First of all, let me apologise for the rather long hiatus. I became ill in China and so never completed that blog post for fear of poor concentration and mood biasing my writing. I then started work and have done little travelling since, except for, what I will call, but may not have time to write, Episode I of Geeks on Tour regarding a trip to Poland in mid-2011. The Geeks on Tour series is a more recent sub-series of my blog posts involving trips with my good friend, Roshan Chhotu. Our latest trip was to Slovenia and Croatia.
For once, we did not have a stupid o'clock flight to catch, so arrived at Ljubljana airport at the slightly more reasonable time of 16.00, nonetheless I was tired due to late night researching. We had booked a hostel in the centre of Ljubljana, but as we exited the airport terminal, the clouds parted, and light shone down onto a shuttle bus, illuminating a sign in its wind shield for Bled, a beautiful north-western town that we had intended on going to eventually. 13 EUR? What the hell. Let's go.
The shuttle bus driver dropped us off at a hostel on the edge of Bled, by the name of Jazz hostel. The owner, a solid man with fair hair darkened by the product used to slick it back (click here for a minor celebrity likeness) jumped out the hostel and grabbed our bags. Incredibly eager to help us, his hands and arms seem to move faster than his mouth, and his laugh, though inappropriately frequent, was appropriately reassuring - he was genuine kindness on speed. You like the room? Great! Can I book you a train for tomorrow? Haha! You must go to the Castel [sic]! It is beautiful. Haha! Here's a brochure. Here's another one! Hahaha! I'll be in the bar if you need me.
Roshan and I used the remainder of the afternoon to walk around the lake. The church standing on an island was a centrepiece of perfectly tranquil lake framed by the mountains; an excellent start to the trip.
The next day we had decided to make our own way to Vrata valley, as the only tour available was fully booked. I had read about the valley in the unusually early hours of the day before and still felt the effects when we woke up early to catch two buses to Mojstrana half way up the north-eastern side of Triglav National Park. The weather was predicted to be cloudy, if not wet, so I had not taken any sunscreen - a fatal mistake for someone who was once described as on the verge of transparency. I decided I would ask the locals for some; just as a young trick or treater on Halloween, I started knocking on doors. A teenage girl, charmed by our British accents, or most probably a sign of life in her comatose mountain town, rushed to our rescue. I do not apply sunscreen lightly, so felt I needed to bring out the best of my conversation to prolong the time I could use it. Her kindness was very much appreciated...though I still got sunburnt.
Lathered up and using my jumper as a headscarf, Roshan and his tall albino burka’d wife began their journey. We had already walked the few kilometres through the town before starting on the 10km walk to the beginning of the trail, long parts of which were uphill. Though the scenic waterfall was a welcome break from the road, we felt lied to when the 10.5km sign passed us, then the 11km sign, then the 11.5km...before finally reaching base camp where we had lunch. Conscious of daylight and, to a lesser extent, the bus timetable, we thought we would do a short hike to get to a clearing in the trees to see the valley...it was indeed worth it:
A fortunate series of events has chiselled this land into a masterpiece of overwhelming majesty; we are lucky to be able to appreciate a page in its never-ending story. Roshan, in his quick descent into the depths of a trans of childish ramble about science, would explain to me how this land came to be so. This was the beginning of many stories brought to me by Roshan Chhotu’s labyrinthian museum of a mind filled with scientific facts and oddities in an increasingly garrulous manner.
With anticipation lifted from our shoulders, the way back was a lot shorter...until we realised that, completely unaware of when the last bus would go, we should make haste and run like the wind. Running as fast as we could downhill for several kilometres, I realised no one would stop because we simply looked like two joggers enjoying an afternoon run. Roshan was independently aware of this fact and ensured his running style did not suggest anything other than complete and utter panic.
It was around the 6km mark that a car slowed to a halt shortly passed me, its window rolled down and a friendly face asked if we wanted a lift. It was a Hungarian couple on a long weekend break to see the park, somewhere that they had visited several times. We thanked them profusely and proportionately to the amount of sweat dripping from our backs onto the back seat of their car. They joked that she had suggested we might be running to catch a bus, while her boyfriend said that we were clearly just running. We told them we were going to Croatia and he very kindly requested to provide us with some advice: go to Plitvice National Park, it's like being Alice in Wonderland. This was something else I had researched at 2.00am but had waited to talk to Roshan about. We were sold.
We made it back to the hostel with little delay and decided, with the help of the hostel owner, to make our way to Plitvice the next day, first requiring a train to Zagreb at 7.00 am (sigh - another early morning). We would need a taxi to get to the train station, but as it turned out, the hostel owner was aware of a girl in room 1 heading there at the same time. Roshan wrote her a note and slipped it under her door. Little did we know at the time, we would follow her to places we had not expected to visit on this trip.
A young Canadian with wild blonde bushy curls, Anna was travelling for a month after having finished her Masters and before heading to Nicaragua to teach science in an English school. She had a balanced travel style as, despite having booked all her hostels in advance, she had booked little transport, so enjoyed how organised we - I - were at finding out how to get from A to B and implementing it. She enjoyed our style of jokes from the British witty and subtle, to the slightly more American riské and Simpsonsesque, and her laugh reinforced our confidence.
We arrived in the small town of Mukinje, on the far side of Plitvice, to look for her guesthouse. She checked in, but unfortunately they only had one room available for one night when we wanted two nights. The guesthouse owner called a friend - guesthouse owning is pretty big business in Mukinje - and told us that she had a room for two nights. She emphatically told us it was the second house on the right, not the first, but the second.
We stopped at the first house. An elderly lady with knowing eyes came out and offered a better rate for a room than our Canadian co-traveller had received. Luck had shone its illuminating light on us again.
Upon discovering that Anna had paid a less competitive rate, the elderly lady simply smiled, reached up and maternally stroked Anna's face as if to say "at least you're pretty", charming us all. I liked our guesthouse owner better than hers...and so did she.
On our way out, she struck up a quick conversation, and though her English grammar was limited, her vast vocabulary permitted her to say a lot with very little "Two boys, one girl?". She was incredibly knowledgeable, and had taken meticulous notes as she observed the world throughout her life; she kept us charmed, on our toes and laughing. As I passed two elderly men that stared at us blankly from her porch, I thought that they must feel ashamed in being unable to satisfy her mind.
Plitvice National Park is a set of pristine lakes leaking one into the other by waterfall, surrounded by trees and overlayed with a rail road of wooden paths that cross, ascend and descend the lakes in all directions, creating the impression of a whimsical wonderland. For those born in the late 80s, it reminds you of the first few scenes of Jurassic Park where they take their first tour of the park and the camera pans out to reveal Brachiosauruses slowly marching through the meadows around a lake. I thought I could hear John Williams' theme song playing in my head...it was just Roshan whistling it behind me.
After spending a day and a half walking around its lakes, weaving in out of bus loads of pensioners from Japan and central Europe with their socks up to their knees and their SLRs down to their ankles, we jumped on a bus to Split where the Dalmatian coast begins.
Split was highly disappointing. Arriving into the bus terminal, we attempted to follow Anna to her hostel. Unfortunately, as Split is smaller in real life than it is on a map, we continually overshot the old city and struggled to wind our way through the narrow backstreets of the once Roman city. A quick tour and a failed attempt at enjoying Split's nightlife, supposedly its strongest asset, left us back in the hostel rather drunk (for the second evening in a row).
The next day we jumped on a catamaran to Hvar island to spend a few hours seeing the sleepy Mediterranean style town centre, eating a Hello Burger (beef patty, bacon and steak pieces in a kebab bun....mmm...gargle) and drinking beers at a bar on the waterfront. We originally wanted cocktails, but unfortunately they were all out of sex mix for the Sex on the Beach - probably a good thing.
We then took a second catamaran to Korcula, another island further south where we intended on staying two nights. Anna had booked into the Marco Polo apartments in the old city that she had found online. Before leaving Split, I looked for any availability for the same place on a few websites. Despite some claiming that it was fully booked, others did not. When we arrived, it turned out that our booking had displaced Anna from what was her room, and was now ours, to another apartment 30 seconds away. We had followed Anna from Slovenia and, at every turn, had tripped up her accommodation plans (in retrospect, I refuse to apologise as the three of us enjoyed each other's company so much that it was worth it).
Korcula, both town and island, were incredible. The old town rests on a small peninsula off the north-eastern side of the island. A thin channel separates the town from the island to the north which begins with a colossal wall of rock. To the east, were small islands sprouting like weeds out of the water at the point of least resistance. And to the West, was a daily postcard sunset.
On our first full day in Korcula we rented bikes and at first cycled south-east, following the coast, to Lumbarda where we crossed crystal clear waters and vineyards. On our way back, we followed our taste buds into the wine tasting bar of a vineyard. The wines were excellent, notably the Prosek, a dessert wine that Roshan pointed out tasted like honey. Quite a few glasses were tried and a few bottles were bought before heading back out. Wobbly bike.
We were hoping to follow the southern coast to Postrana and find a beach from there. No such road existed. We had to cycle back to Korcula before turning south to Postrana, this took us a short while and once we reached Postrana, it was a long uphill ride from there. Currently training for a triathlon, I steamed ahead, but looked back to see Roshan slowly appear from around a bend, Ray Bans and stylish hat on, looking left and right at the scenery, but going at a snail’s pace in his highest gear and thus arms flailing to quickly readjust his position just to avoid falling over. The juxtaposition of cool and geek were seamless.
On the other side of the hill was a long rocky road down to the Defora coast. Access to the coves and beaches was limited. We eventually found one stunning cove in the mid-afternoon; tired and dehydrated we rested for a short while before heading back. (Please see here for a view of the coast along which we were cycling.) I would recommend taking a car next time.
On our way back, my back tyre suffered a puncture. Roshan and I struggled for an hour to fix it while a few cars and bikes came by - we were surprised as we had thought it an incredibly secluded spot. One man stopped to ask if we needed help, however, the language barrier proved difficult. I was audacious enough to ask for water and Anna managed to communicate where I had failed. Kindly, he offered us a bottle of water. It was a gruelling climb back up in the mid-afternoon sun, but once we hit the top of the hill, it was a downhill cycle all the way to Korcula and an end to an exhausting but fun day.
Or so we thought. We had been intoxicated and turned to the relaxed ways of Korcula, materialising in a decision to stay an extra day. So in spite of our exhaustion, we got wasted.
Our last day was spent relaxing and recovering in the old town. We had arranged to meet the apartment owner early in the evening to pay for our extra night. The formalities were quickly dispensed with, we then chatted for a while finding out that she was an artist and used the apartments just for regular income. A very intelligent woman, she could read people very well...she had very quickly picked up the dynamics in our group that the guesthouse owner in Plitvice had most probably understood too. She understood how those interested in science and in particular in astronomy, have a different perspective on the self in an epic universe and how that influences the decisions they make in the present. She doled out advice for lovers and liars and offered to let us stay for free if two of us returned together. Another kind, though admittedly facetious, gesture.
In the evening, we wandered west to get a better view of the sunset. It was indeed spectacular:
On our way back, we passed an olive oil shop which was still open. We wandered in an eyed some of the local oils. We wanted to try several, but Roshan and I knew from the start which one we wanted: the Rosemary, Oregano and Peppercorn oil. Having tried it separately with some balsamic vinegar and red pepper hummus, I can safely say it is one of my best recent purchases.
We found a restaurant in the centre of the old town to enjoy our dinner with a white wine which we recognised as local from our bike ride the day before and shenanigans the night before. Two guitarists serenaded us from an archway not far away while we ate. One would play rhythm and occasional sing, while the other would defy the laws of physics by moving his fingers faster than the speed of light, and seemingly creating natural melodies to overlay the drum of the rhythm guitar, all the while making fun of the audience with his smile, and later his claptastic antics. Though not any of the songs we heard directly, this link will take you to another cover by the lead guitarist.
A long travel day with little sleep lay ahead for the next day. Roshan and I took an early catamaran and bus to Zagreb where after another night enjoying the local Croatian beer, our trip ended.
I am now left with only a postcard, above my desk at work, of a sun kissed Korcula to remind me of the kindness that we were shown on our travels.
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