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.
![view from my room a jumble of tiled rooofs and old chimneys](pix/2008/img_6349.jpg)
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.
![A german-friendly bathroom door draped with towel, sign says 'Bad'](pix/2008/img_6414.jpg)
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?
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 shee
t 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.
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.
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.
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.