite so positively). I laughed at both comments and confessed that, unfortunately, I was neither. It didn’t stop me from dreaming a little dream, however. How great would it be to just travel and take pictures full-time?
I headed out the next morning to catch the bus from Zadar to Split, and had another (predictably, at this point) maddening encounter at the bus ticket counter. First, I stood in the “ticket” line (not the “information” line as I had done the previous day) only to find out that for this particular route I actually had to stand in another line. Of course. I then moved to the other line which already had several people in it all of whom had different issues to contend with which ended up taking an exorbitant amount of time to resolve…people didn’t know how to read the schedules, didn’t know exactly where they wanted to go, didn’t have cash or the accepted credit cards, did have the right credit card but didn’t know the PIN number (for this one all of us in line had to wait for the woman to run outside to find her husband so he could come in and enter the PIN for her…she was apparently not to be trusted with their money but was good enough to run the errand of buying tickets). In the middle of this madness, an old Croatian couple decided to get in line…attempting to insert themselves right in front of me at the point at which I was probably number five in a line of ten. Having had enough of this game, I looked at the woman, shook my head “no,” and gave her the thumb to the back of the line. She looked at me in apparent confusion (unclear if it was legitimate or not!) but I wasn’t going for it that day and I just kept on going, this time adding the verbal, “No. Back of the line.” to my non-verbal cues. I have no idea if she understood me or not but, whatever it was, I finally got the message through and she moved to the back of the line. This didn’t stop her husband, however, from practically standing on top of me in an attempt to cut in the line. He played dumb and I played ‘no way” and held tight to my spot, using myself and my bag to keep him out of the line. I think I actually rolled over his toes with my bag at some point (that part was not intentional!) and he finally gave up. Victory!
I had arrived quite early but after two lines and all of the inefficiency and mayhem in the second, I was cutting it close with respect to getting on the 10am bus. I finally got to the front of the line and would have made the bus had the woman at the counter not received a personal phone call exactly at that moment and then decided to take it…for 10 minutes while I stood there fuming. Having already spent a week in Croatia I knew better than to try to fight it and just accepted the fact that I would have to kill an hour at the bus stop, found a shabby café, and camped out with a coffee until it was time to leave. (Incidentally, as we all boarded the bus yet another older Croatian woman started bulldozing her way through the line and cutting in front of everyone when a British girl grabbed her arm to stop her and said, extremely annoyed, “Excuse me! There is a queue!!” I felt a bit better that this wasn’t only happening to me…and that I wasn’t the only one fed up enough to start challenging the local senior citizens!)
I arrived in downtown Split which, now officially in the most touristed part of Croatia and one of the larger cities, was crazy and packed with travelers. I had already planned on making this day a throw-away given that I was clearly on the ragged edge and needed a little break. I got off the bus, grabbed lunch (pizza and sladoded from a couple street vendors – yummy and cheap!), and grabbed a taxi to my hotel. I arrived at the hotel to exactly what I needed at that point…beautiful, modern, spacious and clean hotel rooms with air conditioning, glorious air conditioning. I have definitely gotten spoiled over the past few years by staying at nice hotels when traveling for work and I was so happy to be back at one after the previous ten days of less than stellar accommodations (I am admittedly too cheap to pay for the nice ones so was only there because I got it for free with my many accumulated hotel points!). I spent a few hours relaxing in the air conditioning and getting back to being a relaxed, appreciative, and tolerant tourist.
I wanted to go to one of the nearby islands the next day and tried work out all the details the previous night. Consistent with everywhere else in Croatia, planning what should be a very easy day trip was not quite so easy. I decided that I would go to nearby Brac Island to see the famous white pebble beach of Zlatni Rat (Golden Cape) and climb Vidova Gora which is the highest point in the Croatian isles at 778m. To do so, I would need to get a transfer from the hotel into town (I was about 10km out), take a ferry to Supetar on Brac, and then catch a bus from Supetar to Bol which would be my starting point for the day. The hotel ran shuttles into Split every hour starting at 9am and they advised me to take the 9am shuttle and the 10:20am ferry. I thought everything was settled and then, just to be sure, started checking into the timing of the ferries, buses, etc. If I were to leave when was recommended, I wouldn’t get to Bol until 1pm at the earliest and then would have to catch the bus back to Supetar at 2:30pm in order to make my other ferry and shuttle connections. (Again, none of the logistics in this country have been optimized for convenience or logic!) I was finally able to figure out that there was a 7:45am ferry and that if I left the hotel at 7am I could get to Bol by 11am and then catch the 4:10pm bus back to Supetar. Still not a lot of time but much better than 90 minutes!
I walked out of the elevator the next morning at 7am and asked the concierge to call me a taxi. All of the hotel staff were staring at me like I was some sort of zoo animal or something…I guess their typical guests don’t get up that early! I got in the taxi and told the driver that I wanted to go to the ferry to Brac. He asked me if the concierge had told me that there was a ferry this early in the morning, also very confused. I told him, yes, I knew there was a ferry at 7:45am and he just shrugged the “whatever, lady” shrug and drove on. I arrived at the terminal 20 minutes later and, to my great relief, there really was a ferry to Brac at 7:45am (given the typically poor quality of transportation information and the cab driver’s disbelief in the early morning ferry I was a little nervous!) and I was on my way.
I got to Brac, caught the public bus 30 minutes later, and arrived in Bol as predicted at 11am. I only had five hours for fun on the island so headed straight for the tourist info center (as instructed) to get information on the hike to Vidova Gora…but, of course, the tourist info center was closed as it was Sunday. Bummer. Undeterred, I stopped in a couple other tour operator shops and asked if they knew anything about the hike. The first guy understood what I was asking but didn’t know how to help me and pointed me down the street to another shop. The guy there raised his eyebrows and clarified, “You want to climb Vidova Gora? By walking?” Um, yes. That was the plan! I had read about this hike multiple places so wasn’t really sure what all this confusion this was about. He added, “It takes three hours to go up.” and then looked at me questioningly as if to say, “Are you really sure you want to do that?” I said, “Yep. That’s ok! Where do I start?” He looked at his colleague next to him, shrugged like “Well, I tried to warn her.” and pulled out a map of the local roads, directing me to the starting point of the hike. I said thanks and took off down the road. A Croatian woman at the hotel desk had told me the previous day, “Being active isn’t really part of the Croatian culture yet. Most Croatians just want to lie around in the sun.” No kidding!
The simple map and directions were perfect and I was soon on the trail up Vidova Gora. I ran into a wire gate blocking the trail with a sign hanging on it stating “ZATVORI LOZU” in red paint. I figured that it said something like “trail closed” and even tried to translate it on my phone which came back with “destroy vines” which wasn’t particularly helpful. At any rate, no flimsy little wire gate was going to stop me when there was no obvious reason to close the path so I opened the gate and kept going. (I passed a few of these gates and signs along the way and was starting to get a little concerned until I ran into some people coming back down and knew the trail must be ok.)
The hike was steep but I love climbs and it was well marked so it was an enjoyable hike up to the top. Once I got to the top of the mountain, I had a more gradual climb to the actual peak and happily continued up enjoying the spectacular views of the surrounding islands and could even see the Italian coast in the distance. As is probably clear at this point, I really like hiking and I especially like it when I’m rewarded with a view that you can’t get unless you put the work in to get there. I think this makes what you find at the end of the trail even more special, knowing that not everyone will find it.
Unfortunately, on this day I was to be grossly and unexpectedly disappointed if I thought I was going to someplace unique and special. I rounded one of the last “corners” on the mountain only to run into a road and parking lot packed with vehicles and tour buses. No wonder the guy in Bol thought I was crazy for wanting to walk up…everybody else and their brother had taken one of the fifty vehicles in town up to the top! I had thought I was doing something unique and I had really just spent 90 minutes climbing up a mountain which was a 5 minute drive up the other side. So annoying! There was even a restaurant at the top. I wove my way around the tour groups and cars, shooting “cheaters!” at them with my glare as I passed. At least the views were amazing even if the summit was not quite as sweet and peaceful as I had hoped. I snapped some pictures and then turned around to head back down. I wanted to go to Zlatni Rat before heading back to Split that evening. Since the path up only took 90 minutes, I expected I would be back down in an hour which would give me a couple hours at the beach.
Had things gone according to plan, I would have had two hours at the beach but – surprise, surprise – I got twisted around on my way back down and it ended up taking longer to get down than I had anticipated. A lot longer…as in around three hours instead of one. I’m not entirely to blame considering it was really rocky on top so the trail was hard to find (and I didn’t have a peak to guide me forward like I did on the way up) and I was following markings on the rocks which ended up being for another, apparently unknown, trail (see, this is what I get when I actually try to follow the marked trail for once!). Regardless, I ended up spending an extra two hours trying to get down a rocky mountain face which I would climb down (making my own path), get stuck, climb back up, move 100m another direction, and then try again, and again, and again. I finally decided to backtrack and walk back towards the summit to make another go at finding the legitimate trail instead of just trying to free climb a descent but not before I had gotten myself pretty scraped up (think long scratches up and my down arms and legs, and stickers poking out from my ankles and calves) and extremely sunburned. (I had sunscreen with me but in my severe frustration with getting lost again had forgotten to put it on until very late. Bonus…mad and sunburned.)
I walked back near the summit, realized I had walked way farther across the mountain than I should have, ultimately found the right trail again, and practically ran down the mountain to try to make up some time. Unfortunately, I had spent too much time scrambling on rocks and no longer had time to go to Zlatni Rat which was a bit of a walk away. I grabbed a snack and hung out in Bol for a bit less than an hour as a consolation prize and then caught the bus back to Supetar to start the journey back. It was a fun if a bit frustrating day even given the seven hours of roundtrip travel including six separate modes of transportation for only five hours on the island but I’d still do it again (although maybe not the getting lost part).
I hurried back to the hotel where I’d scheduled a sports massage and, without going into too much detail, let’s just say that the Croatians are quite a bit more liberal with respect to massages and modesty particularly given that my masseur was male. (I told my friend Ron about it later that night and he replied with, “Wow. Did you ask him to tip you afterwards?”) Ron was coming from San Francisco (via Barcelona) later that night so I figured I better get things in order before he arrived. Namely, I really needed to do some laundry but was not going to pay the $5 for a pair of socks or underwear that the hotel was charging so made due with what I had, which was a bathtub and shampoo, and shampooed my dirty clothes. (Admittedly, I was getting a little desperate.) Let’s just say it got me through but I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it.
Ron’s flight arrived late that night and we caught up for a couple hours at the hotel bar. I hadn’t run into a single American in the past almost two weeks of travel and then I got to this hotel to find an army of them. While waiting for the bill, Ron and I got to witness some of them at their finest…a bleached blonde, practically orange-tanned, woman in a skin tight minidress and five inch heels, clearly having had some *ahem* quite obvious plastic surgery, arguing loudly with the waiter over her bill. “I am NOT paying for his drinks. Let me just tell you what happened. That guy, Carl, was hitting on me and I wasn’t interested so he put his and his wife’s drinks on my tab and I am NOT paying for it. He is, after all, a billionaire. I think he can afford it.” She and her entourage (another bleached blonde couple) made some additional hand waving and finger snap points before sashaying away down the lobby. Shocker, they were from Laguna Beach. Such an unfortunate confirmation of the So Cal stereotype when there really are some normal people down there (so I’ve heard…)! We laughed along with a Brit and two Australians who had just watched the same thing and Ron defended his So Cal roots. I felt like we had just been caught in the middle of a reality TV show. (And seriously, besides the fact that this guy was married and hitting on other women…what kind of guy does that while sitting with his wife and then, when turned down, has the audacity to put both of their drinks on the other woman’s tab? Maybe it’s a billionaire thing…unbelievable!)
Thankfully, Ron had made it safely and we were now just hoping that our other friends, Paul and Amanda, would also make it into Split that night. They weren’t sure they would be able to get a seat on the bus from Zadar where they had flown in from London and then still had to find a place to stay once they arrived. The only thing I hate worse than staying somewhere less than stellar with no air conditioning in a hot climate on vacation is walking around in the middle of the night to try to find a place to stay which invariably less than stellar and without air conditioning in a hot climate on vacation. Given that Paul and Amanda had gotten in so late (we heard from them by email at 3:30am) and everyone was already pretty tired, we decided to take it easy the next day and spend some time in Diocletian’s Palace (basically, the old town in Split which is called a palace but is a series of small cobbled streets and beautiful old buildings) and at the local beaches.
We met the next day around noon and decided to grab lunch before heading to a nearby beach. Thus, we began the first of what would end up being many “restaurant finding expeditions” over the course of the next week during which Paul charged ahead of the group with Ron close behind, racing up to every restaurant, pulling out the menu, doing a quick evaluation of the options, and then always arriving at the same conclusion…“Let’s keep looking.” I was usually in the middle trying to bridge the gap with Amanda trailing behind taking pictures. The funny thing is that, especially in heavily touristed areas (like Diocletian’s Palace), all of the restaurants are almost exactly the same so the menus never really changed. This didn’t stop Paul from looking at each and every one for sometimes up to an hour while the rest of us followed behind in single file like baby ducks only to decide that we should just go back to number two or number three out of the last fifteen. Then we had to attempt to remember where number two or three was actually located…
We finally ate and then walked along the water for a few kilometers to one of the local beaches which had been recommended and found a spot to camp out. We spent a couple hours reading on the pebble beach and swimming before heading back to clean up and go to dinner. Ron had picked out a great seafood restaurant in another neighborhood in Split and we were all looking forward to a good dinner after all the water and sun (and sladoded!) that afternoon. We bought some drinks including a local rum for a bit of a pre-game and headed back to Paul and Amanda’s to shower before going out.
Ron opened the rum, smelled it, and immediately made a disgusted face. “This stuff smells really sweet, like a hangover in a bottle. I think it smells like egg nog!” He handed it to me. I smelled it, made the same face, and said, “No, I think it smells like cotton candy! I can’t drink that!” Amanda mixed it with Coke, made the same face, and took a drink. Her conclusion? “It smells like cotton candy but it tastes like bubblegum!” We all agreed on it tasting like bubblegum and between the egg nog and cotton candy smell, Ron started saying it was like Christmas and a carnival in a bottle. It was henceforth called “Carnimas” and we drank it for the next couple hours before dinner while they caught me up on US politics and news…ok, ok, it wasn’t exactly news. They caught me up on US pop culture including new (non-country) music and gave me an introduction to the very classy reality show Jersey Shore. For those of you who know the characters of Jersey Shore we each got Jersey Shore nicknames for the trip…Paul was, of course, Pauly D (particularly appropriate since his last name really does start with D), Ron became Ronnie (obviously), Amanda became Manni, and I got AWoww. The things you think of when you’re drinking bubblegum rum…
We finally left for the trek to dinner and, a couple kilometers away from the hotel, Ron realized that he didn’t know the name of the restaurant and nobody had brought the guidebook. We were too far gone to go back and all I could remember was “konoba” was in the name which means something like “small, family-run restaurant” so wasn’t particularly helpful as anything could be a konoba. I had also previously looked it up on Google Maps so remembered roughly where it was but not exactly. (I know you’re thinking that this is a recipe for disaster!) Shockingly, my vague recollection was enough to get us there without even getting lost! Not sure how the one time I really don’t know where we’re going is the one time I am able to direct everyone there without a problem but it actually worked out! It had been quite a hike out to the restaurant but the food was excellent (I had cuttlefish ink pasta which was black…and very good!) and we had a great time.
We had started pretty late and had walked quite a ways so it was nearly midnight when we made our way back to the Palace. We stopped by a convenience store on our way back to buy drinks and Ron began to open them as we stepped back outside, using one bottle to snap the cap off the others. He finally got down to the last bottle and, as there were no other bottles with caps intact to use, asked for Paul and Amanda’s room key as his bottle-opening tool of choice. It suddenly became a slow motion movie…Paul handed Ron the key while saying, “Be careful and don’t bend it…,” Ron grabbed the key and put it to the bottle, Amanda reached out with a frantic, “Don’t bend the key! Don’t bend the…,” Paul reached out and said, “NooOOOooo….,” as I just stared like a dope with another bottle (with cap intact) in my hand that Ron could have used, while Ron proceeded to crank down hard on the key…bending it to the point I think we all thought it might break.
Paul snapped, “Man! I told you not to bend the key!” He grabbed it, wedged it into a crack in the wall of the building we were standing next to and aggressively tried to bend it back the other way. Amanda jumped in, “Paul, let’s just try it first. Let’s just try it first. Don’t you break it!” Ron apologized gratuitously, we got Paul to calm down (and forfeit the key to Amanda, clearly the more trusted key guardian of the two), and decided to go back to their place first to try the key and then, if needed, call their landlord. The rest of the walk back was fairly quiet as we all just hoped that the key would work. This night was going to get very ugly very fast if not! We reached the door, Amanda tried the key, jimmied it around a bit and jostled the door, we all held our breath, more jostling, and…voila! The key worked! Ron let out a huge sigh of relief. Paul bounced back into typical Paul mode and was already thinking about the next stop and the next drink, and Amanda was just relieved to have a place to sleep for the night. Thank goodness for small graces!
Ron, Amanda, and I attempted to call it a night – it was already late and everyone was tired given the late night before – but Paul would have none of it and we all went out for one more drink in the Palace. It turned out to be really fun and was just a beautiful place and gorgeous evening in which to hang out a little longer. We stopped to take pictures in the street which, with Paul involved, weren’t just “stand and smile” pictures so got us lots of attention, and then all made it back to go to bed. It was a great, if slightly stressful at times, first night out for the group.
We left the next morning at 9am for our bus ride to Dubrovnik, the world-renowned “jewel of the Adriatic” and I was excited to have friends with me for this trip given all the previous Croatian and Slovenian bus rides I had already done solo. We were only going around 175 miles but the trip was expected to take four hours, largely because of the fact that the coastal two-lane highway was narrow and wound tightly to every curve of the coastal rocks. We also had to cross the border into Bosnia and Herzegovina and drive through the “Neum corridor,” a 22km long section of the coast which belongs to Bosnia and Herzegovina (bordered by Croatia on either side – bizarre!), meaning we would have to go through Bosnian passport security which would also extend the trip time.
At this point, I had been on seven different Croatian buses and the drivers had always, and sometimes annoyingly, stopped for 20 minutes of snack time and bathroom break for every 90 minutes of travel. We get on this bus, however, and after three hours the bus hadn’t stopped. I was getting a little desperate (my punishment for starting out the day with coffee and a diet Coke!) as was much of the rest of the bus. We finally stopped for gas and 70% of the bus jumped up. There was a little scuffle at the front of the bus and it didn’t seem like they were letting people off, but then it subsided and I tried to get off out the back door with some of the other passengers also ready to make a run for it. I stepped off first and the bus “ticket collector” (not the driver but just the ticket checker and “order keeper” on the bus) who was standing outside the door took one look at me and shouted, “Sit DOWN!” as he pointed me back to my seat. The girls behind me shuffled backwards and we all got back in our seats (and crossed our legs).
Those that had gotten off for a smoke jumped back on (not sure why smoking was an approved activity but we weren’t allowed to use the bathroom!) and we took off, now very close to the Bosnian border. The same jerk who yelled at me walked the length of the bus rather forcefully pulling the window curtains across the windows and snapped at Ron and Amanda who were sitting by the windows, “Police CONTROL!” We stopped at the border, the Bosnian border official got on the bus, briefly checked passports (hardly even glancing at those from the US – a US passport buys you access and exemption from the typical border-crossing questions in some of these countries!), and we went on our merry way. Given all the drama about police control from our bus ticket jerk, it was really anticlimactic. We all agreed that our 20 minutes in Bosnia had been wonderful as we exited back into Croatia.
We had previously been talking about passport pictures; all of us complaining about how bad ours were and how chubby they made our faces look. I have always called mine “plate face” and when I referred to it by that name at one point Paul asked me about it. I told him that I called it plate face because my face looked as big and as round as a dinner plate. After the Bosnian passport check, he asked to see it and immediately started laughing. Plate face, confirmed! Of all the bad pictures I have taken in my lifetime (and there are plenty), it figures that the one I actually have to live with, show at every country border, and be scrutinized against for ten years is plate face. I still don’t understand what happened – I never really had a plate face! (And no, I will not scan it and post it on the blog. There really are limits to self deprecating humor and plate face is it for me!) Turns out plate face came back to haunt me in Montenegro but that story is still to come…
We finally rolled into Dubrovnik, a full five hours after leaving Split, and got off the bus (and I, at least, headed straight for the restrooms!). Ron and I went to check-in to our place while Paul and Amanda went off to find theirs, and I think we all were pretty worn out and hungry from that bus ride. I had been feeling car sick for a couple hours for the ride and just being stuck on a bus for five hours had left us all pretty drained. We didn’t know it at the time but a bottle of red wine had broken in another passenger’s bag at some point during the ride and had leaked into Amanda’s so she also had to deal with red wine soaked (and some ruined) clothes when she opened her bag. Such a bummer! We met up for lunch, had another baby ducks following mama Paul restaurant finding escapade, and finally settled on grab and go pizza and sandwiches. (Definitely not worth the long search for that!)
Paul and Amanda wanted to spend some time on the beach before dinner and Ron and I opted to explore Dubrovnik for a couple hours instead. I went picture crazy and Ron was a great sport, following me around down every side street, alley, and stairwell without complaining. I think we probably covered 80% of Dubrovnik’s old town in only two hours (and it really is a jewel) and we had a lot of fun exploring. We all then met up again near sundown to walk the Dubrovnik city walls and this ended up being one of my favorite parts of my entire trip. The light was perfect for pictures of the old town and the temperature was actually pleasant instead of suffocating. Dubrovnik is truly captivating and absolutely gorgeous with all the orange tiled roofs and marble stairs and side streets. Unfortunately, the old town was severely damaged by Serbian and Montenegrin bombings in 1991 (for which members of the Yugoslav Federal Army and Navy, the Bosnian Serb Army, and Montenegrin paramilitary units were later indicted for war crimes in connection with the three months of artillery attacks targeting the old town and its surroundings) and much have the city had to be rebuilt or repaired afterward. Although the city took great care to maintain as much of the old town as possible and to repair the rest as carefully as they could using old style building techniques and materials, the war wounds are still visible in much of the city. The extent of these bombings was most apparent to me as we walked along the city walls as it was quite clear that many of the rooftops were new and in stark, sad contrast to the old originals. Dubrovnik remains the jewel of the Adriatic, however, and I got some of my pep back from the city tour from above. By the time we all went to dinner that night it was clear that we were all back on the upswing.
Again, we followed Paul for too long looking for a dinner restaurant and again we ended up going back to number two or three out of fifteen. The restaurant we finally settled on didn’t seem like anything special but we had some great Balkan food and just a really fun evening. We, of course rounded it out with more sladoded and strudels (apple or cherry are the Croatian specialty) and a few drinks at some Irish pubs. (We never could figure out why Irish pubs were so seemingly popular in Dubrovnik but there sure were a lot of them!)
We had previously decided to go to Lokrum Island the next day which is a tiny island very near Dubrovnik (maybe a 15 minute boat ride) instead of taking a two hour ferry rides to some of the larger islands. The real deciding factor was that the long ferry rides departed from the ferry terminal which was a $20 taxi ride away and required that you show up at 7am for an 8am departure in the hopes that you would get a seat as no reservations were allowed. (What kind of crazy system is that?!) Lokrum, on the other hand, left hourly from the small port in the old town. None of us were feeling like waking up at 6:30am on vacation so figured that Lokrum was a happy island medium. We decided to meet the next morning at 10am and called it a good night.
Ron and I wanted to have breakfast before we left for Lokrum (more specifically, strudels) so headed out that morning to pick up our goodies. We stopped at the local market to buy some snacks for the day and Ron went into muscle-man protein mission mode…settling on a can of tuna (for breakfast?! is that really necessary?!) as his best bet. We grabbed strudels and coffee on the way back from the market and then gorged. Ron forced himself to eat the tuna first saying, “I don’t want to end breakfast on a tuna note. I’m going to end with something good!” I can’t really relate but definitely the right call! From this point onward, Ron was an apple strudel eating machine. I credit the fact that he forced down a can of oil-packed tuna immediately before the strudel with his apparent new found love for apple-filled pastries. Dirt would have probably tasted pretty good after that let alone a fruit-filled strudel! Choking down tuna fish for breakfast definitely shows a lot of dedication (and stamina to get it down!) but…gag a maggot! Dedication, schmedication…pass me another cherry strudel, please! (I do have to give Ron credit though for eating the strudel...had he stuck with tuna-only for breakfast I would have been really worried!)
We met up with Paul and Amanda and got on the boat to Lokrum. We were all really glad we’d chosen the lazy day option and didn’t have a lot of travel and transport craziness to contend with. We arrived at the island 15 minutes later and set off to find a beach for the day…and once again began the duckling walk behind Paul for an hour as I think we actually may have hit every single beach on the island. (It’s a small island but still.) This time we settled on the very last place we checked so maybe the search was worth it (I still think probably not though). Ron and I wanted to get something active in during the day so decided to hike up to the fortress on the island which we did…in a grand total of 20 minutes. Not much of a hike but beautiful views of Dubrovnik so well worth it. We had already traipsed around most of the island on our beach search so there wasn’t really much more to explore. We rounded the northern end and both agreed that one of the main beaches was probably better than the one we had settled on for swimming and spending the day. We got back to where Paul and Amanda were holding down the fort and Paul said, “We were thinking that maybe one of the first beaches might be better for swimming. There are a lot of sea urchins here.” Ron and I smiled and agreed and we all grabbed our things and headed back to beach number one. Classic.
We spent the rest of the day swimming and reading on the beach. The weather was perfect and Lokrum was a great choice for a relaxing day. We headed back early evening and began the night out with wine on the rocks outside the city walls before heading to another fun dinner and night on the old town, this time including live jazz on one of the squares. Again, we had a great time and I at least was really loving Dubrovnik alongside and despite all the other tourists.
After our low key day on Lokrum, I was feeling really antsy and had decided to go to Mljet Island the next day to go biking through the national park. Ron, Paul, and Amanda were more interested in another local beach day and weren’t excited about the two plus hour boat ride (one way) so we split up for the day and I was on my way to Mljet, supposedly one of the most “captivating” Croatian islands, the next morning at 9am. The yacht ride to the island the next morning was actually fantastic. For one, it was on a small (but not fancy) yacht instead of a big ferry and, for two, the ride north along the Croatian coast in the morning was absolutely beautiful and really relaxing. I don’t think I moved for the two and half hours it took to get to the entrance of the national park but just enjoyed being outside in the wind and water with such fantastic views of the coast.
One reason Ron had decided against Mljet was that he wanted to be in Dubrovnik for sunset and the boat back from Mljet was supposed to arrive around 8:30 or 9pm, too late for sunset (unless you’re in Finland!). I got off the boat at the port in Pomena (on Mljet) and they told us to be back at the boat at 4pm. Surprised as I thought I had until 6:30pm, I clarified to make sure I had heard correctly, “We are leaving here at 4pm, 16:00?” “Yes! Leave here 16:00!” Ok. Well, slight change of plans but what can you do? (Also not surprising at this point…I don’t think anyone involved in tourism in Croatia knows the actual details of anything he or she is selling.) The sad thing is that Ron could have come and still made sunset in Dubrovnik if only we had been given the right information! So frustrating.
With only four and half hours on the island, I hurried to rent a bike, paid the park entrance fee (around $20), opted not to buy the park map (also almost $20 – highway robbery!), and took off on my bike. I had an awesome day biking around the lakes on the island and taking swimming breaks in the gorgeous water. I passed through a small village with a speed limit of 5km/hr (3.1miles/hr!) in which you had to actually walk your bike because you would (clearly) be going over the speed limit. It was exactly what I needed and although was much too short (five hour roundtrip boat ride for four and half hours on Mljet – can’t they figure these things out a little bit better?!), I got the “I want to move and explore!” out of my system for the day. Mljet and Rab Island were my strong favorites out of the islands I visited and they were definitely the most beautiful (Mljet, specifically) but I think the fact that I biked all day on both of them made a big difference. I got to see so much and it was really relaxing to be so independent and free in such beautiful places.
I hopped up from my rock perch on the far end of Veliko Jezero (“Big Lake” of the two there – the other is called Malo Jezero, or “Small Lake”) at 3:30pm, jumped on my bike, and got back just in time for my boat back to Dubrovnik. I arrived back in Dubrovnik at 6:30pm, showered, and was still able to make sunset drinks with the group. It was perfect (although I would have preferred to leave at 7am that morning to have more time on Mljet)!
This was our last night in Dubrovnik – our three days there had really flown by – and we had an awesome final night with drinks on the stone pier and then dinner (and I don’t remember following Paul for an hour looking at menus so I think someone else must have taken over this time…which I may have had something to do with!) and more Irish pubs. We were leaving the next morning for the final part of our trip together, and the final part of my trip overall (the other three would head on to Prague when I left to go back “home” to Helsinki).
Zbogom Hrvatska, Crna Gora halo! (Farewell Croatia, hello Montenegro!)
I headed out the next morning to catch the bus from Zadar to Split, and had another (predictably, at this point) maddening encounter at the bus ticket counter. First, I stood in the “ticket” line (not the “information” line as I had done the previous day) only to find out that for this particular route I actually had to stand in another line. Of course. I then moved to the other line which already had several people in it all of whom had different issues to contend with which ended up taking an exorbitant amount of time to resolve…people didn’t know how to read the schedules, didn’t know exactly where they wanted to go, didn’t have cash or the accepted credit cards, did have the right credit card but didn’t know the PIN number (for this one all of us in line had to wait for the woman to run outside to find her husband so he could come in and enter the PIN for her…she was apparently not to be trusted with their money but was good enough to run the errand of buying tickets). In the middle of this madness, an old Croatian couple decided to get in line…attempting to insert themselves right in front of me at the point at which I was probably number five in a line of ten. Having had enough of this game, I looked at the woman, shook my head “no,” and gave her the thumb to the back of the line. She looked at me in apparent confusion (unclear if it was legitimate or not!) but I wasn’t going for it that day and I just kept on going, this time adding the verbal, “No. Back of the line.” to my non-verbal cues. I have no idea if she understood me or not but, whatever it was, I finally got the message through and she moved to the back of the line. This didn’t stop her husband, however, from practically standing on top of me in an attempt to cut in the line. He played dumb and I played ‘no way” and held tight to my spot, using myself and my bag to keep him out of the line. I think I actually rolled over his toes with my bag at some point (that part was not intentional!) and he finally gave up. Victory!
I had arrived quite early but after two lines and all of the inefficiency and mayhem in the second, I was cutting it close with respect to getting on the 10am bus. I finally got to the front of the line and would have made the bus had the woman at the counter not received a personal phone call exactly at that moment and then decided to take it…for 10 minutes while I stood there fuming. Having already spent a week in Croatia I knew better than to try to fight it and just accepted the fact that I would have to kill an hour at the bus stop, found a shabby café, and camped out with a coffee until it was time to leave. (Incidentally, as we all boarded the bus yet another older Croatian woman started bulldozing her way through the line and cutting in front of everyone when a British girl grabbed her arm to stop her and said, extremely annoyed, “Excuse me! There is a queue!!” I felt a bit better that this wasn’t only happening to me…and that I wasn’t the only one fed up enough to start challenging the local senior citizens!)
I arrived in downtown Split which, now officially in the most touristed part of Croatia and one of the larger cities, was crazy and packed with travelers. I had already planned on making this day a throw-away given that I was clearly on the ragged edge and needed a little break. I got off the bus, grabbed lunch (pizza and sladoded from a couple street vendors – yummy and cheap!), and grabbed a taxi to my hotel. I arrived at the hotel to exactly what I needed at that point…beautiful, modern, spacious and clean hotel rooms with air conditioning, glorious air conditioning. I have definitely gotten spoiled over the past few years by staying at nice hotels when traveling for work and I was so happy to be back at one after the previous ten days of less than stellar accommodations (I am admittedly too cheap to pay for the nice ones so was only there because I got it for free with my many accumulated hotel points!). I spent a few hours relaxing in the air conditioning and getting back to being a relaxed, appreciative, and tolerant tourist.
I wanted to go to one of the nearby islands the next day and tried work out all the details the previous night. Consistent with everywhere else in Croatia, planning what should be a very easy day trip was not quite so easy. I decided that I would go to nearby Brac Island to see the famous white pebble beach of Zlatni Rat (Golden Cape) and climb Vidova Gora which is the highest point in the Croatian isles at 778m. To do so, I would need to get a transfer from the hotel into town (I was about 10km out), take a ferry to Supetar on Brac, and then catch a bus from Supetar to Bol which would be my starting point for the day. The hotel ran shuttles into Split every hour starting at 9am and they advised me to take the 9am shuttle and the 10:20am ferry. I thought everything was settled and then, just to be sure, started checking into the timing of the ferries, buses, etc. If I were to leave when was recommended, I wouldn’t get to Bol until 1pm at the earliest and then would have to catch the bus back to Supetar at 2:30pm in order to make my other ferry and shuttle connections. (Again, none of the logistics in this country have been optimized for convenience or logic!) I was finally able to figure out that there was a 7:45am ferry and that if I left the hotel at 7am I could get to Bol by 11am and then catch the 4:10pm bus back to Supetar. Still not a lot of time but much better than 90 minutes!
I walked out of the elevator the next morning at 7am and asked the concierge to call me a taxi. All of the hotel staff were staring at me like I was some sort of zoo animal or something…I guess their typical guests don’t get up that early! I got in the taxi and told the driver that I wanted to go to the ferry to Brac. He asked me if the concierge had told me that there was a ferry this early in the morning, also very confused. I told him, yes, I knew there was a ferry at 7:45am and he just shrugged the “whatever, lady” shrug and drove on. I arrived at the terminal 20 minutes later and, to my great relief, there really was a ferry to Brac at 7:45am (given the typically poor quality of transportation information and the cab driver’s disbelief in the early morning ferry I was a little nervous!) and I was on my way.
I got to Brac, caught the public bus 30 minutes later, and arrived in Bol as predicted at 11am. I only had five hours for fun on the island so headed straight for the tourist info center (as instructed) to get information on the hike to Vidova Gora…but, of course, the tourist info center was closed as it was Sunday. Bummer. Undeterred, I stopped in a couple other tour operator shops and asked if they knew anything about the hike. The first guy understood what I was asking but didn’t know how to help me and pointed me down the street to another shop. The guy there raised his eyebrows and clarified, “You want to climb Vidova Gora? By walking?” Um, yes. That was the plan! I had read about this hike multiple places so wasn’t really sure what all this confusion this was about. He added, “It takes three hours to go up.” and then looked at me questioningly as if to say, “Are you really sure you want to do that?” I said, “Yep. That’s ok! Where do I start?” He looked at his colleague next to him, shrugged like “Well, I tried to warn her.” and pulled out a map of the local roads, directing me to the starting point of the hike. I said thanks and took off down the road. A Croatian woman at the hotel desk had told me the previous day, “Being active isn’t really part of the Croatian culture yet. Most Croatians just want to lie around in the sun.” No kidding!
The simple map and directions were perfect and I was soon on the trail up Vidova Gora. I ran into a wire gate blocking the trail with a sign hanging on it stating “ZATVORI LOZU” in red paint. I figured that it said something like “trail closed” and even tried to translate it on my phone which came back with “destroy vines” which wasn’t particularly helpful. At any rate, no flimsy little wire gate was going to stop me when there was no obvious reason to close the path so I opened the gate and kept going. (I passed a few of these gates and signs along the way and was starting to get a little concerned until I ran into some people coming back down and knew the trail must be ok.)
The hike was steep but I love climbs and it was well marked so it was an enjoyable hike up to the top. Once I got to the top of the mountain, I had a more gradual climb to the actual peak and happily continued up enjoying the spectacular views of the surrounding islands and could even see the Italian coast in the distance. As is probably clear at this point, I really like hiking and I especially like it when I’m rewarded with a view that you can’t get unless you put the work in to get there. I think this makes what you find at the end of the trail even more special, knowing that not everyone will find it.
Unfortunately, on this day I was to be grossly and unexpectedly disappointed if I thought I was going to someplace unique and special. I rounded one of the last “corners” on the mountain only to run into a road and parking lot packed with vehicles and tour buses. No wonder the guy in Bol thought I was crazy for wanting to walk up…everybody else and their brother had taken one of the fifty vehicles in town up to the top! I had thought I was doing something unique and I had really just spent 90 minutes climbing up a mountain which was a 5 minute drive up the other side. So annoying! There was even a restaurant at the top. I wove my way around the tour groups and cars, shooting “cheaters!” at them with my glare as I passed. At least the views were amazing even if the summit was not quite as sweet and peaceful as I had hoped. I snapped some pictures and then turned around to head back down. I wanted to go to Zlatni Rat before heading back to Split that evening. Since the path up only took 90 minutes, I expected I would be back down in an hour which would give me a couple hours at the beach.
Had things gone according to plan, I would have had two hours at the beach but – surprise, surprise – I got twisted around on my way back down and it ended up taking longer to get down than I had anticipated. A lot longer…as in around three hours instead of one. I’m not entirely to blame considering it was really rocky on top so the trail was hard to find (and I didn’t have a peak to guide me forward like I did on the way up) and I was following markings on the rocks which ended up being for another, apparently unknown, trail (see, this is what I get when I actually try to follow the marked trail for once!). Regardless, I ended up spending an extra two hours trying to get down a rocky mountain face which I would climb down (making my own path), get stuck, climb back up, move 100m another direction, and then try again, and again, and again. I finally decided to backtrack and walk back towards the summit to make another go at finding the legitimate trail instead of just trying to free climb a descent but not before I had gotten myself pretty scraped up (think long scratches up and my down arms and legs, and stickers poking out from my ankles and calves) and extremely sunburned. (I had sunscreen with me but in my severe frustration with getting lost again had forgotten to put it on until very late. Bonus…mad and sunburned.)
I walked back near the summit, realized I had walked way farther across the mountain than I should have, ultimately found the right trail again, and practically ran down the mountain to try to make up some time. Unfortunately, I had spent too much time scrambling on rocks and no longer had time to go to Zlatni Rat which was a bit of a walk away. I grabbed a snack and hung out in Bol for a bit less than an hour as a consolation prize and then caught the bus back to Supetar to start the journey back. It was a fun if a bit frustrating day even given the seven hours of roundtrip travel including six separate modes of transportation for only five hours on the island but I’d still do it again (although maybe not the getting lost part).
I hurried back to the hotel where I’d scheduled a sports massage and, without going into too much detail, let’s just say that the Croatians are quite a bit more liberal with respect to massages and modesty particularly given that my masseur was male. (I told my friend Ron about it later that night and he replied with, “Wow. Did you ask him to tip you afterwards?”) Ron was coming from San Francisco (via Barcelona) later that night so I figured I better get things in order before he arrived. Namely, I really needed to do some laundry but was not going to pay the $5 for a pair of socks or underwear that the hotel was charging so made due with what I had, which was a bathtub and shampoo, and shampooed my dirty clothes. (Admittedly, I was getting a little desperate.) Let’s just say it got me through but I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it.
Ron’s flight arrived late that night and we caught up for a couple hours at the hotel bar. I hadn’t run into a single American in the past almost two weeks of travel and then I got to this hotel to find an army of them. While waiting for the bill, Ron and I got to witness some of them at their finest…a bleached blonde, practically orange-tanned, woman in a skin tight minidress and five inch heels, clearly having had some *ahem* quite obvious plastic surgery, arguing loudly with the waiter over her bill. “I am NOT paying for his drinks. Let me just tell you what happened. That guy, Carl, was hitting on me and I wasn’t interested so he put his and his wife’s drinks on my tab and I am NOT paying for it. He is, after all, a billionaire. I think he can afford it.” She and her entourage (another bleached blonde couple) made some additional hand waving and finger snap points before sashaying away down the lobby. Shocker, they were from Laguna Beach. Such an unfortunate confirmation of the So Cal stereotype when there really are some normal people down there (so I’ve heard…)! We laughed along with a Brit and two Australians who had just watched the same thing and Ron defended his So Cal roots. I felt like we had just been caught in the middle of a reality TV show. (And seriously, besides the fact that this guy was married and hitting on other women…what kind of guy does that while sitting with his wife and then, when turned down, has the audacity to put both of their drinks on the other woman’s tab? Maybe it’s a billionaire thing…unbelievable!)
Thankfully, Ron had made it safely and we were now just hoping that our other friends, Paul and Amanda, would also make it into Split that night. They weren’t sure they would be able to get a seat on the bus from Zadar where they had flown in from London and then still had to find a place to stay once they arrived. The only thing I hate worse than staying somewhere less than stellar with no air conditioning in a hot climate on vacation is walking around in the middle of the night to try to find a place to stay which invariably less than stellar and without air conditioning in a hot climate on vacation. Given that Paul and Amanda had gotten in so late (we heard from them by email at 3:30am) and everyone was already pretty tired, we decided to take it easy the next day and spend some time in Diocletian’s Palace (basically, the old town in Split which is called a palace but is a series of small cobbled streets and beautiful old buildings) and at the local beaches.
We met the next day around noon and decided to grab lunch before heading to a nearby beach. Thus, we began the first of what would end up being many “restaurant finding expeditions” over the course of the next week during which Paul charged ahead of the group with Ron close behind, racing up to every restaurant, pulling out the menu, doing a quick evaluation of the options, and then always arriving at the same conclusion…“Let’s keep looking.” I was usually in the middle trying to bridge the gap with Amanda trailing behind taking pictures. The funny thing is that, especially in heavily touristed areas (like Diocletian’s Palace), all of the restaurants are almost exactly the same so the menus never really changed. This didn’t stop Paul from looking at each and every one for sometimes up to an hour while the rest of us followed behind in single file like baby ducks only to decide that we should just go back to number two or number three out of the last fifteen. Then we had to attempt to remember where number two or three was actually located…
We finally ate and then walked along the water for a few kilometers to one of the local beaches which had been recommended and found a spot to camp out. We spent a couple hours reading on the pebble beach and swimming before heading back to clean up and go to dinner. Ron had picked out a great seafood restaurant in another neighborhood in Split and we were all looking forward to a good dinner after all the water and sun (and sladoded!) that afternoon. We bought some drinks including a local rum for a bit of a pre-game and headed back to Paul and Amanda’s to shower before going out.
Ron opened the rum, smelled it, and immediately made a disgusted face. “This stuff smells really sweet, like a hangover in a bottle. I think it smells like egg nog!” He handed it to me. I smelled it, made the same face, and said, “No, I think it smells like cotton candy! I can’t drink that!” Amanda mixed it with Coke, made the same face, and took a drink. Her conclusion? “It smells like cotton candy but it tastes like bubblegum!” We all agreed on it tasting like bubblegum and between the egg nog and cotton candy smell, Ron started saying it was like Christmas and a carnival in a bottle. It was henceforth called “Carnimas” and we drank it for the next couple hours before dinner while they caught me up on US politics and news…ok, ok, it wasn’t exactly news. They caught me up on US pop culture including new (non-country) music and gave me an introduction to the very classy reality show Jersey Shore. For those of you who know the characters of Jersey Shore we each got Jersey Shore nicknames for the trip…Paul was, of course, Pauly D (particularly appropriate since his last name really does start with D), Ron became Ronnie (obviously), Amanda became Manni, and I got AWoww. The things you think of when you’re drinking bubblegum rum…
We finally left for the trek to dinner and, a couple kilometers away from the hotel, Ron realized that he didn’t know the name of the restaurant and nobody had brought the guidebook. We were too far gone to go back and all I could remember was “konoba” was in the name which means something like “small, family-run restaurant” so wasn’t particularly helpful as anything could be a konoba. I had also previously looked it up on Google Maps so remembered roughly where it was but not exactly. (I know you’re thinking that this is a recipe for disaster!) Shockingly, my vague recollection was enough to get us there without even getting lost! Not sure how the one time I really don’t know where we’re going is the one time I am able to direct everyone there without a problem but it actually worked out! It had been quite a hike out to the restaurant but the food was excellent (I had cuttlefish ink pasta which was black…and very good!) and we had a great time.
We had started pretty late and had walked quite a ways so it was nearly midnight when we made our way back to the Palace. We stopped by a convenience store on our way back to buy drinks and Ron began to open them as we stepped back outside, using one bottle to snap the cap off the others. He finally got down to the last bottle and, as there were no other bottles with caps intact to use, asked for Paul and Amanda’s room key as his bottle-opening tool of choice. It suddenly became a slow motion movie…Paul handed Ron the key while saying, “Be careful and don’t bend it…,” Ron grabbed the key and put it to the bottle, Amanda reached out with a frantic, “Don’t bend the key! Don’t bend the…,” Paul reached out and said, “NooOOOooo….,” as I just stared like a dope with another bottle (with cap intact) in my hand that Ron could have used, while Ron proceeded to crank down hard on the key…bending it to the point I think we all thought it might break.
Paul snapped, “Man! I told you not to bend the key!” He grabbed it, wedged it into a crack in the wall of the building we were standing next to and aggressively tried to bend it back the other way. Amanda jumped in, “Paul, let’s just try it first. Let’s just try it first. Don’t you break it!” Ron apologized gratuitously, we got Paul to calm down (and forfeit the key to Amanda, clearly the more trusted key guardian of the two), and decided to go back to their place first to try the key and then, if needed, call their landlord. The rest of the walk back was fairly quiet as we all just hoped that the key would work. This night was going to get very ugly very fast if not! We reached the door, Amanda tried the key, jimmied it around a bit and jostled the door, we all held our breath, more jostling, and…voila! The key worked! Ron let out a huge sigh of relief. Paul bounced back into typical Paul mode and was already thinking about the next stop and the next drink, and Amanda was just relieved to have a place to sleep for the night. Thank goodness for small graces!
Ron, Amanda, and I attempted to call it a night – it was already late and everyone was tired given the late night before – but Paul would have none of it and we all went out for one more drink in the Palace. It turned out to be really fun and was just a beautiful place and gorgeous evening in which to hang out a little longer. We stopped to take pictures in the street which, with Paul involved, weren’t just “stand and smile” pictures so got us lots of attention, and then all made it back to go to bed. It was a great, if slightly stressful at times, first night out for the group.
We left the next morning at 9am for our bus ride to Dubrovnik, the world-renowned “jewel of the Adriatic” and I was excited to have friends with me for this trip given all the previous Croatian and Slovenian bus rides I had already done solo. We were only going around 175 miles but the trip was expected to take four hours, largely because of the fact that the coastal two-lane highway was narrow and wound tightly to every curve of the coastal rocks. We also had to cross the border into Bosnia and Herzegovina and drive through the “Neum corridor,” a 22km long section of the coast which belongs to Bosnia and Herzegovina (bordered by Croatia on either side – bizarre!), meaning we would have to go through Bosnian passport security which would also extend the trip time.
At this point, I had been on seven different Croatian buses and the drivers had always, and sometimes annoyingly, stopped for 20 minutes of snack time and bathroom break for every 90 minutes of travel. We get on this bus, however, and after three hours the bus hadn’t stopped. I was getting a little desperate (my punishment for starting out the day with coffee and a diet Coke!) as was much of the rest of the bus. We finally stopped for gas and 70% of the bus jumped up. There was a little scuffle at the front of the bus and it didn’t seem like they were letting people off, but then it subsided and I tried to get off out the back door with some of the other passengers also ready to make a run for it. I stepped off first and the bus “ticket collector” (not the driver but just the ticket checker and “order keeper” on the bus) who was standing outside the door took one look at me and shouted, “Sit DOWN!” as he pointed me back to my seat. The girls behind me shuffled backwards and we all got back in our seats (and crossed our legs).
Those that had gotten off for a smoke jumped back on (not sure why smoking was an approved activity but we weren’t allowed to use the bathroom!) and we took off, now very close to the Bosnian border. The same jerk who yelled at me walked the length of the bus rather forcefully pulling the window curtains across the windows and snapped at Ron and Amanda who were sitting by the windows, “Police CONTROL!” We stopped at the border, the Bosnian border official got on the bus, briefly checked passports (hardly even glancing at those from the US – a US passport buys you access and exemption from the typical border-crossing questions in some of these countries!), and we went on our merry way. Given all the drama about police control from our bus ticket jerk, it was really anticlimactic. We all agreed that our 20 minutes in Bosnia had been wonderful as we exited back into Croatia.
We had previously been talking about passport pictures; all of us complaining about how bad ours were and how chubby they made our faces look. I have always called mine “plate face” and when I referred to it by that name at one point Paul asked me about it. I told him that I called it plate face because my face looked as big and as round as a dinner plate. After the Bosnian passport check, he asked to see it and immediately started laughing. Plate face, confirmed! Of all the bad pictures I have taken in my lifetime (and there are plenty), it figures that the one I actually have to live with, show at every country border, and be scrutinized against for ten years is plate face. I still don’t understand what happened – I never really had a plate face! (And no, I will not scan it and post it on the blog. There really are limits to self deprecating humor and plate face is it for me!) Turns out plate face came back to haunt me in Montenegro but that story is still to come…
We finally rolled into Dubrovnik, a full five hours after leaving Split, and got off the bus (and I, at least, headed straight for the restrooms!). Ron and I went to check-in to our place while Paul and Amanda went off to find theirs, and I think we all were pretty worn out and hungry from that bus ride. I had been feeling car sick for a couple hours for the ride and just being stuck on a bus for five hours had left us all pretty drained. We didn’t know it at the time but a bottle of red wine had broken in another passenger’s bag at some point during the ride and had leaked into Amanda’s so she also had to deal with red wine soaked (and some ruined) clothes when she opened her bag. Such a bummer! We met up for lunch, had another baby ducks following mama Paul restaurant finding escapade, and finally settled on grab and go pizza and sandwiches. (Definitely not worth the long search for that!)
Paul and Amanda wanted to spend some time on the beach before dinner and Ron and I opted to explore Dubrovnik for a couple hours instead. I went picture crazy and Ron was a great sport, following me around down every side street, alley, and stairwell without complaining. I think we probably covered 80% of Dubrovnik’s old town in only two hours (and it really is a jewel) and we had a lot of fun exploring. We all then met up again near sundown to walk the Dubrovnik city walls and this ended up being one of my favorite parts of my entire trip. The light was perfect for pictures of the old town and the temperature was actually pleasant instead of suffocating. Dubrovnik is truly captivating and absolutely gorgeous with all the orange tiled roofs and marble stairs and side streets. Unfortunately, the old town was severely damaged by Serbian and Montenegrin bombings in 1991 (for which members of the Yugoslav Federal Army and Navy, the Bosnian Serb Army, and Montenegrin paramilitary units were later indicted for war crimes in connection with the three months of artillery attacks targeting the old town and its surroundings) and much have the city had to be rebuilt or repaired afterward. Although the city took great care to maintain as much of the old town as possible and to repair the rest as carefully as they could using old style building techniques and materials, the war wounds are still visible in much of the city. The extent of these bombings was most apparent to me as we walked along the city walls as it was quite clear that many of the rooftops were new and in stark, sad contrast to the old originals. Dubrovnik remains the jewel of the Adriatic, however, and I got some of my pep back from the city tour from above. By the time we all went to dinner that night it was clear that we were all back on the upswing.
Again, we followed Paul for too long looking for a dinner restaurant and again we ended up going back to number two or three out of fifteen. The restaurant we finally settled on didn’t seem like anything special but we had some great Balkan food and just a really fun evening. We, of course rounded it out with more sladoded and strudels (apple or cherry are the Croatian specialty) and a few drinks at some Irish pubs. (We never could figure out why Irish pubs were so seemingly popular in Dubrovnik but there sure were a lot of them!)
We had previously decided to go to Lokrum Island the next day which is a tiny island very near Dubrovnik (maybe a 15 minute boat ride) instead of taking a two hour ferry rides to some of the larger islands. The real deciding factor was that the long ferry rides departed from the ferry terminal which was a $20 taxi ride away and required that you show up at 7am for an 8am departure in the hopes that you would get a seat as no reservations were allowed. (What kind of crazy system is that?!) Lokrum, on the other hand, left hourly from the small port in the old town. None of us were feeling like waking up at 6:30am on vacation so figured that Lokrum was a happy island medium. We decided to meet the next morning at 10am and called it a good night.
Ron and I wanted to have breakfast before we left for Lokrum (more specifically, strudels) so headed out that morning to pick up our goodies. We stopped at the local market to buy some snacks for the day and Ron went into muscle-man protein mission mode…settling on a can of tuna (for breakfast?! is that really necessary?!) as his best bet. We grabbed strudels and coffee on the way back from the market and then gorged. Ron forced himself to eat the tuna first saying, “I don’t want to end breakfast on a tuna note. I’m going to end with something good!” I can’t really relate but definitely the right call! From this point onward, Ron was an apple strudel eating machine. I credit the fact that he forced down a can of oil-packed tuna immediately before the strudel with his apparent new found love for apple-filled pastries. Dirt would have probably tasted pretty good after that let alone a fruit-filled strudel! Choking down tuna fish for breakfast definitely shows a lot of dedication (and stamina to get it down!) but…gag a maggot! Dedication, schmedication…pass me another cherry strudel, please! (I do have to give Ron credit though for eating the strudel...had he stuck with tuna-only for breakfast I would have been really worried!)
We met up with Paul and Amanda and got on the boat to Lokrum. We were all really glad we’d chosen the lazy day option and didn’t have a lot of travel and transport craziness to contend with. We arrived at the island 15 minutes later and set off to find a beach for the day…and once again began the duckling walk behind Paul for an hour as I think we actually may have hit every single beach on the island. (It’s a small island but still.) This time we settled on the very last place we checked so maybe the search was worth it (I still think probably not though). Ron and I wanted to get something active in during the day so decided to hike up to the fortress on the island which we did…in a grand total of 20 minutes. Not much of a hike but beautiful views of Dubrovnik so well worth it. We had already traipsed around most of the island on our beach search so there wasn’t really much more to explore. We rounded the northern end and both agreed that one of the main beaches was probably better than the one we had settled on for swimming and spending the day. We got back to where Paul and Amanda were holding down the fort and Paul said, “We were thinking that maybe one of the first beaches might be better for swimming. There are a lot of sea urchins here.” Ron and I smiled and agreed and we all grabbed our things and headed back to beach number one. Classic.
We spent the rest of the day swimming and reading on the beach. The weather was perfect and Lokrum was a great choice for a relaxing day. We headed back early evening and began the night out with wine on the rocks outside the city walls before heading to another fun dinner and night on the old town, this time including live jazz on one of the squares. Again, we had a great time and I at least was really loving Dubrovnik alongside and despite all the other tourists.
After our low key day on Lokrum, I was feeling really antsy and had decided to go to Mljet Island the next day to go biking through the national park. Ron, Paul, and Amanda were more interested in another local beach day and weren’t excited about the two plus hour boat ride (one way) so we split up for the day and I was on my way to Mljet, supposedly one of the most “captivating” Croatian islands, the next morning at 9am. The yacht ride to the island the next morning was actually fantastic. For one, it was on a small (but not fancy) yacht instead of a big ferry and, for two, the ride north along the Croatian coast in the morning was absolutely beautiful and really relaxing. I don’t think I moved for the two and half hours it took to get to the entrance of the national park but just enjoyed being outside in the wind and water with such fantastic views of the coast.
One reason Ron had decided against Mljet was that he wanted to be in Dubrovnik for sunset and the boat back from Mljet was supposed to arrive around 8:30 or 9pm, too late for sunset (unless you’re in Finland!). I got off the boat at the port in Pomena (on Mljet) and they told us to be back at the boat at 4pm. Surprised as I thought I had until 6:30pm, I clarified to make sure I had heard correctly, “We are leaving here at 4pm, 16:00?” “Yes! Leave here 16:00!” Ok. Well, slight change of plans but what can you do? (Also not surprising at this point…I don’t think anyone involved in tourism in Croatia knows the actual details of anything he or she is selling.) The sad thing is that Ron could have come and still made sunset in Dubrovnik if only we had been given the right information! So frustrating.
With only four and half hours on the island, I hurried to rent a bike, paid the park entrance fee (around $20), opted not to buy the park map (also almost $20 – highway robbery!), and took off on my bike. I had an awesome day biking around the lakes on the island and taking swimming breaks in the gorgeous water. I passed through a small village with a speed limit of 5km/hr (3.1miles/hr!) in which you had to actually walk your bike because you would (clearly) be going over the speed limit. It was exactly what I needed and although was much too short (five hour roundtrip boat ride for four and half hours on Mljet – can’t they figure these things out a little bit better?!), I got the “I want to move and explore!” out of my system for the day. Mljet and Rab Island were my strong favorites out of the islands I visited and they were definitely the most beautiful (Mljet, specifically) but I think the fact that I biked all day on both of them made a big difference. I got to see so much and it was really relaxing to be so independent and free in such beautiful places.
I hopped up from my rock perch on the far end of Veliko Jezero (“Big Lake” of the two there – the other is called Malo Jezero, or “Small Lake”) at 3:30pm, jumped on my bike, and got back just in time for my boat back to Dubrovnik. I arrived back in Dubrovnik at 6:30pm, showered, and was still able to make sunset drinks with the group. It was perfect (although I would have preferred to leave at 7am that morning to have more time on Mljet)!
This was our last night in Dubrovnik – our three days there had really flown by – and we had an awesome final night with drinks on the stone pier and then dinner (and I don’t remember following Paul for an hour looking at menus so I think someone else must have taken over this time…which I may have had something to do with!) and more Irish pubs. We were leaving the next morning for the final part of our trip together, and the final part of my trip overall (the other three would head on to Prague when I left to go back “home” to Helsinki).
Zbogom Hrvatska, Crna Gora halo! (Farewell Croatia, hello Montenegro!)
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Meltdown
I spent most of my half a day in Rijeka, Croatia sitting in the local McDonald’s before finally catching a bus to my real destination of Rab Island. As you may remember, I had figured out in Slovenia that I wouldn’t be able to make it all the way to Rab Island in one day given the poor and rather limited transportation options from Ljubljana to Rab. Luckily, I had been able to adjust my travel schedule and leave Ljubljana on Sunday night instead of Monday morning so that I could catch a bus from Rijeka to Rab the next morning.
I had looked up bus schedules from Rijeka to Rab Island the day before and had decided on the 10:30am bus given 6:00am, 2:30pm, and 5:30pm as other options. I arrived at the bus station to buy my ticket around 10am that morning, having just checked out of my hotel and dragged all my things across town in the already uncomfortable heat to find out that the 10:30am bus doesn’t really go to Rab Island. It only goes to Jablanac where you then have to catch a ferry and another bus to get to Rab town. Worse, the bus doesn’t even go all the way to Jablanac but just drops you off at a bus stop off the main highway from which you have to hike three kilometers down the side of the mountain to actually get to the ferry port. No thanks! I went with the recommendation to wait it out for the 2:30pm bus which would take me straight to Rab town accepting that I’d just have to kill four hours until then which is how I ended up in McDonald’s. Sometimes you just can’t beat a fountain diet Coke with ice, air conditioning, free internet, and decent bathrooms.
It was finally time for my bus to leave and after fighting my way on (you really have to get a little aggressive with the older Croatian women who consistently push their way to the very front of every line, apparently uninformed about how the concept of a line usually works), I settled in for my first of many Croatian bus rides. It took us three hours to go 120 km (75 miles) given the winding and snaking two-lane highway along the rocky coast. I had heard that Croatia was rocky but I hadn’t expected it to be so desert-like. The coast was mostly brown with rocks and small stones and had only small patches of green bushes scattered throughout, not really the lush landscape that I was expecting to find. The Adriatic was as I expected though…absolutely gorgeous blue, almost black, fading into turquoise near the rocky coast. It was really very beautiful if also very different than what I had expected.
Rab island itself was also very unique, starting out with brown desert on the south end where we arrived by ferry but then gradually becoming greener and more forested as we drove northwest to Rab town. Because of the way the island is shaped with a large mountain in the middle running northwest to southeast, the western side of the island gets and “holds on to” most of the rain and is protected a bit from the intense sun which results in a milder climate and more vegetation. Unsurprisingly, Rab town sits at the most protected central cove and is not only in a gorgeous location but is a treasure when it comes to old towns (and, believe me, after this trip I think I may qualify as an old town expert).
Rab town is famous for its four picturesque bell towers which rise above the city and extend along the narrow peninsula on which the old town sits. The old town itself is very compact and largely intact, seemingly unscathed from the WWII and Bosnian War bombings which decimated some of the other cities I visited. As with many of the old towns once under Venetian rule, the city “streets” are made of shiny marble and the homes, restaurants, and shops create a lovely labyrinth in which to get lost. I spent most of that first day roaming the Rab town streets and taking pictures. This is definitely one of those places where just when you think you’ve seen the most beautiful thing ever you turn the corner and see something that trumps it. It was really gorgeous and besides the German and Austrian families who vacation there every year, it was not nearly as crowded or touristy as I was expecting.
I was pretty hiked-out at this point given all I had done in Slovenia and really wanted to see more of Rab Island so figured I would rent a bike to go exploring. The entire island is about 60km long from end to end and I was really only interested in seeing the northern half (the southern half being the dry, desert moonscape), more specifically some of the more remote beaches and coves and another city called Lopar in the most northern branch of the island. I took off that morning and my first plan of attack was to ride to the highest point on the island to check out the views of the mainland and of all the neighboring islands. I started pedaling up the mountain roads and they just continued to get steeper and steeper…to the point that even standing on the bike on the lowest gear I wasn’t able to turn the pedals. I kept trying for a while but then couldn’t bike any more, it was just too steep. I got off the bike to walk it for a bit thinking that this might just be a very steep section and I could get back on a bit later but, no, the only option up was the steep road which just got steeper and the hiking path which was a long series of steps. I thought about carrying my bike but then thought that would sort of defeat the purpose so decided to bag the highest peak for the time being and save it for later when I wouldn’t have to climb in addition to carrying my bike. Needless to say, the ride back down was much easier (and more rewarding – I finally felt like I was getting somewhere!).
I started pedaling northwest along one of the main island roads and besides the fact that there was a decent amount of traffic, the ride was amazing. This part of the island was lush and diverse and I had a view of the sea and of some neighboring islands as I rode. I ran into a Franciscan monastery on the way and took a short break to take some pictures before heading on toward one of the more remote branches of the island. I kept cycling until I reached the end of the road, literally, and then walked my bike for a few kilometers around the farthest end of the peninsula I was on, around which there was basically a small sidewalk built right on the water. Families were sitting on the decks of their vacation homes enjoying coffee and fruit, playing in the shallow, turquoise water, and napping under the cover of trees on the walkway. I walked around the peninsula, winding my way and my bike around all of the sunbathers, until I got back to the other side and met up with another road. It was really great to get off the road for a while and see how vacation is really done on islands like these. I only wished I was staying at someone’s home on the beach instead of at my hotel in town!
I hopped back on my bike and got back on the main road, now making my way north to Lopar which supposedly had one of Rab’s nicest beaches and also a very nice nudist beach which I wanted to check out. (Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, right?) Before I could even think about beaches, I first had to get up and over the large mountain that runs along the length of the island. Thankfully, there was a bike path for most of the ride and it was a bit less steep than my first ride that morning so while it was a lot of work, it was a fun and rewarding ride. There were also some amazing viewpoints along the way from which I could see islands in every direction. After a good, long climb up I got to the top and then coasted in to Lopar and headed for the main beach.
The beach was very crowded and at this point I was starving so decided to break for lunch before figuring out where I might be able to camp out for a bit. It was hot and I had been biking all day so while I was hungry I didn’t want anything warm or too heavy. I settled on a Greek salad and then as I was ordering I noticed a bowl of fruit in the café refrigerator. I asked my waiter how much the fruit was and he told me, “Oh, no. Fruit is not for sale. That is only for to be put into desserts.” Ok. Strange, but whatever. He then said, “But we can make fruit salad. You want fruit salad?” All I wanted was something fresh and healthy and I didn’t care a bit if they cut it up, so I said, “Great! Yes, please bring fruit salad too. But no ice cream on it, right?” (They put ice cream on almost everything with fruit.) He said, “No, no ice cream. Just fruit salad.” Perfect!
I got my salad and it was great – wonderful tomatoes, fresh feta cheese, and crisp cucumbers. It was perfect. Then they brought out my “fruit salad” which I think might have actually contained some fruit if you could wade your way through the mountain of whipped cream and strawberry sauce to find it. Needless to say, it was definitely not what I expected. The “only for to be put in desserts” comment came back to haunt me as did the “just fruit salad” assurance. Don’t get me wrong, the whipped cream and strawberry sauce didn’t stop me from eating it but it wasn’t exactly the light and refreshing mid-bike expedition snack I had anticipated!
I rode up and down the boardwalk a couple times and decided that the beach was too crowded for me, and the water too shallow (which is why this place is perfect for families with small kids). I decided to try to find this remote nudist beach which I had read about and was another bike ride and a hike away. It took me a couple attempts to figure out which random, remote, residential road to take but I finally found what I thought must be it (still requires a bit of faith as nothing is marked) and muscled my way up another steep hill. I got to the top and ran into a sign pointing me to Sahara Beach – I was so excited and surprised that I had actually gone the right way for once that I didn’t know what to do with myself! I locked my bike to a tree and set off for the 30 minute hike down the back side of the mountain. This hiking path was actually relatively well marked and after 30 minutes I popped out of the forest and stumbled onto a rocky beach to find a rather large middle-aged woman’s butt staring back at me from a beach towel. I know, I know. What was I expecting?! Still, it was a bit unnerving!
The beach was on a secluded cove which you can only get to by hiking through the forest or by boat so was pretty low key. The beach goers ran the continuum from nude to “normal” (for an American) and included every possible variation in between which I will refrain from describing. There were old couples, young families, groups of friends, single travelers, you name it – every shape, size, and age was there. My impression after going was that topless is fine. You avoid the bad tan lines and uncomfortable neck ties and everyone seems happier for it. But bottomless, I’m not quite such a fan of. Babies have cute buns but besides a handful of adults who have managed to keep good looking derrieres (most of whom are employed by Victoria’s Secret), the rest of humanity really should keep it covered up. Think about what the skin on your face does as you age…and then translate those effects…do you really want that on display? Secondly, and I thought of this as I noticed a middle-aged man standing front and center in the middle of the cove in water up to his knees happily flashing the entire beach (for quite many continuous minutes – clearly quite the exhibitionist), Speedos are bad enough and the removal of them is worse. Keep your junk covered up! Joking aside, nobody looks at or cares about anybody else’s naked buns in Europe and I was able to spend a couple great hours relaxing and reading on the beach before heading back up the mountain. The obvious question I get about this is, “What did you do?! Did you get naked?” and all I can say is that you’ll have to check the photo albums to find out. (Just kidding!) Some things are better kept between me, the Rab island locals, and the Austrian tourists.
I had had enough of the sun (and of the nakedness) and also had to return my bike so jumped up to make my way back to Rab. I was supposed to return my bike by 5pm, it was already nearly 4pm, and I had a hike plus a decent bike ride back including a long climb over the central mountain. I grabbed my things and headed back up the trail. It was very well marked in comparison to other trails I’ve been on but while it would point me back in the direction of Lopar very clearly when I came to fork in the road, it would often leave the other path unlabeled which drove me crazy. What if the other path was really the “much cooler hike to Lopar for locals” and I was just on the boring one for tourists? While curiosity killed the cat it (thankfully!) only gets me lost but at this point I am very aware of this fact so, for once, I stuck to the main trail. Subsequently, I had an uneventful if successful trip up the mountain and back to my bike and was on the road in no time.
It was now 4:20pm and I had about 15 kilometers, mostly a single, long climb, to do in 40 minutes if I was going to return my bike on time. I was much more confident going back as I knew the island and the roads much better this time so I just went for it and besides nearly getting bumped off the road by multiple cars, made great time and had a really fun ride (I love long, steady climbs!). I came screaming into town, cut off a couple cars on my way back to the rental office, and hopped off my bike at 5:10pm. I arrived hot, a little sunburned, and a lot dirty but very happy after such a fun day of exploration. I returned my bike (they didn’t even look at the time) and left for the showers. I knew that my normal face was under all that salt, dirt, and sweat somewhere!
Finally looking and feeling like a normal person again, I had a great dinner of cuttlefish stew (an island specialty) and then spent the evening enjoying the old town again which included many more pictures and, of course, more sladoded (Croatian gelato). The weather was perfect and the main square was packed with people listening to live music and eating street food as part of some sort of festival. It was a great way to end my stay in Rab before I left the next morning for Zadar.
In keeping with the bizarre transportation schedules and bus routes which I have come to associate with Croatia, the only way to get 120 km south to Zadar was to first go 60 km north, and to leave at 7:00am. Ugh. I left Rab on the 7am bus and was in Senj, Croatia by 8:30am. I sat at an outdoor café for a couple hours eating a Croatian cottage cheese pastry and coffee before catching my next bus at 10:30am which would take another three hours to get to Zadar (retracing my path south again). I loaded my bag into the hold and then boarded the bus, found an empty couple of seats and settled in. An old Croatian woman boarded the bus and started talking to me in fast bursts of Croatian which I was finally able to interrupt with, “I’m sorry, I only speak English.” She said a couple more sentences then shrugged and sat down in the seat in front of me. Her friend then boarded, there was an intense discussion between the two of them in front of me, and then the friend started babbling / yelling at me in Croatian, pointing to my seat and then to the seat numbers above and then to the seat she was sitting in. I said again, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” and she just kept right on going. It became very clear that they thought I was in their seats (which was interesting since there were no seat assignments, no luggage, purse, or even magazine there to hold the spots, and plenty of other empty seats) and realizing that this was an argument I was not going to understand let alone win, I grabbed my things and we switched. I rolled my eyes as I took their seats and they took the pair that I had been sitting in. All I can figure out is they had been sitting in those seats for the previous portion of the trip and wanted to sit in the exact same seats for the rest of the way. Thankfully, my switching with them seemed to bring harmony back to their world and the frantic Croatian ranting stopped. They were happy until I leaned my seat back into them and tried to nap part of the way…I hate to say this but you asked for it when you made me move in front of you, lady. Sorry!
I arrived in Zadar in the early afternoon to find even more scorching heat and my first task was to lug my things a couple kilometers into the old town where I was staying. Zadar is an “up and coming” Croatian hot spot, mostly because of its beautiful old town, proximity to more modern cities and nice beaches, and its vibrant night life. The old town here is especially tiny and as I looked for my “hotel” for the night, I felt like I was going down hallways instead of streets. I missed my street the first time I walked by as it looked like a tiny back alleyway. A couple “streets” later I realized that everything in this little city was a back alleyway. I dumped off my things, was ecstatic to find a fan in my room (I’ve learned to take what I can get and smile about it!), and headed out to check out Zadar.
Zadar is also a beautiful old Venetian town of marble streets, gorgeous stone architecture, and lovely bell towers, churches, and towering clocks. It is also famous for its one of a kind Sea Organ which is literally an organ which has been built into the promenade on the water. There are different lengths of pipes built into the promenade which fill up to different levels as the water ebbs and flows beneath them and then make beautiful, almost hypnotic music as the wind blows over the top of the pipes. I had heard about the organ and was walking along the promenade looking for it, thinking it would be some ornately decorated instrument built into the side of the walkway with tourists surrounding it. It took me a few minutes to realize that the reason I could hear it but not see it was because I was literally standing over top of some of the organ pipes (holes in the promenade). I camped out near the organ for a couple hours and jumped off the cement promenade into the Adriatic with the locals for a while before heading back within the city walls.
Zadar was also great and, again, much less touristy than I had expected. There were certainly tourists and vacationers around but not in overwhelming numbers. It also helps that there are very few places to stay within the city walls so while the old town is bustling at night, most of the tourists have to go to one of the neighboring cities to sleep. I had another great night of good Italian food (this coast was under Venetian rule for hundreds of years after all!), loaded up on some snacks for the next day (I tried to buy a handful of apricots from an old Croatian man at the street market and had a lost in translation moment and ended up with the whole tub – oops!), and rounded out the night with my new staple food group of sladoded.
I woke up the next morning for a day trip to Plitvička National Park and, as there was only one outgoing bus for the day at 9am, hurried to get to the bus station early that morning but got a little sidetracked (what else is new?) and got there around 8:40am. I wanted to be sure I got a seat on the outgoing bus but, even more important, that I got a return ticket for that evening as again there was only one option and I didn’t want to get stranded at Plitvička if I could help it. There were three windows with three women manning (womanning?) them with a cluster of confused tourists standing in a blob in front of them. Seriously, has no one in this country ever heard of a line? Getting used to the European push your way through to the front mentality, I elbowed my way through to one of the desks. The Croatian woman behind the glass took her sweet time acknowledging me at which point I blurted out (thinking they might be sold out already), “I’d like a return ticket to Plitvička, please!” She slowly looked up at me and scowled, “You want ticket to Plitvička?” “Yes, a return ticket, please.” She shook her head, “No return ticket here. You must buy on the bus.” Um, ok, but that seems a little risky given there is only one bus per day and that it could be full from Zagreb before it even reaches Plitvička. I clarified, “I can’t buy a return ticket here? I can only buy it on the bus?” She nodded. “Ok, then I’d like a one-way ticket to Plitvička.” She pointed to another woman at another of the three desks. “Tickets there. No tickets here.” Are you kidding me? I had happened to go to the “information” desk instead of the “tickets” desk, between which there was absolutely no distinction, and she refused to sell me a ticket. Ugh. I said a sarcastic, “Thanks.” as I made my way into one of the other desks.
I had the same conversation at the next desk just to verify that I really could not buy a return ticket and the woman there confirmed that I could only buy it from the driver when I boarded the bus. I said, “But what if there are no seats?” She shrugged and said, “You must buy from bus driver.” Great, thanks so much for your help. Guess I’m chancing it! I got my ticket to Plitvička, boarded the bus, and camped out for the next two and half hours. (Of course, I was now going 90km back north to get to the park – the bus routes in Croatia really are baffling!).
We arrived at the park at 11:30am and the bus back to Zadar was at 5pm. I wanted to make the most of the short time I had in the park so I practically ran to the ticket office. I bought my ticket and there was a kid there, maybe 18 years old, helping everyone decide what route to do that day. They had multiple routes up on a board ranging from basically a day of bus and ferry rides (i.e. little to no walking) around the park to the “intense” route K which was a full tour on foot. Of course I didn’t look at anything else but the “intense” route and started asking the boy about it, “How many kilometers is route K?” He replied, “I would recommend that you do route C if you only have five hours. It is a very pleasant tour and you begin with a bus ride around the northern part of the park…” I interrupted, “I’d like to do route K. How long is it?” He replied, “Route K is very aggressive and takes from 6-8 hours. You need the whole day to do it and you only have five hours before bus. I would recommend route C if this is your first time in the park…” I repeated, “How long is route K?” The woman selling tickets next to us jumped in, “It is very long. It is 23 kilometers. Route C is much better; it is only 8 kilometers of walking.” I looked at her and blinked. You expect me to do only five miles in five hours?! I’ll finish that in one hour and then what am I going to do?! I repeated myself again a bit more forcefully, “I’m going to do route K. Does it start down here?” I pointed down the path. The boy responded with, “To begin route C, you should wait here in the parking lot for the bus…” Good grief, this kid was driving me nuts! We were having completely separate conversations and this was going nowhere. I started walking away before he was finished saying a quick, “Thank you!” as I went the opposite way he was pointing and went to find route K myself.
The park was extraordinarily well marked and it wasn’t difficult to find the path for route K. I started off on a trail around one of the lakes and was thinking 23 kilometers of flat lakeside walking is nothing. Those people are loco! The path was pleasantly shaded by the trees and the water was so perfectly, sparkling blue it was practically incandescent. It was also so clear that you could see every twig, the scales on every fish, every pebble in the bottom – it was really pretty amazing and I got a little camera happy. I was amazed at how many pictures I had at the end of the day of water!
I wasn’t worried about the time or distance but knew that I’d have to keep moving at a decent pace to get back in time for the bus so was stopping to take pictures and enjoy the park but was moving at a pretty good clip. My flat lakeside walk turned out to have quite some major changes in elevation along the way…I probably should have looked at the map a bit more closely before I started to notice the major waterfalls which route K took you all the way up to while the other routes just stayed at the bottom. I was happy though that I had picked the route I did, it was definitely the best for the viewpoints and I’m always happier when I’m seeing beautiful things and getting in a workout at the same time (very efficient!). Choosing the hardest routes also has the added and very important benefit of keeping most of the other people away which I greatly appreciate. Nothing stresses me out more than the madness of hoards of tourists!
Unfortunately, route K merged with some of the easier routes for a few kilometers and I was back in the thick of things with every other tourist in Croatia and his grandmother and child and wife and…you get the picture. I was in an absolutely stunning and unique national park and every time I tried to snap a picture some Croatian man would send his wife or daughter to stand exactly in the middle of my picture. The other people on the hiking paths were slow, loud, and would stop without warning in the middle of the path, blocking everyone else from passing (usually so that no one stepped into the middle of their precious pictures). Every time I thought I found a beautiful, serene place to break a tour group of Germans or a Croatian family would come barging in, shattering my tranquility with their loud voices and loud feet. It was driving me crazy.
I got to one of the main gathering areas with food, bathrooms, ice cream, ferry connections, and suddenly got overwhelmed with all of the people and languages and pushing from every which direction. Some little kid slimed me with his ice cream on my leg at the same time an old woman stopped cold in front of me and wouldn’t move to the side just as a man ran into me from behind and nearly knocked me over, all the while the cacophony of loud German, Croatian, Slovenian, Italian conversations was drowning me in place. I was sick of being hot, of being bumped into, of hearing things I didn’t understand…basically, I was suddenly overwhelmed and sick of everything! I was about at the point of stomping in a circle with my fingers in my ears (tantrums apparently aren’t just for toddlers anymore!) when I finally broke free of the crowd. When I finally looked up a few minutes later I found myself standing smack dab in the middle of everything, as far away on average from every other person in the little park as I could possible be. There I was standing in the middle of a grassy field while all the other people were sitting at the surrounding lunch tables, licking their sladoded, staring at me, and wondering what in the world that girl was doing standing there in the middle of everything with that crazed look in her eyes?
I stood there until I figured out where I needed to go next (I wanted to be sure to minimize the likelihood of being pushed, slimed, bumped, etc, before I made a move anywhere) and made a beeline for my trail. Five minutes later I was back in the solitude of the park and on a more difficult hiking path which was keeping the riff raff (a.k.a. all the normal tourists) away. Thank goodness! That situation (or maybe just me) was about to get ugly!
I spent the rest of the afternoon making my way around the gorgeous park, being sure to always choose the highest and most difficult paths, and had a fantastic time. The last half of the trip was also the most impressive with hundreds of waterfalls, beautiful pools, crystalline streams, and stunningly blue lakes to explore and enjoy. This also meant that this is where most of the people were congregating but I had gotten a grip and was able to enjoy myself and make it through without “mistakenly” hip checking anybody into one of the lakes. I took the five minute ferry back across the lake to where I had started and arrived at 4:15pm. I looked for the kid who had told me I couldn’t do it on my way through the gates but he wasn’t there – bummer! I was ready to give him a wink and an “I told you so!” smile.
The bus from Zagreb was supposed to pass through at 5pm but the bus schedules are always a little suspect so I wanted to make sure I got back to the bus stop a bit early, also to make sure I was one of the first in line in case it ended up being crowded. I arrived at the bus stop at 4:30pm and went to check the posted bus information. Of course, the only information posted was when the bus came through in the morning, not the evening bus I needed to catch. There were probably another eight or so people already waiting and they were all in the same boat as me…first off hoping that the bus actually showed up and then praying that there would still be room. I had just sat down on the grass for what I expected to be a long wait and potentially a fight to get on the bus when a mini-van pulled up. A couple and their daughter had ordered a taxi to take them back to Zadar and the rest of us just watched jealously as they got in the vehicle. The driver then started wandering around and approached one of the couples waiting for the bus. He asked, “Where do you go? Zadar?” They looked at him a bit confused and ignored him. I recognized what this was – a possible ride home – and jumped up. “Are you going to Zadar?” I asked. He said, “Yes, Yes. Zadar.” “How much to ride to Zadar?” “100 kuna.” (About $20.) The bus was already 120 kuna so this was even a deal. I said, “Great! Do I pay now?!” The others waiting for the bus watched this and then jumped in too. We filled up that guy’s mini-van in about three minutes and were happily on our way back to Zadar in five.
Not only was I able to catch a ride five minutes after showing up for the bus but it was cheaper, faster (no bus stops so got back in 90 minutes instead of the 2.5hr bus trip), and as the lone single traveler I got to sit up front with the driver which was huge for me not getting motion sick. (The bus rides were pretty tough for me!) It was definitely the icing on the cake of a great day. The bus driver was a very cute little old Croatian man missing some teeth (endearing in a Croatian mini-van driver but not usually in anyone else!) and attempted to speak to me in broken English for most of the ride. I pulled out a pear I had stashed in my bag and he almost yelled at me, “Bon appetite!!!” and then gave me a huge, proud smile. I laughed. Later, when he was fiddling with the radio he changed stations and the volume suddenly went to max which blasted the rest of the van awake with a jolt. He hurriedly turned it down and said, “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Radio ka-put! Radio KAPUT! KAPUT!” I was cracking up. How did “kaput” end up being one of twenty English words this guy knows?
I spent a great evening in Zadar at an outdoor café eating Italian food, drinking wine, and writing about Slovenia (these blogs have to get written at some point!). I was heading to Split the next day and was really looking forward to finally staying at a nice hotel (those hotel points from consulting do come in handy!) where I was positive there would be air conditioning, a good bar, and a great, private beach…basically some relief from the heat and the tourists! After my meltdown in Plitvička, I figured I might need to take a bit of a break for a day before I made a fool of myself or hurt somebody!
(FYI - there are three photo albums this time, all on the blog. Hope you like them!)
I had looked up bus schedules from Rijeka to Rab Island the day before and had decided on the 10:30am bus given 6:00am, 2:30pm, and 5:30pm as other options. I arrived at the bus station to buy my ticket around 10am that morning, having just checked out of my hotel and dragged all my things across town in the already uncomfortable heat to find out that the 10:30am bus doesn’t really go to Rab Island. It only goes to Jablanac where you then have to catch a ferry and another bus to get to Rab town. Worse, the bus doesn’t even go all the way to Jablanac but just drops you off at a bus stop off the main highway from which you have to hike three kilometers down the side of the mountain to actually get to the ferry port. No thanks! I went with the recommendation to wait it out for the 2:30pm bus which would take me straight to Rab town accepting that I’d just have to kill four hours until then which is how I ended up in McDonald’s. Sometimes you just can’t beat a fountain diet Coke with ice, air conditioning, free internet, and decent bathrooms.
It was finally time for my bus to leave and after fighting my way on (you really have to get a little aggressive with the older Croatian women who consistently push their way to the very front of every line, apparently uninformed about how the concept of a line usually works), I settled in for my first of many Croatian bus rides. It took us three hours to go 120 km (75 miles) given the winding and snaking two-lane highway along the rocky coast. I had heard that Croatia was rocky but I hadn’t expected it to be so desert-like. The coast was mostly brown with rocks and small stones and had only small patches of green bushes scattered throughout, not really the lush landscape that I was expecting to find. The Adriatic was as I expected though…absolutely gorgeous blue, almost black, fading into turquoise near the rocky coast. It was really very beautiful if also very different than what I had expected.
Rab island itself was also very unique, starting out with brown desert on the south end where we arrived by ferry but then gradually becoming greener and more forested as we drove northwest to Rab town. Because of the way the island is shaped with a large mountain in the middle running northwest to southeast, the western side of the island gets and “holds on to” most of the rain and is protected a bit from the intense sun which results in a milder climate and more vegetation. Unsurprisingly, Rab town sits at the most protected central cove and is not only in a gorgeous location but is a treasure when it comes to old towns (and, believe me, after this trip I think I may qualify as an old town expert).
Rab town is famous for its four picturesque bell towers which rise above the city and extend along the narrow peninsula on which the old town sits. The old town itself is very compact and largely intact, seemingly unscathed from the WWII and Bosnian War bombings which decimated some of the other cities I visited. As with many of the old towns once under Venetian rule, the city “streets” are made of shiny marble and the homes, restaurants, and shops create a lovely labyrinth in which to get lost. I spent most of that first day roaming the Rab town streets and taking pictures. This is definitely one of those places where just when you think you’ve seen the most beautiful thing ever you turn the corner and see something that trumps it. It was really gorgeous and besides the German and Austrian families who vacation there every year, it was not nearly as crowded or touristy as I was expecting.
I was pretty hiked-out at this point given all I had done in Slovenia and really wanted to see more of Rab Island so figured I would rent a bike to go exploring. The entire island is about 60km long from end to end and I was really only interested in seeing the northern half (the southern half being the dry, desert moonscape), more specifically some of the more remote beaches and coves and another city called Lopar in the most northern branch of the island. I took off that morning and my first plan of attack was to ride to the highest point on the island to check out the views of the mainland and of all the neighboring islands. I started pedaling up the mountain roads and they just continued to get steeper and steeper…to the point that even standing on the bike on the lowest gear I wasn’t able to turn the pedals. I kept trying for a while but then couldn’t bike any more, it was just too steep. I got off the bike to walk it for a bit thinking that this might just be a very steep section and I could get back on a bit later but, no, the only option up was the steep road which just got steeper and the hiking path which was a long series of steps. I thought about carrying my bike but then thought that would sort of defeat the purpose so decided to bag the highest peak for the time being and save it for later when I wouldn’t have to climb in addition to carrying my bike. Needless to say, the ride back down was much easier (and more rewarding – I finally felt like I was getting somewhere!).
I started pedaling northwest along one of the main island roads and besides the fact that there was a decent amount of traffic, the ride was amazing. This part of the island was lush and diverse and I had a view of the sea and of some neighboring islands as I rode. I ran into a Franciscan monastery on the way and took a short break to take some pictures before heading on toward one of the more remote branches of the island. I kept cycling until I reached the end of the road, literally, and then walked my bike for a few kilometers around the farthest end of the peninsula I was on, around which there was basically a small sidewalk built right on the water. Families were sitting on the decks of their vacation homes enjoying coffee and fruit, playing in the shallow, turquoise water, and napping under the cover of trees on the walkway. I walked around the peninsula, winding my way and my bike around all of the sunbathers, until I got back to the other side and met up with another road. It was really great to get off the road for a while and see how vacation is really done on islands like these. I only wished I was staying at someone’s home on the beach instead of at my hotel in town!
I hopped back on my bike and got back on the main road, now making my way north to Lopar which supposedly had one of Rab’s nicest beaches and also a very nice nudist beach which I wanted to check out. (Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, right?) Before I could even think about beaches, I first had to get up and over the large mountain that runs along the length of the island. Thankfully, there was a bike path for most of the ride and it was a bit less steep than my first ride that morning so while it was a lot of work, it was a fun and rewarding ride. There were also some amazing viewpoints along the way from which I could see islands in every direction. After a good, long climb up I got to the top and then coasted in to Lopar and headed for the main beach.
The beach was very crowded and at this point I was starving so decided to break for lunch before figuring out where I might be able to camp out for a bit. It was hot and I had been biking all day so while I was hungry I didn’t want anything warm or too heavy. I settled on a Greek salad and then as I was ordering I noticed a bowl of fruit in the café refrigerator. I asked my waiter how much the fruit was and he told me, “Oh, no. Fruit is not for sale. That is only for to be put into desserts.” Ok. Strange, but whatever. He then said, “But we can make fruit salad. You want fruit salad?” All I wanted was something fresh and healthy and I didn’t care a bit if they cut it up, so I said, “Great! Yes, please bring fruit salad too. But no ice cream on it, right?” (They put ice cream on almost everything with fruit.) He said, “No, no ice cream. Just fruit salad.” Perfect!
I got my salad and it was great – wonderful tomatoes, fresh feta cheese, and crisp cucumbers. It was perfect. Then they brought out my “fruit salad” which I think might have actually contained some fruit if you could wade your way through the mountain of whipped cream and strawberry sauce to find it. Needless to say, it was definitely not what I expected. The “only for to be put in desserts” comment came back to haunt me as did the “just fruit salad” assurance. Don’t get me wrong, the whipped cream and strawberry sauce didn’t stop me from eating it but it wasn’t exactly the light and refreshing mid-bike expedition snack I had anticipated!
I rode up and down the boardwalk a couple times and decided that the beach was too crowded for me, and the water too shallow (which is why this place is perfect for families with small kids). I decided to try to find this remote nudist beach which I had read about and was another bike ride and a hike away. It took me a couple attempts to figure out which random, remote, residential road to take but I finally found what I thought must be it (still requires a bit of faith as nothing is marked) and muscled my way up another steep hill. I got to the top and ran into a sign pointing me to Sahara Beach – I was so excited and surprised that I had actually gone the right way for once that I didn’t know what to do with myself! I locked my bike to a tree and set off for the 30 minute hike down the back side of the mountain. This hiking path was actually relatively well marked and after 30 minutes I popped out of the forest and stumbled onto a rocky beach to find a rather large middle-aged woman’s butt staring back at me from a beach towel. I know, I know. What was I expecting?! Still, it was a bit unnerving!
The beach was on a secluded cove which you can only get to by hiking through the forest or by boat so was pretty low key. The beach goers ran the continuum from nude to “normal” (for an American) and included every possible variation in between which I will refrain from describing. There were old couples, young families, groups of friends, single travelers, you name it – every shape, size, and age was there. My impression after going was that topless is fine. You avoid the bad tan lines and uncomfortable neck ties and everyone seems happier for it. But bottomless, I’m not quite such a fan of. Babies have cute buns but besides a handful of adults who have managed to keep good looking derrieres (most of whom are employed by Victoria’s Secret), the rest of humanity really should keep it covered up. Think about what the skin on your face does as you age…and then translate those effects…do you really want that on display? Secondly, and I thought of this as I noticed a middle-aged man standing front and center in the middle of the cove in water up to his knees happily flashing the entire beach (for quite many continuous minutes – clearly quite the exhibitionist), Speedos are bad enough and the removal of them is worse. Keep your junk covered up! Joking aside, nobody looks at or cares about anybody else’s naked buns in Europe and I was able to spend a couple great hours relaxing and reading on the beach before heading back up the mountain. The obvious question I get about this is, “What did you do?! Did you get naked?” and all I can say is that you’ll have to check the photo albums to find out. (Just kidding!) Some things are better kept between me, the Rab island locals, and the Austrian tourists.
I had had enough of the sun (and of the nakedness) and also had to return my bike so jumped up to make my way back to Rab. I was supposed to return my bike by 5pm, it was already nearly 4pm, and I had a hike plus a decent bike ride back including a long climb over the central mountain. I grabbed my things and headed back up the trail. It was very well marked in comparison to other trails I’ve been on but while it would point me back in the direction of Lopar very clearly when I came to fork in the road, it would often leave the other path unlabeled which drove me crazy. What if the other path was really the “much cooler hike to Lopar for locals” and I was just on the boring one for tourists? While curiosity killed the cat it (thankfully!) only gets me lost but at this point I am very aware of this fact so, for once, I stuck to the main trail. Subsequently, I had an uneventful if successful trip up the mountain and back to my bike and was on the road in no time.
It was now 4:20pm and I had about 15 kilometers, mostly a single, long climb, to do in 40 minutes if I was going to return my bike on time. I was much more confident going back as I knew the island and the roads much better this time so I just went for it and besides nearly getting bumped off the road by multiple cars, made great time and had a really fun ride (I love long, steady climbs!). I came screaming into town, cut off a couple cars on my way back to the rental office, and hopped off my bike at 5:10pm. I arrived hot, a little sunburned, and a lot dirty but very happy after such a fun day of exploration. I returned my bike (they didn’t even look at the time) and left for the showers. I knew that my normal face was under all that salt, dirt, and sweat somewhere!
Finally looking and feeling like a normal person again, I had a great dinner of cuttlefish stew (an island specialty) and then spent the evening enjoying the old town again which included many more pictures and, of course, more sladoded (Croatian gelato). The weather was perfect and the main square was packed with people listening to live music and eating street food as part of some sort of festival. It was a great way to end my stay in Rab before I left the next morning for Zadar.
In keeping with the bizarre transportation schedules and bus routes which I have come to associate with Croatia, the only way to get 120 km south to Zadar was to first go 60 km north, and to leave at 7:00am. Ugh. I left Rab on the 7am bus and was in Senj, Croatia by 8:30am. I sat at an outdoor café for a couple hours eating a Croatian cottage cheese pastry and coffee before catching my next bus at 10:30am which would take another three hours to get to Zadar (retracing my path south again). I loaded my bag into the hold and then boarded the bus, found an empty couple of seats and settled in. An old Croatian woman boarded the bus and started talking to me in fast bursts of Croatian which I was finally able to interrupt with, “I’m sorry, I only speak English.” She said a couple more sentences then shrugged and sat down in the seat in front of me. Her friend then boarded, there was an intense discussion between the two of them in front of me, and then the friend started babbling / yelling at me in Croatian, pointing to my seat and then to the seat numbers above and then to the seat she was sitting in. I said again, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.” and she just kept right on going. It became very clear that they thought I was in their seats (which was interesting since there were no seat assignments, no luggage, purse, or even magazine there to hold the spots, and plenty of other empty seats) and realizing that this was an argument I was not going to understand let alone win, I grabbed my things and we switched. I rolled my eyes as I took their seats and they took the pair that I had been sitting in. All I can figure out is they had been sitting in those seats for the previous portion of the trip and wanted to sit in the exact same seats for the rest of the way. Thankfully, my switching with them seemed to bring harmony back to their world and the frantic Croatian ranting stopped. They were happy until I leaned my seat back into them and tried to nap part of the way…I hate to say this but you asked for it when you made me move in front of you, lady. Sorry!
I arrived in Zadar in the early afternoon to find even more scorching heat and my first task was to lug my things a couple kilometers into the old town where I was staying. Zadar is an “up and coming” Croatian hot spot, mostly because of its beautiful old town, proximity to more modern cities and nice beaches, and its vibrant night life. The old town here is especially tiny and as I looked for my “hotel” for the night, I felt like I was going down hallways instead of streets. I missed my street the first time I walked by as it looked like a tiny back alleyway. A couple “streets” later I realized that everything in this little city was a back alleyway. I dumped off my things, was ecstatic to find a fan in my room (I’ve learned to take what I can get and smile about it!), and headed out to check out Zadar.
Zadar is also a beautiful old Venetian town of marble streets, gorgeous stone architecture, and lovely bell towers, churches, and towering clocks. It is also famous for its one of a kind Sea Organ which is literally an organ which has been built into the promenade on the water. There are different lengths of pipes built into the promenade which fill up to different levels as the water ebbs and flows beneath them and then make beautiful, almost hypnotic music as the wind blows over the top of the pipes. I had heard about the organ and was walking along the promenade looking for it, thinking it would be some ornately decorated instrument built into the side of the walkway with tourists surrounding it. It took me a few minutes to realize that the reason I could hear it but not see it was because I was literally standing over top of some of the organ pipes (holes in the promenade). I camped out near the organ for a couple hours and jumped off the cement promenade into the Adriatic with the locals for a while before heading back within the city walls.
Zadar was also great and, again, much less touristy than I had expected. There were certainly tourists and vacationers around but not in overwhelming numbers. It also helps that there are very few places to stay within the city walls so while the old town is bustling at night, most of the tourists have to go to one of the neighboring cities to sleep. I had another great night of good Italian food (this coast was under Venetian rule for hundreds of years after all!), loaded up on some snacks for the next day (I tried to buy a handful of apricots from an old Croatian man at the street market and had a lost in translation moment and ended up with the whole tub – oops!), and rounded out the night with my new staple food group of sladoded.
I woke up the next morning for a day trip to Plitvička National Park and, as there was only one outgoing bus for the day at 9am, hurried to get to the bus station early that morning but got a little sidetracked (what else is new?) and got there around 8:40am. I wanted to be sure I got a seat on the outgoing bus but, even more important, that I got a return ticket for that evening as again there was only one option and I didn’t want to get stranded at Plitvička if I could help it. There were three windows with three women manning (womanning?) them with a cluster of confused tourists standing in a blob in front of them. Seriously, has no one in this country ever heard of a line? Getting used to the European push your way through to the front mentality, I elbowed my way through to one of the desks. The Croatian woman behind the glass took her sweet time acknowledging me at which point I blurted out (thinking they might be sold out already), “I’d like a return ticket to Plitvička, please!” She slowly looked up at me and scowled, “You want ticket to Plitvička?” “Yes, a return ticket, please.” She shook her head, “No return ticket here. You must buy on the bus.” Um, ok, but that seems a little risky given there is only one bus per day and that it could be full from Zagreb before it even reaches Plitvička. I clarified, “I can’t buy a return ticket here? I can only buy it on the bus?” She nodded. “Ok, then I’d like a one-way ticket to Plitvička.” She pointed to another woman at another of the three desks. “Tickets there. No tickets here.” Are you kidding me? I had happened to go to the “information” desk instead of the “tickets” desk, between which there was absolutely no distinction, and she refused to sell me a ticket. Ugh. I said a sarcastic, “Thanks.” as I made my way into one of the other desks.
I had the same conversation at the next desk just to verify that I really could not buy a return ticket and the woman there confirmed that I could only buy it from the driver when I boarded the bus. I said, “But what if there are no seats?” She shrugged and said, “You must buy from bus driver.” Great, thanks so much for your help. Guess I’m chancing it! I got my ticket to Plitvička, boarded the bus, and camped out for the next two and half hours. (Of course, I was now going 90km back north to get to the park – the bus routes in Croatia really are baffling!).
We arrived at the park at 11:30am and the bus back to Zadar was at 5pm. I wanted to make the most of the short time I had in the park so I practically ran to the ticket office. I bought my ticket and there was a kid there, maybe 18 years old, helping everyone decide what route to do that day. They had multiple routes up on a board ranging from basically a day of bus and ferry rides (i.e. little to no walking) around the park to the “intense” route K which was a full tour on foot. Of course I didn’t look at anything else but the “intense” route and started asking the boy about it, “How many kilometers is route K?” He replied, “I would recommend that you do route C if you only have five hours. It is a very pleasant tour and you begin with a bus ride around the northern part of the park…” I interrupted, “I’d like to do route K. How long is it?” He replied, “Route K is very aggressive and takes from 6-8 hours. You need the whole day to do it and you only have five hours before bus. I would recommend route C if this is your first time in the park…” I repeated, “How long is route K?” The woman selling tickets next to us jumped in, “It is very long. It is 23 kilometers. Route C is much better; it is only 8 kilometers of walking.” I looked at her and blinked. You expect me to do only five miles in five hours?! I’ll finish that in one hour and then what am I going to do?! I repeated myself again a bit more forcefully, “I’m going to do route K. Does it start down here?” I pointed down the path. The boy responded with, “To begin route C, you should wait here in the parking lot for the bus…” Good grief, this kid was driving me nuts! We were having completely separate conversations and this was going nowhere. I started walking away before he was finished saying a quick, “Thank you!” as I went the opposite way he was pointing and went to find route K myself.
The park was extraordinarily well marked and it wasn’t difficult to find the path for route K. I started off on a trail around one of the lakes and was thinking 23 kilometers of flat lakeside walking is nothing. Those people are loco! The path was pleasantly shaded by the trees and the water was so perfectly, sparkling blue it was practically incandescent. It was also so clear that you could see every twig, the scales on every fish, every pebble in the bottom – it was really pretty amazing and I got a little camera happy. I was amazed at how many pictures I had at the end of the day of water!
I wasn’t worried about the time or distance but knew that I’d have to keep moving at a decent pace to get back in time for the bus so was stopping to take pictures and enjoy the park but was moving at a pretty good clip. My flat lakeside walk turned out to have quite some major changes in elevation along the way…I probably should have looked at the map a bit more closely before I started to notice the major waterfalls which route K took you all the way up to while the other routes just stayed at the bottom. I was happy though that I had picked the route I did, it was definitely the best for the viewpoints and I’m always happier when I’m seeing beautiful things and getting in a workout at the same time (very efficient!). Choosing the hardest routes also has the added and very important benefit of keeping most of the other people away which I greatly appreciate. Nothing stresses me out more than the madness of hoards of tourists!
Unfortunately, route K merged with some of the easier routes for a few kilometers and I was back in the thick of things with every other tourist in Croatia and his grandmother and child and wife and…you get the picture. I was in an absolutely stunning and unique national park and every time I tried to snap a picture some Croatian man would send his wife or daughter to stand exactly in the middle of my picture. The other people on the hiking paths were slow, loud, and would stop without warning in the middle of the path, blocking everyone else from passing (usually so that no one stepped into the middle of their precious pictures). Every time I thought I found a beautiful, serene place to break a tour group of Germans or a Croatian family would come barging in, shattering my tranquility with their loud voices and loud feet. It was driving me crazy.
I got to one of the main gathering areas with food, bathrooms, ice cream, ferry connections, and suddenly got overwhelmed with all of the people and languages and pushing from every which direction. Some little kid slimed me with his ice cream on my leg at the same time an old woman stopped cold in front of me and wouldn’t move to the side just as a man ran into me from behind and nearly knocked me over, all the while the cacophony of loud German, Croatian, Slovenian, Italian conversations was drowning me in place. I was sick of being hot, of being bumped into, of hearing things I didn’t understand…basically, I was suddenly overwhelmed and sick of everything! I was about at the point of stomping in a circle with my fingers in my ears (tantrums apparently aren’t just for toddlers anymore!) when I finally broke free of the crowd. When I finally looked up a few minutes later I found myself standing smack dab in the middle of everything, as far away on average from every other person in the little park as I could possible be. There I was standing in the middle of a grassy field while all the other people were sitting at the surrounding lunch tables, licking their sladoded, staring at me, and wondering what in the world that girl was doing standing there in the middle of everything with that crazed look in her eyes?
I stood there until I figured out where I needed to go next (I wanted to be sure to minimize the likelihood of being pushed, slimed, bumped, etc, before I made a move anywhere) and made a beeline for my trail. Five minutes later I was back in the solitude of the park and on a more difficult hiking path which was keeping the riff raff (a.k.a. all the normal tourists) away. Thank goodness! That situation (or maybe just me) was about to get ugly!
I spent the rest of the afternoon making my way around the gorgeous park, being sure to always choose the highest and most difficult paths, and had a fantastic time. The last half of the trip was also the most impressive with hundreds of waterfalls, beautiful pools, crystalline streams, and stunningly blue lakes to explore and enjoy. This also meant that this is where most of the people were congregating but I had gotten a grip and was able to enjoy myself and make it through without “mistakenly” hip checking anybody into one of the lakes. I took the five minute ferry back across the lake to where I had started and arrived at 4:15pm. I looked for the kid who had told me I couldn’t do it on my way through the gates but he wasn’t there – bummer! I was ready to give him a wink and an “I told you so!” smile.
The bus from Zagreb was supposed to pass through at 5pm but the bus schedules are always a little suspect so I wanted to make sure I got back to the bus stop a bit early, also to make sure I was one of the first in line in case it ended up being crowded. I arrived at the bus stop at 4:30pm and went to check the posted bus information. Of course, the only information posted was when the bus came through in the morning, not the evening bus I needed to catch. There were probably another eight or so people already waiting and they were all in the same boat as me…first off hoping that the bus actually showed up and then praying that there would still be room. I had just sat down on the grass for what I expected to be a long wait and potentially a fight to get on the bus when a mini-van pulled up. A couple and their daughter had ordered a taxi to take them back to Zadar and the rest of us just watched jealously as they got in the vehicle. The driver then started wandering around and approached one of the couples waiting for the bus. He asked, “Where do you go? Zadar?” They looked at him a bit confused and ignored him. I recognized what this was – a possible ride home – and jumped up. “Are you going to Zadar?” I asked. He said, “Yes, Yes. Zadar.” “How much to ride to Zadar?” “100 kuna.” (About $20.) The bus was already 120 kuna so this was even a deal. I said, “Great! Do I pay now?!” The others waiting for the bus watched this and then jumped in too. We filled up that guy’s mini-van in about three minutes and were happily on our way back to Zadar in five.
Not only was I able to catch a ride five minutes after showing up for the bus but it was cheaper, faster (no bus stops so got back in 90 minutes instead of the 2.5hr bus trip), and as the lone single traveler I got to sit up front with the driver which was huge for me not getting motion sick. (The bus rides were pretty tough for me!) It was definitely the icing on the cake of a great day. The bus driver was a very cute little old Croatian man missing some teeth (endearing in a Croatian mini-van driver but not usually in anyone else!) and attempted to speak to me in broken English for most of the ride. I pulled out a pear I had stashed in my bag and he almost yelled at me, “Bon appetite!!!” and then gave me a huge, proud smile. I laughed. Later, when he was fiddling with the radio he changed stations and the volume suddenly went to max which blasted the rest of the van awake with a jolt. He hurriedly turned it down and said, “Sorry, sorry, sorry. Radio ka-put! Radio KAPUT! KAPUT!” I was cracking up. How did “kaput” end up being one of twenty English words this guy knows?
I spent a great evening in Zadar at an outdoor café eating Italian food, drinking wine, and writing about Slovenia (these blogs have to get written at some point!). I was heading to Split the next day and was really looking forward to finally staying at a nice hotel (those hotel points from consulting do come in handy!) where I was positive there would be air conditioning, a good bar, and a great, private beach…basically some relief from the heat and the tourists! After my meltdown in Plitvička, I figured I might need to take a bit of a break for a day before I made a fool of myself or hurt somebody!
(FYI - there are three photo albums this time, all on the blog. Hope you like them!)
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