sailboats, pastel buildings Awwright. It is a beautiful sunny late afternoon in October. My butt is only slightly sore from the outdoor barstool I'm perched on, looking out at the little fishing harbor of a mediterranean island. I have two espresso's and a mineral water in me. This is my last day here in Cres Town, on the island of the same name (Otok Cres on google earth - otok  = island in the local lingo), and it is time to shake the funk that has dogged me here, and get out some reportage.
a jumble of tiled rooofs and old chimneys
Despite the picturesque maze of twisty passageways in the old town, I've taken few photos there.   I have a zillion of those pictures already.  I'll sprinkle the few photos I'm sending  from here amidst the text, instead of commenting on each picture.  They are mostly from a camping and swimming area west of town.
 
Getting here was an adventure.  A screw-up that recovered into a great opportuunity that in turn I blew to hellangone.  Ya see, there is a bus direct to Cres from Lovran; it says so right there on the bus schedule that the tourist office gave me.  Leaves at about 8:40am.  A no-brainer.
door draped with towel, sign says 'Bad'
So where is Mr Bus?  At about 9:30, I start chatting with a woman who is also waiting for a bus.  Oh, she says, the schedule changed recently.  The bus to Cres leaves an hour earlier now.  (Rick Steves says that Croatia is considered Europe's Mexico.)  My new acquaintance suggests I take her bus, bound for Pula, and she will ask the driver let me off at the stop  where the ferry to Cres leaves from.  Do I have a better suggestion?  Do shrimps whistle?
driftwood sculptures along shoreline path
The bus dropped me off on the highway, about 4 km by foot down to the ferry crossing.  A sunny day, cool enough to hike comfortably.  Nema probleme - yes we have no problems. I even have time for an ice cream and a pit stop before the crossing.  At the other side, I find there are no more busses today to Cres town or anywhere else.  I sit down at an outdoor cafe table,  order a drink (mineralna voda), and draw a sign on a sheedriftwood sculptures in somebody's yardt of paper, hoping to hitch a ride with some car when the next ferry arrives.  I also chat a bit with the young man, Mario who sells the ferry tickets at this end.  Sez he, the school bus comes at about 3:30, and I can ride to town on that.  For a fee, but the fee is at least as cheap as the real bus.  He even flags down the driver and makes the arrangements.

outdoor tables, roof and sculpture Mario also offers to rent me a room in his home if I havent already taken another room by the time he arrives in town after work.  A splendid opportunity: accomodations and a built-in friend-cum-local-guide.  If I want the room, meet him at the bus station in  town at 7:30.  Then we are off on the school bus.

mini-golf paths among the trees This is a long, narrow island, steep, rocky, dry and scrubby.  The road follows the spine southward, undulating back and forth across the summit to offer steep views down to the ocean, and out to other islands.  The relentless grey-green of the scrub-and-limestone landscape is striking.  Good place for a vulture sanctuary, which indeed there is off to the left.

olive and sumac trees Did I mention that I was still sleep-deprived after three nights of Chestnut Festival?  I like to think that accounted for my foolishness on arrival in town.  After a coffee from a beaming bright-eyed young barmaid, I grew stir-crazy enough to visit the local accomodations agency, as much for something to do as anything.  The bottom line:  I traded my great room with built-in friend for a dumpier place with a kind, but slightly harried landlady.  

Dumb move.  One consolation at least - my location is great - heart of the peeling old maze of twisty little passages. arches, stairways, etc, a minute from the waterfront.

The bright-eyed maid's bar turned out to have the best wireless connection point in town, so I've been here a lot.  An Italian restaurant across the little harbor - I can see it from here - has the best seafood soup you could ask for, and moderate prices to boot.  they set the serving bowl on the table, and you smell the garlic from 3 ft away... yummmm.  I've already chosen it for my last dinner on the island tonight.

So I've slid along for a week here, comfortably but never really felt sync'd with the place.  Tomorrow I ride the Jadrolinija catamaran to Rijeka, the major port of the Adriatic.   I'll try to shop for some supplies there (belt, jeans, maybe parmacy), and leave on the overnight ferry for Split, Croatia's lively and colorful  second city.  Split is also a major candiidate for  eventual settle-down spot.  We shall see.

PS  2nd morning after:  I had a redeeming adventure later that evening, that produced some real, if slightly surreal, human contact.  And I am now happily ensconced in Split, the San Francisco of the Adriatic.  But, as an old movie said, that's another story for another night.

Contents Copyright 2008 Jeff Bulf