Into Bosnia and Hercegovina

Posted on July 25, 2012 by EllieGee

It seems like for the last couple of weeks we have been on holiday from our journey, relaxing with friends and enjoying the coast and rivers of Croatia. We are going to embark upon more of this shortly, so in order to ensure we are fresh-eyed for the rest of our Croatian leg, we decided to take a foray across the border into neighbouring Bosnia and Hercegovina.

We retraced our route back inland over the mountains towards the border-crossing near Bihać in north-west Bosnia. When travelling through northern France it is impossible to go far without stumbling across reminders of the two world wars that were fought on its green fields, so it has been on occasion as we’ve travelled in Croatia, although through most of the coastal areas obvious signs of conflict have largely disappeared and it’s easy to forget a war took place here. We’ve talked to friends about their experiences of the war, and seen damaged buildings.

It is, of course, impossible to visit Bosnia without thinking about the war. We have read up on the region’s wars following the break-up of Yugoslavia. Trying in vain to make any sense of them, trying to get our heads around the complexity of it all. The war ended in December 1995, that long ago now, but I remember vividly the TV and radio reports, feeling powerless to help – the very worst horrors of war were occurring again on European soil. The familiar place names a role call of bloodshed and destruction. Sarajevo, Srebrenice, Mostar, Banja Luka… No lessons learned then. Tears of anguish for the victims as I heard that the UN seemed unable to help innocent civilians. Massacres, concentration camps, rape camps, and evil new phrases like ‘ethnic cleansing’ entering the language of fear.

So now, all these years later, perhaps there will be no more evidence of war than on the coast of Croatia. The Bridge of Mostar has been rebuilt, perhaps everything will be as good as new. In Croatia we kept on hearing the phrase ‘forgiving but not forgetting’. Would that be on people’s lips in Bosnia? As the border with Bosnia grew closer we saw more obvious signs – nearly 17 years after it ended there are still plenty of building facades pockmarked with bullet holes, and half-abandoned villages.

Bosnia had a checkered history well before the early 1990s, not least being part of the Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian Empires, and it’s these influrences and the parallels with other countries in this region that make it so appealing for us to visit. In 1995, at the end of the war, Bosnia and Hercegovina was divided into two autonomous regions – the Federation of Bosnia and Hercegovina, and Republika Srpska. There is a third area, Brčko, governed locally. The country’s presidency consists of a member of each of the three main ethnic groups with the chair changing every eight months to ensure equality. The groups are Bosnian Serbs, Bosnian Croats, and Bosniaks – the Bosnian Muslim population, which is the majority. For simplicity, though, we will be mostly referring to people as Bosnian, whatever their background.

We crossed the border, getting insurance for a much lower price than expected after only a slight haggle with the guy in the pin-striped jeans and orange surfer dude t-shirt, a few stray dogs milled around and minarets were visible in the distance. (For more on the border crossing and car insurance issues, see Adrian’s Ongoing Balkan border post.)

The weather had begun to change with the scenery as we had neared the border. The green forested hills surrounding gentle rolling farmland continued with purple-grey clouds gathering and the first flashes of lightning. Luckily the weather mostly stayed in the distance. We had some kilometres to cover, after a quick visit to the Bihać tourist information office. One frustration on entering new countries is that it is very hard to get information covering more than just the local area you have arrived in. No matter, we were aiming for Jajce towards the middle of the country, where we knew there was a campsite and an interesting area to visit. Jajce was once home to the Bosnian kings before Ottoman rule, the last of whom died in 1463.

We saw many more damaged buildings on our way, crossing Republika Srpska, with its Serbian flags and road signs in Cyrillic.

The campsite was at Plivsko Jezero, a lake which flows off into the river Pliva down a narrow valley towards the town, with waterfalls, islands and the by now very familiar forested hills behind. As we came off the main road and followed the signs to the site, we came across the mlinici – mini wooden watermills sitting above a row of waterfalls. The parkland around them was filled with picnicing families and friends.

The campsite was quite good and we found a shady spot as the weather had now improved and the forecast was favourable.

After dinner we got our bikes off to explore the lake and riverside more thoroughly. A hill in the distance appeared to be on fire, but no attention was being paid to it, by anyone. It was still quite busy with cars everywhere by the lake. So many of them had Swedish registration plates, which being half-Swedish myself caught my eye. There were no Swedes at the campsite though. Could they all be Bosnian diaspora?
Next morning the weather was definitely a bit more settled but hazy rather than sunny – perfect for the cycle down the valley into town. Before we set off, we got chatting to our neighbours in the campsite. Wolfgang and Claudia were there from Germany in a white T25 pop-up, with their two little ones. One of them was the reason for their trip – two months’ paternity leave is the perfect excuse to travel around the Balkans!

We followed the Pliva that, as it passes through the town, plunges down into the Vrbas river, the waterfall creating a dramatic setting for the town topped by the citadel, which had repelled the Ottomans for years back in the fifteenth century. The high street of the town was rather run down with war damage much in evidence. There are still many interesting sights though and the citadel, ruined centuries ago, has been restored, and many mosques, public buildings and homes have been rebuilt. Much remains to be done though. I passed a ruin of a formerly beautiful house below the citadel. It had trees growing out of it. Then I noticed fresh washing hanging outside. The back of the building was being lived in still.
Lunch was čevapi from a back street diner. We have consumed variations of these delicious spicy mince ‘fingers’ throughout the Balkans, but we’d heard they were specially good in Bosnia. They were. In Bosnia they come served in a big bread roll – sometimes fried with a doughy almost pancakey texture, and a heap of chopped onion on the side. Washed down with the tasty Sarajevsko beer … these became a staple during our short Bosnian stay.
We visited the catacombs, built by Hrvoje Vukčić, the founder of Jajce, in around 1410 for his family. It was a welcome cool on a clammy day.

The Roman temple of Mithras was a tiny gem of a sight hidden away down a newly reburbished residential street. Money had evidently been received to create a snazzy glass shelter around the remaining stones and relief. It wasn’t quite ready yet, but we were able to peer through the gate and take pictures.

The Swedish connection
As we wandered back down into town, we saw yet another car with an ‘S’ on it parked beside a house with the family out in the garden. We said hello in Bosnian and in Swedish and asked whether they were from Sweden. Their daughter explained to us that her father was Bosnian and he left for Sweden during the war, like half the town. They spend their summers in Bosnia, and divide their time between the two countries.

Sweden accepted some 50,000 Bosnian refugees in the early 90s, mostly Bosniaks. I was living in Sweden in 1993/94, when the war was raging, and remember some Bosnians visiting the Folk High School I was studying at. I had Kurdish and Iranian friends there who had sought asylum and I know from hearing of their experiences that although Sweden is quite possibly one of the best countries to end up in, it was by no means an easy a ride for them. After this we kept hearing strangely accented Swedish tones as we travelled through the country. Who would have guessed that Swedish could be valuable as a second language in Bosnia? Another ethnic dimension.

On our bike ride we had noticed a Konoba (inn/restaurant) below the road by the river. A perfect spot for a beer on the way home, and also a plan for a dinner there the next night. We had decided to spend an extra night in Jajce and visit Travnik, a town not far away.

The drive there was down the stunning Vrbas valley, beside lush farmlands, but we spotted few crops or livestock. The hay was being gathered up though, sometimes with baling machines, sometimes with a pitchfork. We saw the odd horse and cart, but it was mainly tractors in use.

Travnik has many towers, lots of mosques, including a pretty painted mosque similar to the one we’d seen in Macedonia, therefore many minarets.

It boasts in its tourist material of being the only town in the world with two clock towers. They are very nice clock towers, but we’re pretty certain there are other towns with two clock towers, maybe some with more. The fortress here is very impressive and has been restored to something approaching its former glory.

From our vantage point we looked down and spotted an interesting-looking place with restaurants and made our way down to have a look. This was Plava Voda – a stream gushing between outdoor and indoor restaurants, with fish ponds off to the side. There were tourist tat stalls and čevapi were being grilled. Yes, we succumbed again.

On the way back, we tried to find a shortcut through back roads to Jajce. Eventually we did, only it turned out to take us far longer than by the main road. Sometimes the road turned to piste as it went through the heart of the forest. There we came across the red warning signs for a lethal danger still very much a reality in Bosnia. Mines. The war may be over, but mines go on to claim victims long after. A significant proportion of these casualties were those bravely working to clear them.

On a happier note we saw several weddings in full swing. One tradition is that there is a convoy of the married couple and their guests, hooting madly and often waving flags from their decorated vehicles. Here there were both Croat weddings – the Croatian flag was waved – and Bosniak weddings, were Bosnian and Islamic flags were on show. It being Saturday, there was a lot of hooting until way into the evening.

We enjoyed our promised fish dinner at the nearby konoba, sitting by the water until long after dark. We experimented taking night pictures with our still-misbehaving camera, and went to take pictures of the lit up mlinici on the way back.

The distant forest fire continued to burn as we headed towards Sarajevo the next morning.

Posted in By Country - Bosnia, Food stuff, Personal stuff, Travel stuff | 1 Comment

From new friends to old

Posted on July 16, 2012 by AdrianC

Some very good friends of ours, Louis and Ana, together with their kids, Reg and Romi, have been spending every summer for years back in Ana’s homeland of Croatia. They’ve been telling us how wonderful it is, but until this trip, we’ve never got around to coming. About three or four years ago, they finally did what Louis’s been threatening for years – sold his workshop, and moved out here wholesale.

We intended to come and see them last autumn, but – of course – that didn’t quite happen. Finally, we’ve made it. Only nine months late, and only six weeks after arriving in the country.

They live in Samobor, a very pleasant little town just north-west of Zagreb, surrounded by rolling and heavily wooded hills. Their house is on land that Ana’s family have had since before the days of Communism, managing to keep it out of the hands of the state only by good luck and some timely building work. That building work is now almost finished – and what a house has resulted! High on a hill above the town, it was surrounded by farmland and olive groves back then. Now, of course, the town’s edge has arrived and they’re in the middle of one of the more upmarket suburbs, with the road curling up past their house towards the forest.

Our arrival with them was nearly massively delayed – from Karlovac, we decided to save a bit of time and break one of our golden rules, jumping on the motorway. This plan nearly backfired as we approached the toll booths for Zagreb – the motorway stopped dead. Fortunately, the delay was for the cash booths, and the end of the queue was right next to the sliproad off to the electronic toll kiosks – which, the sign kindly informed us, also took bank cards. We dipped in, swiped, and were through – running in parallel to the cash queue for another two or three kilometres, all totally stationary traffic… A large proportion of those stuck appeared to be returning from holiday – many campers, people towing boats, and cars loaded to the brim with beach gumf. The people in the red hightop Westy identical to ours probably wondered what was going on as we zipped past them, hooting and waving frantically. Still, they waved back cheerfully…

We’d barely arrived at the house, when it was time to turn around and head out – Louis is a 2cv mate, and we had an appointment at a local 2cv’ers place for a barbeque. Even better – there was a reason for the barbeque… We had a car to dismantle! Sat at the back of Strečko’s house was a forlorn and tatty black and white 2cv, which clearly hadn’t moved for years. Fortunately, there was a handy quadbike to tow the car into the shade, ready for work to begin. A tow-rope was hooked on. The quad was revved. PULL! Ooops. We all ducked as the front bumper flew through the air, still attached to the rope. Eventually, work began. Spanners moved in a blur, sweat poured off, dead car parts were thrown into rubbish heaps.

Just over an hour later, the car was barely recognisable – and it was time to clean up and dive in to the beer and food. Ah, the good life!

Samobor’s main culinary claim to fame is a creamy pastry – Kremšnite – and to visit the town without trying it is, apparently, unforgivable. Who were we to argue with that kind of tradition? It looks a bit like a big wobbly custardy splodge, sandwiched between puff pastry dusted in sugar, but is very egg-rich and tastes surprisingly light and fresh. Utterly delicious, eaten outside in the town square underneath the onion dome of the church.

The other local must-try is the wine. Over on the far side of the hills, vineyards cling to precipitous slopes, with the rolling landscape seemingly compressed horizontally.

We headed around a big loop, first with Louis in the later evening to get our bearings and collect a few litres from his favourite cellar (with a small taster or three, of course), and again the next day to go back for some photos and to explore a bit more. This really is a wonderful place, with tiny villages dotted around the steep slopes. Many of the villages look untouched by modern times, with the only sign of life along the main street being a very drunken farmworker staggering home, razor-sharp scythe over one shoulder as he wanders past beautiful old houses gently decaying and just crying out for us to move into them…


As well as catching up with old friends, we had an ulterior motive. Louis has a workshop in the middle of town, in a gently ramshackle old candle factory and pig yard… Derelict 2cvs lie all over the place, providing a home for the workshop cat – Mosse – and her three tiny kittens. The kittens are tucked safely away in the loft, accessible only by a steeply angled plank or a very rickety wooden ladder. Ellie would normally not even being to consider climbing up, but the lure proved far too strong. I managed to tear myself away from them, and catch up on a few jobs on the van – not least removing and re-sealing the roof windows. Heavy rain has brought water into the van since we bought it, but we think that’s now sorted. The two roof windows had been out at some time, and badly sealed, the rear one particularly so. I’m not a great fan of heights, and standing on the very top of a step ladder, leaning against the roof of the van in the hot afternoon sun was not one of my favourite pastimes. We’re now almost – almost – hoping for some rain so we can see if it’s sorted!

As well as the house in Samobor, the family also have a summer house on the coast, just north of where we’d managed to get to before being kidnapped to Karlovac. The unusually hard winter this year wreaked havoc, with frozen pipes wrecking almost all of the plumbing. A new pump was already installed, but the boiler, shower, taps, loo cistern and a few other odds and sods were still to be done. Off we convoyed, eventually heading over the Velebit mountains again, with spectacular views across to the islands of Krk, Rab and Goli Otok. The cottage is up a tiny track, barely wide enough for our van to squeeze through. It’s another family heirloom, with the hamlet sharing Ana’s maiden surname, and the well in the garden having the initials of a very early 20th century relative marked on the rim. We squeezed the van under some trees, providing us with a cracking camping space, and got stuck in to the plumbing. Once the back of the work was broken, it was time for the beach. Just up the main coastal road is a very small sign pointing down a matching road, which twists and turns as it clings to a precipitous cliff face. At the bottom is Lukovo, a tiny fishing village on a beautiful bay. A few hours passed easily, swimming to the other side of the bay and leaping about on rocks. Louis and Ana swapped a snorkel between them, competing with each other to see who could find more fresh shells, with the inside gleaming and glinting a bright mother-of-pearl rainbow of colours. Truly an enviable life.

Posted in By Country - Croatia, Food stuff, Personal stuff, Travel stuff, Van stuff, Wildlife stuff | Leave a comment

Kidnapped to Karlovac – or messing about on the river

Posted on July 10, 2012 by EllieGee

As we have been travelling up the coast the last few days we have been trying to decide what to do next, we have more islands to visit, more waterfalls to see, and we have longstanding friends to hook up with. What to do first? What to do to avoid island overload to ensure we encounter them with a fresh persepective? What about Bosnia? How would this fit in with our ongoing plans? So many exciting places to go and decisions to be made. In the end, it’s sometimes better to let the road decide and go wherever it goes.

We had been in constant text contact with our Murter friends. Peter and Alenka had decided to leave Murter early and still had a few days before heading back to Slovenia. Would they like to join us on Pag or at Paklenica? We asked. In the end they opted to go to Karlovac to see Yankee and Maja. Were we up for it too? By the time more texts were exchanged, it appeared that they had already decided for us. There was nothing for it but to follow the road to Karlovac – so after a quick picnic at Paklenica, we trundled a bit further up the coast towards Karlobag where we turned steeply inland and wound over the Velebit mountains to join the motorway. With lots of hooting and waving, we ‘met’ Peter and Alenka on the way.

We very rarely travel by motorway, so this was a novelty of sorts. We enjoyed seeing the temperature announcements along the way, and wondered whether we should reach for our cardigans as it dipped below 30 degrees celsius. We also noticed the landscape changes – green rolling hills and Austrian style churches with their onion spires. It had obviously been raining here recently, but the storm seemed to have passed.

Karlovac is an industrial city, known for being home to one of the biggest breweries in the country – Karlovačko. We followed Peter and Alenka’s car off a main road down a quiet residential lane which seemed to run out near a half-built looking house surrounded by green. Could this be right? We were reassured when Yankee appeared and after an enthusiastic welcome, we drove up into the field behind the property. A perfect camping spot. Maja and Yankee’s tent was already in place beneath a tree.

The house belongs to Maja’s uncle and aunt, but they are still building it – a long term project. Some things are in place – there are doors and windows, a toilet and an almost fully equipped kitchen, but no shower and no kitchen sink. No matter though – there was a hose pipe surrounded by flowering bushes in the garden.

The perfect place for a party.

The party began straightaway, with a welcome rakija shortly followed by a stroll down to the river. The Mresnica is just one of several rivers flowing in and around Karlovac, and this bathing spot was peaceful and beautiful. Until we got there anyway. A few more rakija probably meant raucousness and lots of fun was had jumping off ropes, and enjoying the cool refreshing water, a change from the salty sea waves, and considerably less buoyant.

Meanwhile at the house, Maja had arrived back from work and her sister Tatjana was there too and the party continued, though for me it is a rather hazy memory. Rakija on an empty stomach has that effect. Apparently. I’ll say no more on that subject …

Keeping up with the blog.

So followed several lazy days, hiding from the heat of the day, talking and eating way into the early hours, and having frequent swims in the river. It soon felt that we had lived there together forever as we got used to the languid rhythms of eachother’s days, like hippies in a commune.

Sometimes there would be a burst of activity like adding lavender to a bottle of rakija, leaving it to infuse and enthuse for hours in the sun to create lavendarica.

We went for a ‘massage’ to an extensive series of small waterfalls and rapids a few kilometres away up the same river. We walked, stepping-stoned and swam around the whole area, taking time out to sit in the water and let it flow over us. Pounding any remaining stress out of our bodies. Some of the currents were quite strong so you had to pick carefully not to get washed away. It was a beautiful area not unlike a mini Krka, but freely accessible.

We sought out other bathing spots too and found a wonderful area of lanes with pretty summer houses leading yet again to a wide grassy expanse by the river. Many Croatians have summer houses, and these looked to be a mix of summer and all year round places, a perfect place to live.

An early morning solitary swim in our beautiful stretch of the Mresnica, amongst tiny fishes, birds singing, and a multitude of the now familiar blue satin-bodied damsel and dragonflies brought me to wonder at being a tiny part of the natural world. Swimming at one with the flow of the river and the life all around is a cherished moment of real freedom and joy. If only such opportunities were more available in Britain.

Evenings brought visitors, Maja’s parents and aunt came to meet us, and also a couple of foxes started out by scaring us and ended up enchanting us. We were mindful that they could carry rabies and the fact that they showed no fear of humans was a bit alarming at first, but we were as transfixed by them as they seemed to be by us.

We also spent time trying to learn more Croatian, from practical things like parts of the body, and how to ask for things in shops to the more colourful colloquialisms we could use if things went wrong. Tatjana was very keen to get my pronunciation right, and I tried to copy the way her tongue sat against her mouth and teeth to understand how the sounds work.

An animated discussion broke out among the Croatians when teaching some of the more lurid phrases – how could you translate that phrase into English, what strength of swear word was it and when would you use it and so on. As we seem to be spending a lot of time in Croatia, we are keen  to learn more of the language, although we may be slightly wary of using some of our new phrases in case we cause offense.

On the afternoon that Peter and Alenka departed, we were meant to have gone out for a canoe trip with Yankee and Maja. As ever we didn’t hurry, luckily so as the wind suddenly got up heralding a dramatic electric storm and torrential downpour. Lightening dancing across distant mountains, the far rolling thumps and thuds of thunder  came directly over us. I’ve never heard or felt such apocalyptical crashes.

The next day we did get out in the canoe and being paddled gently upstream saw a tree ripped apart, one half of it submerged in the water. We were glad not to have been caught out on the river in the storm. We went a way up stream past other bathing spots, reed beds, and even saw a water snake swim-wiggling along until the narrow rocky rapids got the better of us and we floated swiftly downstream again.

On our last evening we walked up a hill to a viewpoint over Karlovac and the distant Zagreb through woods lit by the last few golden spotlights of the setting sun, the scents of the trees and plants captivating us.

Maja advised us to check for ticks afterwards. These small bloodsucking creatures can be carriers of two lethal brain damaging illness: encephalitis and Lyme disease. We’ve been wary of them at the same time as not being quite sure what to look for or what to do if we found one on us.

Next morning Maja said that she had found one on Yankee, and she checked Adrian. Sure enough one of these blighters was embedded in his shin. She covered it in oil to suffocate it so that it would loose its grip. After ten minutes she carefully lifted it out with tweezers, especially ensuring that the head had been removed. A wake up call to us to be more vigilant after walking in wild grassy places.

After a few days it was time for us to hit the road again, our friends in Samobor were waiting for us and we were already nine months overdue to see them. Having already bid farewell to Peter and Alenka, it was time to hug Yankee, Maja and Tatjana. It is definitely doviđenja though, not goodbye. We are already thinking about our next get together with them, probably in Slovenia. Oh and we never quite got around to seeing the old town quarter of Karlovac, the river called us too strongly.

Posted in By Country - Croatia, Personal stuff, Travel stuff, Wildlife stuff | 1 Comment

Pa – Pa – Pa – Pa

Posted on July 9, 2012 by AdrianC

Heading north from Nin brought us to the end of Dalmatia. For the last month, we’ve been in just one region of Croatia – and it’s been beautiful. As we started to turn the dog-leg that’d bring us into the Kvarner Gulf instead, the landscape started to change rapidly. Instead of the lush vegetation of Dalmatia, a harsh and barren rockiness started to take over. In the distance, we could see the narrow straights between the mainland and the island of Pag, with a bridge linking the two. Our next stop-over beckoned.

Once we crossed the bridge, there was no doubting we were in very different terrain. The eastern side of the island, running alongside the mainland, is almost entirely devoid of any kind of vegetation.

The western side, protected from the harsh Bura wind which blows over the Velebit mountain range backing the mainland coast up, is not quite so denuded – but apart from scrubby sage brushland, there’s really only ancient, gnarled and twisted olive trees, their roots wrapped around the large rocks dotted everywhere.

The sage is responsible for one of the island’s main claims-to-fame, the strong Paški Sir cheese. Many, many sheep allegedly (they all hid from us) roam the hillsides, feeding almost exclusively on the sage. The cheeses are then washed in salt water and left to mature in the salty air, leading to a very different taste. And Paški Sir was all we could find for sale as we drove through the various tiny settlements dotted up the first half of the island. Unfortunately, what we really wanted was a couple of cold drinks.

As we drove past yet more salines and reached Pag Town, we found them, finally. The current town is of 15th century Venetian origin, lining the two opposite shores of a big and well sheltered bay. The old core of the town sits on one side, linked to the modern town on the other by a very heavily restored stone bridge and a modern causeway. As we wandered through the streets, old ladies sat in the shade of doorways, next to boards displaying their lacework for sale. No naff touristy lace shops here – just Grandma and her own work.

Crossing the causeway also brings you to the original town, a few kilometres further into the bay, opposite the salines which provided its wealth and – ultimately – led to its downfall. The insubstantial ruins of the old town are all that the troops from Zadar left when they attacked at the end of the 14th century, trying to reduce competition for their own salines.

The modern side of Pag town also contains a sprawling and crowded beach, complete with JetSki rental and huge plastic waterslides. This end of the island is touristland. Apart from a tiny campsite in a little coastal village, Pag town’s nearest campsite is about half-way between Pag and the island’s other town, Novalja. We knew it was big, and thought we knew what to expect. Nope. We’ve just not been to any really big sites on the trip so far. From reception, we were told that we’d be taken to see some of the pitches available to us by electric golf buggy. This seemed like a good idea given the heat, but we quickly realised that it’s actually essential to prevent punters getting lost, since even our driver had to do three-point turns a few times, having taken a wrong route.

Despite the commentary on the campsite’s extensive facilities as we were taken around (“And this is the site’s best bakery…” – we’ve never found a site with even a single on-site bakery before, let alone fresh juice stalls and gawd knows what else), we were unconvinced this was the right place for us. Especially given the exorbitant cost – about twice the price we’ve been used to paying. OK, July’s with us, and peak season, but… Oh, wait – the price at this site was not only high, but going up again in a week’s time…

We headed on, up the island. Novalja didn’t detain us very long at all. A modern town, it’s billed as “Croatia’s Ibiza”, and Zrće beach just south of the town is a 24hr open-air nightclub through July and August, complete with shuttlebuses to take people to-and-from their town-centre accommodation. Please tell me I’m not getting old? Please?

North of Novalja, though, the island returned quickly to desolate beauty, before we reached the northerly tip and a small harbour. Just before here, though, we’d spotted some small and temptingly rustic signs to campsites somewhere <waves hand> over there. We followed one, and found a cracking small site. Not only was it far more beautiful than the mega-corporate-resort-sprawl, but it seemed to be full of vans just like ours… Of the ten or so other vans on the site, ours took it up to four T25s.

It was hot – despite being past 4pm, the thermometer read 36 degrees in the shade of the small shack that seemed to combine as bar, reception and family summer house for the site owners. The sea’s beckoning could not be resisted for long. We seemed a world away from Novalja’s concrete and clubbing – except for a persistant dull bassline drifting over the sea, as if from some aquatic chav’s Vauxhall Corsa. It surely couldn’t have been the clubs – a dozen kilometres away, and on the other shore of the island – could it? Surely it must have been some kind of party cruise boat? None was to be seen.

We left Pag, and returned to the mainland, heading for the Paklenica National Park, a pair of canyons into the Velebit mountains. The oppressive early afternoon heat was having an effect on the park rangers, too – as we paused at the park entrance and slowly mooched from the van towards the hut, one ranger barely lifted his head from his sleeping position on a shady wall. His colleague was sprawled inside the hut, and looked horrified at the thought somebody might actually want to visit. His attempts to dissuade us were unnecessary, since we were just finding a map and information for the following morning.

When we arrived, barely past 9am, the park was already in full swing, having been open for three hours already. It’s a climber’s playground, and every single rock wall lining the pathway up the canyon was snaking with rope trailing below people clinging on by their fingernails.

We continued up the path, following a dry river bed lined with huge boulders, and eventually reached a sign. We could continue up the canyon’s bottom, or head up to the cave of Manita Peć. We chose the latter, and promptly lived to wonder if this was wise. The path snaked back and forwards up the sun-baked wall of the canyon, rising above the treeline before very long. Every time we thought we must be nearly at the cave, we spotted a glint of colour from another walker somewhere above us. The views were utterly stunning – mountains lightly glazed with heat in the distance.

Eventually, though, we did arrive. Even the people who found the cave, years ago, thought this a tough climb. They were looking for sources of water in this parched environment, and clearly a good swathe of them thought this a fool’s errand, as can be seen by the name – “Crazy man’s cave”.

The cave’s filled with rock formations, stalactites and stalacmites, and can only be visited with a guide. The time came for the next group, and the guide started her introductory talk with the words that we should don any warm clothing we had with us. This was, of course, greeted with wry laughter – a constant nine degrees sounded like heaven from where we were all stood.

We walked down into the cave, with the few lights picking out shapes, shadows and colours all around, marvelling at just how much time it must take to create such structures, one tenth of one millimetre each year.

Only too soon, it was time to leave the cool and dark behind, and emerge, blinking, into the glare, ready for the trek back down the slopes and canyon to the van.

Posted in By Country - Croatia, Food stuff, Travel stuff | 1 Comment

Zadar and Nin

Posted on July 8, 2012 by EllieGee

As we crossed the bridge from Murter back to the mainland and drove the few kilometres north along the coast to the city of Zadar, our hearts felt strangely empty after parting from our new friends.

We found the large Borik campsite just north of the centre of Zadar and set up camp in tranquil shady parkland, but only a stone’s throw from the sea and a crowded pebble beach. After dinner, we got on our bikes and cycled along the waterfront all the way to the old centre of Zadar (about 4km) past moorings and marinas, just in time to watch the sun sink into the sea.

We were keen to see the sun set from the northern tip of the old town peninsula as we’d read about and seen photos of two permanent art installations created by the architect Nikola Bašić, one of which, Greeting to the Sun, can really only be appreciated as the light fades.

Our camera has been playing up recently – the digital view screen turning into a bleak white at inopportune moments. We can still take photographs but can’t see what we’re aiming at and can’t change any of the settings. Nevertheless, we took at least 150 photos and after a while the camera decided to think better of its ways and started working again.

If you saw my Colourboration post on blue themes, you will have already had a sneak preview of Greeting to the Sun. It is a circular area on a newer piece of quayside, not unlike a dance floor with solar-powered light-sensitive led lights that slowly come to life after the sun has set, changing colours randomly. This delights locals and tourists of all ages alike.

The accompanying piece is set into the west side of the quayside itself, and at first you don’t see it as such, but hear it. It is a sea organ, the sea washing over air passages within the paving  to play haunting notes, strangely natural deep panpipe sounds that get louder when the water is choppier, or a helpful ferry’s wake washes in.

We cycled back along the waterfront in the dark, and like the cyclists we’d met on the way in, we ignored the one-way system.

Next morning, we had a slow start, and went over to say hello to the people in the tiny British registered Rascal camper which had arrived the previous evening. They were Ben and Rachel, half-way through taking six weeks out from their jobs and before Rachel goes back to university to study nursing. They had done it – found a smaller campervan than ours! Our respect to Ben, who had embarked on the trip only three weeks after passing his driving test. They weren’t sure of their plans but we loosely agreed to meet up later in the day.

We were back on our bikes again, and instead of cycling all the way into town, we found that you can take a rowing boat from the waterfront road across to the old town peninsula, cutting out a chunk of the ride through some busy streets. We locked up our bikes and hopped into the boat and for a handful of change we had a short but sweet boat ride to the city.

Laid-back Zadar is a small city with a colourful history, and suffered greatly in two recent wars, being bombed in the Second World War, and in the Croatian homeland war of 1991/95. As a result it’s a mix of old and new, with some Roman remains scattered around its squares.

The area is famed for finds of glass dating from Roman times, and we were keen to visit the Museum of Ancient Glass. The building that houses it has been carefully renovated and extended, and the result is a stunning and informative museum with the glass well displayed and labelled.

I’ve been drawn to glass objects in museums on this trip and before – attracted by its impossible fragility, and the mother-of-pearl-like sheen they often have. Here were rooms of such items, augmented with videos, quotes, and meditative background music.

A large room on an upper floor was devoted to the finds in recent archaeological digs near Zadar, where tombs revealed many glass vessels, including large urns of human ashes.

The highlight of the visit was the glass blowing workshop where we were given an up close and personal demonstration of how to make a bottle, and felt the heat from the 1200 degrees celsius furnace…

Back downstairs we watched a demonstration of glass bead making. Now I know why these are expensive – the precision and time involved take great skill and concentration.

The time had somehow got to about half past two and we were suddenly in need of sustenance. We found a Konoba (small rustic style restaurant), for our customary shared lunch of seafood risotto and deep fried squid. The heat was intense and after a visit to a camera shop to start exploring a few options for our next camera, we headed slowly back to the campsite via Five Wells Square – a square with five wells in it, and the little boat and a slow cycle ride. Back at the campsite it was almost straight into the sea to cool down.

Later on, Ben and Rachel joined us with some beers and we sat around sharing stories and some rakija too until the early hours.

Next morning, what with having to take a refreshing morning dip, we all just made the noon deadline for checking out of the site. Ben and Rachel headed south, and although tempted to stay longer in Zadar, we again made just a short hop north to Nin.

Just outside Nin, we passed the pocket-sized fortified church of St Nicholas baking in the sun on its hill in a meadow.

Nin is a small village island close to the mainland linked by a couple of bridges. We checked out the campsite options on the mainland and found the very friendly Autokamp Dišpet. After trying in vain to chill out in the shade there, we headed on our bikes (slightly breezier than walking) over to the village. It didn’t take us long to cycle around its streets, view its churches, particularly the tiny Church of the Holy Cross, empty but for a swallows’ nest with the heads of chicks peering out.

Like Zadar, there were odd pillars and other Roman remains dotted about, then there was the larger church of St Anselm. Its treasury would be open again at 6.30pm. We decided to wait around to see this and whiled away the time circling the island along its waterfront, then having first an icecream followed by finding a Konoba for a beer. It was worth the wait. A small one-room museum, it showed the most beautiful reliqueries and jewellery, which has somehow survived Ottoman and Venetian conquests of the area, as well as more recent conflicts.

Although we had food for dinner back at the van, we couldn’t resist the allure of a plate of gerice (small fish like whitebait), and a carafe of white, to start us off, sitting outside a restaurant in the golden evening lit square.

Posted in Art & Culture stuff, By Country - Croatia, Travel stuff | 1 Comment

A high wind on Murter

Posted on July 4, 2012 by AdrianC

They say it’s an ill wind which blows no good. On Murter, we firmly disagreed.

Murter, we’d heard, was a very pleasant little island, between Šibenik and Zadar. Since it’s joined to the mainland by a bridge, so no need for another expensive ferry, we thought it worth a look. Over we crossed, and bimbled along the island looking for a nice campsite. We passed a few, some looking fairly pleasant, some looking a bit sprawly-corporate. We’d heard good things about one site, at the far end of the island, just outside the eponymous town. We arrived, and found a narrow road along the back of a beach, lined with tat stalls, bars and waterslides. Not promising. The site itself was nice, if a bit bigger than we were expecting – kind of like the Mala Milna site we’d stayed at on Hvar, in that it formed a long backing line to the rocky seafront, but much bigger. The site was heavingly full, primarily relatively locally registered cars – lots of Croatians for a big national holiday weekend, but also a lot of Slovenians, Czechs, Slovakians.

We parked by reception, and wandered along to see if there was a decent pitch free. One looked very promising, so whilst Ellie stood in it, I jogged back to the van. Off came the bikes, and we wandered into town for a look-see. The town’s nothing particularly spectacular, and the boat excursions to the Kornati Islands National Park, just across the water, sounded a bit insipid and poor value – b’sides, we’d need to hang around for another couple of nights to do them, since they weren’t running the following day, and we were only really planning a one-or-two nighter here. We got back to the site, and found a Czech couple had moved in to half of our pitch. It wasn’t really a great problem, since the pitch was certainly long enough, but… A quick dip didn’t do much to endear the place to us, either – the water might have been beautifully clear, but it was home to a very large number of Sea Urchins.

Ellie cursed – she’d managed to brush against one, and got spined. We headed out of the water, and eventually managed to remove the spine – like a very sharp wood splinter, but very fragile, not dissimilar to a thin ceramic fragment. If you’re not careful they crumble as you try to work them out with tweezers or a needle. It was about that time that I realised that I’d not just stubbed my toe on a rock, but had two spines firmly embedded… They weren’t even the edible variety that we’d seen so frequently in Sicily. To add insult to injury, as we sat there the wind started to rise, causing the awning on the Italian fridge-freezer next to us to look more than a bit precarious. Nobody was home, so with visions of their return being to a mess of twisted aluminium and plastic, I had a quick look to see if anything could be done. The guy from the pitch on the other side of them was having similar thoughts. We’d barely started, when we were joined by a third guy, camped just the other side of the main roadway.

It didn’t take long to bodge together a tool to wind the awning in, standing on their step on tip-toes (the usual long handle was nowhere to be seen), and with a job well done, we all introduced ourselves. Peter and Alenka were from Ljubljana, whilst Yankee and Maja were from Zagreb. We all just got on like a house on fire. We chatted for a while, during which time Yankee suggested a solution for our spined toes. Pee on our feet. Apparently, it softens the spines… You could say that that broke the ice… An arrangement was made to meet up after we’d all eaten – but, somehow, it didn’t happen. As the evening wore on, Ellie turned in, whilst I sat there to finish my glass of wine. Two hours later, still with the same full glass in front of me, I woke up… No matter, we’d all go for a coffee before Ellie and I headed. That coffee turned into a couple of beers, and we were staying another night. Oh, well. Our impossibly deeply tanned, glamorous and stylish Italian neighbours had returned from their boat trip, and were thankful for our rescue efforts. We ate, then the six of us just happened to meet up on the rocks, watching sunset.

Only five? Where’s Alenka?

Drink appeared, and just as quickly disappeared.

She’d gone to buy the Travarica!

As midnight came and went, we sat on the rocks, laughing and chatting. Peter’d been fishing, and somewhere in the wee small hours, suddenly presented us all with bowls of a superb seafood stew to round off the plates of ham and cheese Maja had produced as if by magic. We drifted off to bed, Peter grabbed his harpoon gun and snorkel, and went off fishing again. Without, we later heard, the slightest bit of success. Can’t think why, but at least he didn’t drown…

In the morning, we were ready to pack up and leave. Yankee and Maja were also planning to leave, since Maja had to work – but a quick phone call put that right, and suddenly we seemed to be staying another night, too… Peter had a huge gas-fired griddle with him, the sort of thing that wouldn’t look out of place in a diner, so we headed into town with Yankee in search of meat to cook on it. Back we trotted, arms laden with almost everything barbecueable from the thoroughly denuded supermarket shelves – it was, of course, yet another scorching day somewhere in the low-to-mid thirties. As the sun set, we all headed up a path at the back of the campsite, up onto the top of the hill behind. The view across the water to the Kornati Islands was truly astonishing –  but we’d narrowly missed the best of the light.

The sound of umpteen salads and grillable vegs being prepared was laced with yet more laughter, and eventually Peter fired up the grill.

Before long, food was flowing left, right and centre – and, lubricated by the Travarica (Our old friend, Rakija, infused with herbs) that’d been acquired from a little old local lady’s home brew stocks, the evening flowed by, with one of the main subjects of discussion the sheer un-natural behaviour of the pneumatic and very clearly tupperware assets our Italian neighbour had been waving about all day. As the sun rose, we decided to finally call it a night…

After that, there was no hope that we’d be packed and departing that morning, was there? Another phone call to Maja’s boss brought good news – six for dinner, again. One of Ellie’s curries made good use of the leftovers from the barbecue, but whilst that simmered and melded, we all headed back up that hill to catch the actual sunset. This time, we did not go empty handed, either – the seventh member of the group as we ascended the hill was a 10kg watermelon. Only six of us came back down.

As the light failed, our singing voices did likewise – we thoroughly murdered almost every big-haired rock anthem and feel-good ballad we could think of. Whilst Maja chopped and prepped umpteen salads, Alenka did battle with the breeze to get two big pans of rice to cook. A tactical retreat soon saw the rice boiling away in the van, as the curry simmered on the flickering stove outside Peter and Alenka’s tent. Another feast, washed down with more Travarica and laughter until the wee small hours. The neighbours didn’t seem to have a problem with it – the Italians not only passed round beers as thanks, but left their outside light on for us.

There was to be no more delaying our departure. We needed to be heading further, and both Maja and Yankee really did have to work that evening. Peter and Alenka were staying on, but – somehow – you knew it wasn’t going to be the same for them. We’d only known our new friends for three days – easily three of the best days of the trip so far – but it felt like we’d been together for years. Lumps were in throats, tears were in eyes. When Maja said “We have something for you…”, and made us pick a hand per couple, it didn’t help. Out came a pair of pebbles from the hillside, painted with a little farewell message.


Farewell? No. Details were, of course, exchanged. Facebook friendships were accepted. Kind offers of guided tours of home cities were made. Those were not the hollow words of a holiday acquaintanceship, and they were not accepted with empty promises soon forgotten.

Posted in By Country - Croatia, Food stuff, Personal stuff, Travel stuff | Leave a comment

Colourboration – blue scapes

Posted on July 1, 2012 by EllieGee

Click to see larger image (1280×963, 780Kb)

I found this Colourboration  theme quite a tricky one and it took a few false starts before I was able to create something I was happy to share, only just making our deadline, but enjoying the challenge.

Here in Croatia, there are the obvious blue things around us at present like the sea and the sky, and then there are the everyday things, our new mousemat from the smart Aqua souvenir chain stores that are in every town, and a tacky towel on a street stall, as well as our guidebook, and road signs. One thing is noticeable though, blue is so often used as a background or backdrop. Even with the sea and sky, which are amazing in themselves of course, one is always looking for something like an island or boat or clouds to make the shot more interesting. The old boat was unusual in being one of the few subjects that were blue in themselves along the Dalmatian coast.

I got more inspired when we reached Zadar (more about this city soon), and saw the Greeting to the Sun installation by Nikola Bašić. This would have fitted the circle theme too – being a circle of flickering lights that becomes a focal point of the city at dusk. Children and adults alike delight in this unique piece. As luck would have it the predominant colour often came up as blue. Finally something a bit more exciting! Since blue is often a backdrop, I placed the images against a sea and skyscape.

In Tunisia, on the other hand, they use a lot of blue paint on their doors and windows in order to ward off evil spirits so I couldn’t resist the opportunity of trawling our massive archive of Tunisian blue images to share some of the photos we took a few months ago.

Click to see larger image (1280×850, 743Kb)

I wonder how Lynne got on with this one?

Posted in Art & Culture stuff, By Country - Croatia, By Country - Tunisia, Colourboration | 3 Comments

Waterfalling

Posted on June 26, 2012 by EllieGee

A bit further up the coast from Trogir, you come to the city of Šibenik and inland from here, the Krka National Park famed for its wondrous waterfalls. As usual now, we did a recce to check out campsites and find out more information about where to enter the National Park and the boat trips you could take when you did. We found two campsites side by side a couple of kilometres away, one of which gave an ACSI discount, with the other looking the more shady of the two. We drove onto the nearby town of Skradin for supplies and then to the entrance of the National Park where we were handed a flier for the shady campsite, evidently by the granddaughter of the family, which was matching the discount price of its neighbour. That was decided then.

Next morning bright and early, we got on our bikes and headed to the National Park. At around 10 euros entrance fee each, it was the most expensive entry to a National Park we’ve paid. After locking our bikes up, we jumped aboard the bus that would take us into the heart of the park and the first series of waterfalls, Skradinski buk. Instead of queuing at a booth window, as the tourists disembarked a chap with a loudspeaker greeted us all answering the most obvious questions in one fell swoop. We purchased tickets for the boat trip that would take us up river to a second set of waterfalls – Roški slap – that departed at noon, and wasted no time in following the directions to the lower set.

Wooden walkways led us through partially submerged woodland with bridges over pools, and streams, and torrents. We were immediately struck by the buzzing life in the sun glinting glades. Hundreds of dragonflies, damsel flies and any number of similar flying creatures entranced us as their colourful bodies and filigree wings caught the light.

Fish shimmered beneath the surface and frogs were airing their curious melodies while the songs of hundreds of unseen birds filled the air.

It was magical and we strolled in wonder, before we even spied our first waterfalls. The walkways were busy with people too, but we just let them overtake us, many of them seemingly unaware of the majesty of nature around them.

There are around seventeen cascades of different heights and varying widths, some gently tipping over a ledge not much higher than a doorstep, others around 20 metres high, the river pouring over travertine rocks (made of limestone sediment).

The highest one dropped into a pool where swimming was allowed. Naturally it was already crowded and we put off our swim until later in the day. We had been so absorbed in our surroundings for a couple of hours and it was time to catch our boat, which left from above the falls.
It was a relaxing afternoon on the boat, three hours or so up the river and back, but we had limited time at the two stops. The first was Visovac, a Franciscan monastery on an island. We had a whistle stop guided tour of the small, but fascinating museum and the church before being whisked back to the boat, with a couple of minutes to spare to buy a cold drink.

The boat then made its way to Roški slap, the second series of falls, pulling right up close to the spray.

Roški slap was set between the steep sides of a gorge, and was less wooded and more open than its lower partner. We only had an hour here, but managed to have a brisk walk around the sequence of cascades and a climb half way up the side of one of the gorge cliffs. If we had more time, we could have followed the stairs up and up to the top for an even more spectacular view. We made it back to the watermills at the base, which doubled as bars for that all important cold beer before the boat left again.

Back at Skradinski buk, we wandered back to the swimming area. It has got hotter and hotter here during the last few days, touching the mid 30s celsius, and we were looking forward to our waterfalls swim. On the way down, we stopped into some demonstration water mills with mill stones grinding corn, and I managed to drag Adrian away from the rakija tasting stalls along the path eventually. It was still busy by the ‘pool’ but we managed to find a spot among the tree roots to leave our stuff, and it was a relief to get into the water.

The main falls were cordoned off, probably wise as some young guys were diving from the top … you could go to one side though to find your own exhilarating waterfalls massage experience. Clambouring over rocks, we sat beneath torrents leaving us breathless but joyous. Swimming in caves just a few days before off Vis and Biševo, now we were swimming, climbing and jumping in waterfalls. We managed to drag ourselves away eventually and it was uphill to the bus stop again, to take us up to the entrance and our bikes. It was expensive, but worth every penny. If it had been cheaper we would have been back for more swimming here another day.

The campsite was simple but like all the other campsites we’ve been to in Croatia so far, it was spotlessly clean with full provision of toilet seats, paper, soap and paper towels plus hot water. They also had a restaurant and we gave into temptation to try the grilled meat dishes after our long day in the park. It was a transient camp, most campers only spending one or two nights here. We decided to stay a third night and use it as a base for exploring Šibenik itself, as well as getting some retail therapy out of the way at the shopping centre south of the town.

Šibenik has a good-sized medieval old town with a splendid cathedral, which boasts one of the most exquisite baptistries we’ve seen on our travels with daylight touching its carved ceiling through a gap.

It was about to host its annual children’s festival and stages were being set up around town where performances were to take place. Climbing up the rows of seating enabled us to get a better look at the carvings on the cathedral’s facade, many of them in similar style to the church at Trogir, particularly the Adam and Eve figures.

After an hour or so of wandering the narrow byways, we followed the sign up some steps to the Medieval Garden and were rewarded by a wander round a small but charming formal garden in what was a former monastery. As welcoming was the icecream served in the café there, complete with resident cat who flaked out beneath my chair.

Our last night at the Krka campsite brought welcome fellow VW T25 campers from Germany – Flo and Vera. Although we were all too tired to socialise we had a good chat and will hopefully catch up with them in the future.

We had a slow start next morning and continued our drive up the coast towards the island of Murter.

Posted in By Country - Croatia, Travel stuff, Wildlife stuff | Leave a comment

Let’s Split

Posted on June 25, 2012 by AdrianC

There’s one golden rule for this trip, it seems – every presumption and supposition you make will instantly be proven utterly wrong. And so it was when we got to Split’s campsite. All last summer, everybody had been friendly, but we’d not really had many conversations until the turn into Autumn. We’d put it down to a difference between “holiday-makers” and “travellers”, for want of a better term. Arriving, we’d found a nice but big site, lots of neatly marked-out numbered pitches. Not really what we prefer, but it seemed pleasant enough. But, no, we ended up chatting with people almost constantly – Marc & Sonja, the Belgians right next door, who’ve been coming to Croatia every year for the last 35 years. Sigrid + Roland, from Salzburg in a VW like ours, and after a long chat over wine & biccies delighted to give us a big bunch of chives picked fresh from their garden that morning. Kris + Gemma, taking a year out and heading to Greece in a home-converted Merc Sprinter van, hoping to pick up some DJ-ing work on the way. Gemma’s mother had been heavily involved with aid and development charity work in Zambia, through a small family-run charity, so Gemma was delighted to be introduced to Graham + Yvonne, since Graham’s spending his retirement doing aid and development charity work in Zambia…

The town itself got off to a faltering start for us, when we decided to cycle in. Only about 4-5km, along the coast – what could possibly go wrong with that? A nice little bimble, keep the sea on your left, Bob’s your uncle. Remember what I said about that golden rule? Yep, it applied again. The route was far from clear, far from flat, and far from the sea. As we clambered up steep hills through a semi-industrial-agricultural wasteland, with ripped poly-tunnels everywhere, we had no real clue about whether we were actually heading towards the centre. A very steep descent took us back to the sea, and along past a heavingly full beach, before heading in to a confusing mess of traffic. With a mental groan at the thought of how we’d ever find our way back again – and whether we’d be able to face that hill even if we could – we headed past the market on the edge of the old town. Suddenly – those worries disappeared, as a car door opened in slow motion right in front of my bike. I couldn’t jink around it – there was a car right next to me, too. BANG. Fortunately, I wasn’t going quickly, and stayed upright. The handlebars had gained a jaunty angle, and the gear shifter was smashed. My shoulder ached, but didn’t seem to be badly injured. The driver leapt from his car, shouting. He quickly realised I was a tourist, and switched to English – fortunately, it was profuse apologies, and I managed to prevent Ellie from performing some unusual arrangements of his anatomy and car door. The bike wasn’t going to be going anywhere under it’s own steam, though, and I was going to have to waste time, energy and money finding parts to fix it. No, wait – the driver, Stipe, turned out to have a friend who runs a bike workshop… We locked the bike to the railings, and decided not to write the entire day off.

Time for a quick once-around town. Split started off as a retirement home, with a grand total of one resident – Diocletian, Emperor of Rome, and a local-boy-done-good. The palace later became derelict, but the outer walls formed the perfect defences for the fledgling city, and stand tall still. Inside, there’s only a few of the original buildings intact – Diocletian’s Mausoleum, now the Cathedral, and the Temple of Jupiter, now the Baptistry. The basic layout remains, with many of the streets and the peristyle (main courtyard) still very much part of the current city plan. Underneath where the Palace’s main block would have stood, the basements provide a wonderfully atmospheric guide to the original floorplan. Ignored for many centuries, they’ve only recently been unearthed and cleared, giving the original walls and supporting structures a life of their own.

The old town spills out of the palace walls on one side, giving a different feel. It’s this side of the city which provides a home for the fish market – one of the best we’ve seen for quite a while – actually, about the only one we’ve seen whilst it’s been open, if truth be told… Down the waterfront, a broad pedestrianised boulevard (resplendent in the name of Obala Hrvatskog Naradnog Preporoda – Quay of the Croatian National Revival – but known to everybody as the Riva) is lined with cafes looking out over the harbour. It’s a really easy city to like, despite the ubiquitous crowds of cruise-liner tour groups being herded through. You don’t need to go far out of your way to leave them all behind, and find small shops selling all sorts of everything. The old town still lives and breathes as it wants to, living from the hordes of tourists, but not being dictated to by them. We found a bar, hidden in the city walls, with a great view over the top of the Riva and onto the harbour. We seemed to be the only tourists there, as we sat with a cold beer and a plate of simply superb local ham and cheese. Just around the corner from the fish market, we passed a small shop to a chorus of giggles and gasps from inside – intriguing… It turned out to be a fish spa, where the escapees from the fish market turn the tables on humans. You sit, with your feet in a pool of water, as your toes are nibbled at and any dead skin etc is cleansed from them. The sensation was not unlike a mild electric shock at first, as a throng of little black fish crowded round and did their job, fangs bared. Did it make any tangible difference? Difficult to say, but it felt so – and the pleasant tingling lasted for hours afterwards.

Getting the bike fixed, of course, turned out not to be as easy as it could’ve been. After a quick game of game of telephonic chinese whispers with Stipe, via the campsite receptionist “to prevent any misunderstandings”, we found the workshop, in the middle of a suburban pedestrianised shopping centre. Except they quite clearly had no idea who I was or what I was talking about, nor did they much care. Eventually, I persuaded them to call Stipe, who met us at the door in about a minute flat. Turns out it was the wrong bike workshop. The guy at the right one was helpful and friendly, but about to close up for the night. So we left the bike there, with an arrangement to collect it, fixed, the following morning. You guessed it – when I rolled up, not only had it not been touched, but the guy who knew why it was there wasn’t working that morning – and his colleague was swamped and hassled… Eventually, sorted, we all shook hands and I returned to the campsite. Without further incident.

Just south of Split lies the Cetina Canyon. Worth a look, we thought, and headed off in the van for a daytrip. The views of the canyon were not, to be frank, awe-inspiring for the most part, but a very pleasant bimble away from the coast and up into the hills just inshore took us up the river and round a couple of other towns, before finding ourselves at the fortress of Klis. This was one of the most pivotal fortifications for medieval Croatia, with many rulers over the years using it as a base. The views from it explained exactly why – high on a ridge, overlooking Split and the strategic trade routes of the northern Adriatic.

The castle’s being restored, with several of the buildings inside the keep closed off as they’re worked on, but a wander round the walls was certainly worth the circular route.

Trogir was our next stop – an old town filling a small island, only a few metres off the coast. We arrived very hot and sweaty, since the temperature had climbed up to the mid 30s, and tried to choose from the campsites available… One was a chunk north of town, a big impersonal site. Next one in was smaller and much more handily located, but somehow a bit characterless. The next island offshore from Trogir, connected by a short bridge, also offered a couple – one looking handy and pleasant, whilst the other was utterly gorgeous, sat in an olive grove tumbling down to the sea – but a lot further out, at the end of a long and steep unmade road. It also turned out to be ferociously expensive, and only have electricity from a generator which was turned off overnight and through the afternoon, to provide some peace and quiet. It wasn’t a hard decision to end up at the first island one, and we quickly decided on a pitch with the sea only a short hop and skip from us. OK, so the view included the back of the shipyard on the island, with a couple of large container ships and an oil rig being built, but you can’t ask for everything, can you?

Even better, the site had a restaurant offering the local speciality dish, with the ingredients placed on an iron dish under a cast iron “bell” lid, then baked with hot embers piled over the top.

Normally, it’s only available with advance notice – but a quick check showed that it could be cooked for that evening. Another British couple, Peter and Mary, were asking at the same time, so it seemed easier to just arrange a table for four, since the kitchen only had one of the cooking dishes… That made for some negotiation, though, since it meant all four of us had to have the same meat – Octopus, or Veal. They’d just beaten us to it, so we went with their decision of Veal. But, wait a second, it turned out that Peter was the only one really fancying Veal – so he was outnumbered… Later, a feast was placed in front of us. The Octopus was joined by Crayfish and Squid, all with potatoes and other vegetables baked in the juices. Truly delicious.

As we licked the last bits of the iron cooking dish clean, we were joined by Hans and Birgit, from Denmark. Hans explained, as he handed over a couple of empty beer bottles to the waiter and received a full draught beer in return, that the bottle recycling regulations meant that the bar was always desperate for empties, so were happy to cut a deal. Since we’d had the fun’n’games buying beer without some empties to “cash in” in Montenegro, this didn’t greatly surprise us, although the exchange rate did seem very generous…

Trogir itself is yet another very pleasant town – small shady squares linked by narrow winding streets.

The central square contains a shady colonaded loggia, standing opposite the cathedral – home to some astonishingly lifelike stone carving, especially in one of the side chapels, the walls of which are lined with chubby cherubs peering through half-open doorways.

The treasury contained the usual collection of silverwork and old manuscripts, housed in some of the most beautifully carved wooden cupboards we’ve seen. As in Split, a climb up the stairs of the belfry was rewarded with great views over the rooftops.

After more aimless meandering around the town, we returned to site to wash the sweat of the day away in the gloriously clear water, as Birgit taught Mary to swim.

What’s Danish for “Gotcha!”?

In the bar later, with a handful of empties to return, we found our waiter from the previous evening wasn’t on duty, and the manager seemed a bit sceptical – but promised to call him and find out. As we sat and chatted, the waiter arrived, had a brief conversation with the manager, then headed over with a huge grin on his face – turns out we’d fallen hook, line and sinker for a setup aimed by Hans at Peter… D’oh.

Posted in Art & Culture stuff, By Country - Croatia, Food stuff, Personal stuff, Travel stuff, Wildlife stuff | Leave a comment

One of the best so Hvar

Posted on June 19, 2012 by EllieGee

The queue for the ferry to the island of Hvar found the van parked next to an icecream café, a good way to while away the minutes to departure. As we boarded the boat though, there was a last minute hitch – we’d apparently been sold the wrong ticket. Although the girl at the ticket office had seen the van in its entirety, she had charged us too little. I made a mad dash back to the office and paid a bit more for the right ticket.

Then we were off across the spangly sea to Hvar. The late afternoon light bringing out the best of the natural colours. The mainland mountain massif stretching like pale pink and navy crepe paper as far as you could see, the island of Brač to the north and the now distant Pelješac peninsula to the south. We arrived at the small port village of Sućuraj. As it was getting later in the day, we thought about heading to the first campsite on the island, but missed the turning. We drove a longer way than was worth turning round by the time we found somewhere to turn round. We decided to head onwards, most of what we wanted to see was at the western end of the island anyway. We were also enjoying the road too much as it wound and twisted up and along the ridge of the long narrow island with the sea on both sides. The terrain was largely Mediterranean maquis, but abandoned stone-walled fields of lavender, olive trees and vines are also a feature of the island.

We drove on some 50 kilometres and gradually dropped down to the north coast and the small town of Jelsa followed soon after. We drove by three campsites, the middle one took our fancy immediately, with its pitches among pines sitting just off the road but above a rocky cove with a path down to the crystal water’s edge. Campers were busy cooking their meals and even tightrope walking, and yes, there was still space for us in the trees. We drove to the edge of the town before turning around, and it too was picture perfect, stone buildings with terracotta roofs clustered around a tiny harbour in an inlet. It would do at a pinch.

Croatia is popular with naturists, many campsites are totally devoted to it, others have a naturist as well as a ‘textile’ section, and there are lots of beaches that are FKK, the term for nudism here. The rocks below us seemed to be semi-nudist, perhaps inherently so given their seclusion, and a young German couple had claimed one area for their own. We studiously ignored them, not given to such abandon ourselves, as we had our dip in the sea – Adrian swimming right across the small bay and back.

We cycled into Jelsa and continued along the coastal track round further coves and inlets to Vrboska, a quieter village with pretty small bridges over a canal leading into its harbour, and an impressive fortified church. Over the centuries these island communities fell prey to piracy and raids from Turks, Saracens, Venetians, anyone who was passing it seemed, and fortified churches in a variety of styles are common.

We cycled back to Jelsa and had a leisurely seafood lunch on the square, then back to our site to chill out and swim again. Our nudists still in position, their overall suntans slightly thwarted by the amount of factor 50 they seemed to be applying.

We read about Humac, an abandoned village in the hills, in a local tourist leaflet and the pictures looked appealing. Up to now I have tended to avoid cycle rides involving hills, due to my low level of fitness. Something must have changed though because I did several kilometres of uphill, from sea level to more than 200 metres, virtually without stopping. The village was at 310 metres altitude though and when we finally got to the turn off towards it, we realised that the last 100 metres was pretty much straight up… I did walk a lot of that stretch, but Adrian cycled most of it. The weather helped, being slightly overcast with a light breeze and we felt very proud of ourselves.

Although largely deserted, the village boasts a rustic Konoba or inn, which was open for big food and cold beers. There was a large party of locals partaking of a peka – a roast dinner cooked beneath a bell-shaped lid covered with embers. These have to be ordered in advance otherwise we would have immediately undone the benefits of our cycle ride in one fell swoop. We had food with us anyway, so after thoroughly enjoying our cold beers, accompanied by some wonderful singing from the lunch party, we headed off to explore the village. We found a picnic spot at a panoramic viewpoint with telescope in the middle of overgrown stonewalled fields. You could see for miles across the western end of the island, with Jelsa far below us in the distance and the other outlying islands serene beyond.

Like so many places around the world, the old ways were not enough for younger generations and migration lead to desertion of the village. Luckily there are moves to preserve what’s there and festivals are still held from time to time.

Among the grey stone dwellings and farm buildings, tools and trappings of the activities left behind, we came across an older man who explained some of this to us as he opened up one of the cottages and led us inside. The furniture and some kitchen items and other possessions remained, with the religious images over the bed still in place. The village was a seasonal settlement, and he had lived there as a child, and is one of the caretakers for it nowadays. He spoke about how many people who have moved away do come back for the festivals, how origins have become important again, as you just can’t get that sense of community in a city. See a mini collage from Humac images made as part of the Colourboration circles theme.

The road back was blissfully downhill all the way back to Jelsa, and we had a welcome dip to cool off. And more cold beer.

We still had a lot to see, so we moved on from Jelsa towards Hvar town. First we called in at Stari Grad, a bigger old town with a harbour, pretty Venetian influenced churches again in an inlet some way inland from the open sea. Its pretty old streets have big shiny cobbles, and we just made it in time to another must-see sight, that of Tvrdalj, the summer house built by 16th century poet and nobleman Petar Hektorović, before it closed for the long afternoon break. It is a tranquil old rambling building around a fish pond full of grey mullet. It has many epigraphs of Hektorović’s writings inset in the walls, and a garden running behind it.

From Stari Grad we took the main road to Hvar town, through the hills in a tunnel, and then winding through more hills above the sea. We missed the turning for the first campsite we were going to check out and headed instead for one just the other side of the town, and almost checked in here. They sent us to look at pitches, which were graded A or B and overpriced accordingly. The A category seemed to cover everything from a waterfront location to a pitch up in the Gods, and they were all very small. The B zone spots were scrubby uneven sloping pitches with a loo view. People didn’t seem that friendly either. We emptied our waste water there and left deciding to take our chances with the first site we’d passed. It was the right decision.

The Mala Milna site was at the edge of a small village, set between two coves, and right on the water. We had a warm welcome from the owner and chose a corner pitch overlooking the further cove, right at the edge among the wind twisted pines, with our table and chairs on a lower level. Idyllic.

The path from village to the pebbly beach in the cove ran right through the site and there was a constant stream of bathers back and forth. All good people watching! And our German neighbours had a small boat moored down in the cove which the chap seemed to make heavy weather of using, rowing a dingy out to it several times a day, sometimes accompanied by their reluctant border collie.

It was a 4km run into town, much hillage, but few buses. So it was onto the bikes again, our levels of fitness increasing daily now. Hvar town is attractive, Venetian campaniles, churches and monasteries abound, narrow cobbled streets, and a fortress presiding over it all. It’s also very fashionable with the International jet-set flying or sailing in, huge yachts lined the harbour, and people from Prince Harry to Beyoncé make regular visits here. It has a swish feel but its stylish hotels, restaurants and classy boutiques don’t detract from the beauty of the town and its setting. Inevitably there were a couple of huge cruise ships moored out in the bay, and boats of all shapes and sizes, private and public were constantly in and out. We climbed up to the fortress, well worth the gradual ascent with the expected fabulous views out over the town and the islands.

Vis is Croatia’s outermost Adriatic island and sounded appealing, not least as it gives access to the smaller island of Biševo which has a blue cave to rival that of Capri’s blue grotto. We knew we wouldn’t be able to take the van there, no campsites and expensive ferry fares, and there were no regularly scheduled ferries from Hvar, only from Split, necessitating at least one overnight on the island, and leaving the van at a campsite somewhere on the mainland. Then organising a trip to the cave on another island. It all sounded quite complicated and expensive. We came up with the perfect solution – you could do a tourist excursion to Vis which would take you to not one but three caves, and to visit towns on Vis too. There was a slow bigger boat, then for just a bit more money you could go on a speedboat trip, which would allow you to see and do more, with fast journey times from Hvar to the outlying islands, and there would only be up to six other people. It sounded perfect.

It was perfect. The weather was wonderful as we clambered into the boat and astride the seats all facing forwards. We were off, gently purring through the waves out of the harbour, was that Beyoncé’s yacht? And past the Pakleni Islands that lie just off Hvar, we picked up speed and bounced along the sea, holding on tightly. Really quite fast. It was exhilarating, thrilling and rather scary at times. Especially as the waves got bigger and bigger and our craft felt tiny as it bumped and jarred between them or up and down them. Erm, this was safe wasn’t it? The captain told us where the life jackets were but we weren’t actually wearing them. Britons feared drowned in boat accident headlines came to mind.

We went first to the Green Cave on the Vis coast, so called from the algae that colour the water and walls of the cave.

After this we went to a cove almost enclosed by rock around it, here we stopped for a swim from the boat. The water was quite chilly and it was quite busy there with people from a couple of bigger tourist boats also enjoying the ‘seclusion’! We started to get to know our fellow passengers, Chris and Lana from the States who are currently living in Serbia, Dave and Lauren from Yorkshire, and Mathilde and Celine from France. With such an intimate trip where you are spending the whole day in close proximity and fellow passengers have to help eachother get in and out of a very small boat from the water (forget about dignity), it could be make or break if they were unfriendly. We struck very lucky – we had a really great bunch.

After our swim at the cove, we stuck close to the coast, looking at remarkable rock formations, semi-caves, natural bridges while the sea surged all around. The geometric strata of the rock gave the optical illusion that the sea was leaning, a very odd feeling. Vis was for a long time a military zone forbidden to foreign visitors and it is fairly new to tourism. You can see the remnants of secret tunnels into the rock faces, with bunkers dotted here and there too.

We knew that a visit to the Blue Cave would only be possible if the sea was really calm and it was looking doubtful. Our captain juggled the various visits to push the Blue Cave a little later as he had heard the sea might be calmer then. So we spent some time at another beach and had a beer together, before we got back in the boat and went first to Monk Seal Cave.

This was more impressive than Green Cave, and after a boat tour inside, the captain offered us the chance to swim into it. The sea still appeared to be quite vehement, but you can’t turn down the opportunity to swim into a cave. Especially with the thought that the Blue Cave might be closed. So most of us were back in the water getting quite a workout swimming into the cave. It was wonderful, but also a relief to make it back to the boat across what for me was still a rough sea! So then it was onto the Blue Cave on Biševo island a short distance away – again at speed! It was still choppy, but where was the cave?  We drew up to a cliff face and could see nothing, and realised that the entrance to the cave is tiny. The sea was still quite high, too high for the boat to enter, but we could swim in. This is usually not allowed due to the volume of visitors and boats, but at that point we were the only boat in the vicinity. The captain went first to check that it was safe for us to enter, having anchored the boat and fastened it to a line that ran across the opening. We then eased ourselves into the water with great anticipation. We were going to see the Blue Cave, and what’s more we were swimming in.

In through the low narrow entrance into a dark passageway with hints of blue flickering on the walls, after a few metres, the cavern opened up and you turned right into the chamber. There it was, intensely blue water, lit from a shaft of light somewhere somehow below it. Blue flickering blue curaçao water, and we were all swimming round and round in awe. It was an amazing experience. In a side chamber the sea was surging in and out and we went in there to feel the force as it lifted you up and then dropped you down again. Better than any fairground ride or expensive special effects. We spent a good long time in the cave treasuring the experience, drinking in the colour. We didn’t want it to end. The best pictures we’ve never taken!

Swimming slowly back out and back onto the boat again, we were all so ecstatic. The captain had some difficulty retrieving the anchor. In the end he gave up and left it there, buying a new one at our next port of call, the town of Komiža on Vis. It is a beautiful place, with the light stone buildings of the region, a fortified church and wide harbour. We got to spend a couple of hours here, having a late lunch and a wander round the tranquil back streets, with multi-shuttered stone buildings and flowers everywhere.

All too soon it was time to board our tiny but speedy vessel to head back to Hvar in the golden hazy early evening light alongside the west coast of Vis, its steep hillsides dipping right to the sea. It would have been nice to be able to spend longer here, exploring the island further, but we had had a wonderful day – one of the highpoints of the trip. We cut through a channel inbetween the Pakleni islands and then it was back into the harbour at Hvar, looking glorious and just starting the evening passegiata buzz.

We were sad to say goodbye to our new friends, but it was time to head back for showers and dinner, local ham and fresh bread, and wine, back at our idyllic campsite in our own little cove.

The next day after seven nights on Hvar, we decided reluctantly that it was time to move on. The ferry from Stari Grad to Split was too expensive an option so we drove back the way we’d come though took the narrow mountain road over the hills towards Stari Grad, rather than the faster road via the tunnel. The hills here feature characteristic stone walls in various formations, built over centuries as a way to clear the land of stones so that it could be cultivated. So much of the farming has now ceased but the walls still remain, a wonderful feature in themselves.

Again as we climbed on to the ridge of the island, the views were stunning. The sea an impossible blue.

From Stari Grad, we passed the ancient stone walled fields which here date back to Greek times. We drove back the way we’d come via Jelsa and the road we’d cycled up to Humac.

A couple of Italian ‘fridge freezer’ style campervans were coming the other way as we ascended. We stopped for them, the first one kept on coming even though he was well over onto our side of the road, possibly nervous of the sheer drop to his right. He broke our wing mirror. Both vans stopped and there was an altercation in which Adrian was ranted at, at length, in Italian. It couldn’t possibly be the Italian’s fault could it?  Having survived Italian drivers unscathed for four months, we fall prey to them in Croatia. The driver refused to admit fault or to settle up, insisting on doing it through insurance. This would cost us more in the long run, so it wasn’t going to happen. No one was dead, it was only a mirror, but we’ll be inconvenienced and out of pocket, and the Italian driver gets away with it.

This somewhat marred our last afternoon on the island, but we caught a ferry with five minutes to spare, and again we were charged too little by the ticket clerk. No one seemed to mind this time though, they were in too much of a hurry to cast off. And so we left Hvar. Reluctantly. It had taken hold of our hearts and provided lots of new experiences, from chic towns to ancient stone walls, the scent of lavender everywhere and crystal seas, and some of the best days of the trip so far.

Posted in By Country - Croatia, Personal stuff, Travel stuff, Van stuff | 9 Comments