These last two months of my journey have found me immersing myself in the Croatian culture. I have become a familiar fixture in Baska Voda, no longer looked upon as the “American tourist.” There are no more curious stares; even complete strangers smile and acknowledge me on the streets. The children playing ball in the street beneath my balcony always pause from their game to say “hi,” curious and wide-eyed with their questions about that part of the world they view from behind a television screen. “Do you know Oprah? Do you have a big house? Do you live near LA?”
I have learned that everyone is related to someone in this village, and everyone owns land that has been passed down from generation to generation. Their land is their wealth and “For Sale” signs are few and far between. Even in these difficult economic times when jobs are scarce, the young cannot bring themselves to leave for their roots are as deeply imbedded as the two-hundred year old olive trees their families have owned and harvested for centuries.
Here, the young care for the old. Families are bound together in good times and in bad.
~
Recently, all of Europe celebrated their Labor Day which falls on May the first.
Baska Voda was dressed for a party and host to the Bosnian tourists who came in droves to enjoy the beaches and watch the locals compete in a festive atmosphere. For me, it was an unexpected surprise, and like Carnival in Trieste
For three fun-filled days crowds lined the main street to watch reluctant donkeys carry the men on their backs to a finish line,
waiters showing off their balancing skills with trays of drinks, teenage boys eagerly walking a greased pole over the sea hoping to reach the end and win a lamb,
and the men of the local fire departments showing their muscle in a tug of war. The town was filled with music from early morning until late evening, the young people’s band marching the streets,
men and women in costume performing a traditional dance.
For the hungry, there was a huge cauldron of simmering beans and sausage with an outrageously delicious flavor and two eager chefs with ladles in hand eager to pile a free portion on your plate. For the late nighters like me, you got to drink the local wine while swooning and dancing beneath the stars to the rich sound of the celebrity singer, “Guiliano.”
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Spring is by far my favorite season and watching it emerge on a coast that needs no enhancement is like watching a rare beauty sprout wings. Everywhere is a riot of color, red poppies, yellow, purple, and pink flowers capturing the landscape, the scent of wild herbs permeating the air. Earlier on I walked the fields next to the coast and picked wild asparagus growing amidst the olive trees, nibbling on the tender stocks along the way.
With spring I have witnessed a rougher sea slamming against the rocks and turning a dark and angry blue from the storms that rumble off of the mountains. I’ve baked in the sun one day and shivered from the cold the next as snow settled in the crevices of Biokovo. And what would Baska Voda be without its less than popular visitor, bura, colliding with the coast, blasting the pollen from the leaves and laying down the tall grasses. It is serene one minute and wild the next; beautiful beyond description.
Spring is also a time when the children of age receive their first holy communion; an event not to be missed. The sight of all those angelic faces gathered at the altar and their parents and grandparents looking on with pride from the pews is a sight to behold.
Even more special was the invitation that came afterwards to join my friends, Sanja and Marko, for their family celebration in honor of their son,
Karlo, who was among the innocent faces that morning.
In the hills below the tiny mountain village of Bast, we toasted with shots of homemade liquor, devoured platters of aged cheese, cured ham, crusty bread, salad dressed with the olive oil pressed from the olives of their own trees, and a whole roast lamb that some delighted in eating right off the bone.
As if we weren’t already sated from that selection of delicacies, the women could not resist further tempting us with their homemade cakes. But it was the two-layered cake made from finely ground hazel nuts and walnuts that finally did me in!
Afterwards, the men lined up at the end of a long court to compete in a game of bocce ball,
while the women lined up inside the cabin doing what women do....
It was a perfect afternoon in an unsurpassed setting of rugged mountains, a hillside of olive trees,
the islands in the foreground, and the Adriatic sparkling in the afternoon sun. Every sense was nourished that day.
~
The closest town of Makarska
The two and a half hour walk took me on a path that followed along the coast past sleepy fishing villages, rock-filled coves,
along the edge of a limestone cliff,
through a restful pine forest,
finally bringing me to the wide, semi-circular beach of Makarska
I paced myself so as not to overheat in the sun, stopping to drink plenty of water, maintaining my energy with a picnic on a bench near the sea. In spite of the seven mile walk, I still had plenty of energy left to walk around the town twice and make a stop at a grocery store on the opposite end adding even more weight to my backpack, and another two miles to the journey. From there, I walked back to the town center and treated myself to an early dinner at my favorite mom and pop restaurant that serves fresh seafood with all the trimmings for less than $13.00 a plate.
I was the lone customer seated at an outside table next to a rose garden. When the waitress took my order, I also put in an order for a red rose which she delighted in cutting and placing in a pitcher of water on the table. I was content with the quiet of my surroundings, smelling the rose, eating my fresh grilled sea bass, and watching the sky turn pink from another sunset. After dinner I caught the local bus, sank my weary body into the folds of the seat, and watched the remainder of the sunset while the bus traveled the coast back to Baska Voda.
~
How fortunate I am to have been able to experience all I have these past eight months. From beginning to end it has been an incredible journey, much of which I’ve shared with you along the way. Now that it has reached its end (I depart May thirty-first) I am filled with gratitude. If I had had an expectation, and I didn’t, it could not have begun to match all that I have seen, smelled, felt, tasted and experienced. The people, the sights, the gifts… there has been such an abundance of them. I weep with joy, am thankful beyond words for the good health that has allowed me to walk and discover the hidden secrets of Croatia , Bosnia , Germany and Italy
I WENT WITH THE WIND AT MY HEELS AND ANGELS BY MY SIDE.
I would also like to thank all of those people, 2,400 of them to date, who have been following my blog. Frankly, I am amazed by the number. Since most of you did not leave comments I don't know who you are. If I succeeded in allowing you a brief moment to step away from your everyday life, and it is my sincerest wish that I did, then I would like to ask you to brighten my life by leaving a comment sharing your thoughts about what you saw and read. For those of you who did leave comments, I can tell you that you were my inspiration to write when I would rather have taken another long walk or sipped on a cappuccino at an outside café.
I have had many fascinating travel experiences over the years and have kept journals, in particular, one that involved my search in the Marquesas for the story about my cannibal king relative. I am considering additional writings if I have enough of an audience, so if you are interested in reading more, your input would be the inducement for me to continue and share that travel story.
After the Marquesan experience I wrote a novel. It is the story of a young sailor who became disenchanted with his hard life aboard a whaler in 1848 and jumped ship on a remote cannibal inhabited Marquesan island in the South Pacific.There, he was captured by the French, imprisoned, and later escaped to another island where he fell in love with the daughter of the chief of a cannibal tribe who… Are you curious? It is entitled “THE CANNIBAL KING” and is based on a true story. The young sailor was a distant relative who died on the island of Nuku Hiva
You can leave your comments or suggestions, if you have any, at the end of this, or any of my other blogs by filling in the comment box at the end of the blog. If you don’t know how to choose a profile when you go to post your comment, choose “anonymous.” Please be sure to let me know who you are and I will respond. You can also e-mail me at: casecustom@windstream.net thru the twenty-ninth of May. After that my e-mail is: casecustom@brmemc.net I can’t tell you how much hearing from you will mean to me.
Thanks for joining me on my journey.
DOVIDENJA
AUF WIEDERSEHEN
ARRIVEDERCI
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