If you flew from Frankfurt to Split, Croatia, who would you expect to see on the plane? Germans? Croatians? How about a couple of dozen American pilgrims on their way to Christian holy sites? If you picked the latter, you'd be spot on. I personally, felt a twinge of guilt as our journey was all about self-indulgence.
We arrived in Split and were met by Davorka, mother of Ivan, former roomie of Uta from her GA State days. Uta and Davorka go way back, almost 10 years, when Davorka spent two weeks in Atlanta visiting her son. To say that she was ecstatic to see Uta would be an understatement. We'd arranged to stay with the family for a night before continuing on the island of Vis. Fortunately, for us, Croatian hospitality rivals that of anything one could find in the southern USA. Davorka provided us keys to an empty flat (allegedly purchased in an as yet unsuccessful attempt to lure Ivan back to Split to join the family business), which included a fridge stocked with goodies. She then escorted us around old Split, through
Diocletian's Palace, along the embankment and most of the city's coastal frontage. She treated us to dinner in Bacvice Inlet, joined by Ivan's siblings.
The following morning, we met up with Ana and Michelle along the embankment and boarded a ferry for the two hour trip to
Vis (check out this
article on CNN as well). We were met at the ferry docks by Ivo, proprieter of our accomodation. We'd rented a couple of rooms in his 16th century
house on the Vis harbour. Ivo took the bags in the car, and we proceeded on foot, which was fine, as any car trip in Vis is a hair raising experience, particularly in the towns where the roads are barely wide enough for a single car (one sees a lot of vehicles moving in reverse).
The following week was nothing but pure decadence (except the part where we got stopped by the police). We arranged for Ivo to transport us to various beaches on the island, and spent a day reaching some of the area's more remote locations by boat (including Biševo and the Blue Cave). Ultimately, we were joined by Maya and Victor, as well as Ivan himself, who dropped in for a night. We also spent a coule of evenings in Komiža, the island's fishing community, which hosts a fisherman's festival on Saturday nights. We largely skipped breakfast, as a Croatian breakfast appears to consist of Turkish coffee and cigarettes. We passed on the cigarettes. Lunch could also be hard to come by - we walked out of one spot after we leanred that our fellow patrons had been waiting for 1-2 hours for food. However, each evening was an occassion for a 3-hour feast of grilled seafood and wine. The town of Vis proved quite a picturesque spot for a morning jog, and Uta found a staircase that would challenge the anaerobic metabolism of the leg muscles of the most hardened athlete). The weather was perfect for the dration (save for a storm that blew in and out out one night), and the island is still sufficiently off the beaten path to not be overrun by tourists (as evidenced by the limited English and lack of friendly service). However, based upon the number of high priced yachts sailing into and out of the harbour, it's clear that the island is hardly undiscovered. After a week in paradise, we ventured by to Split, where we were once again met by Davorka and a restocked refigerator. We had a drink in the evening with the family and then spent one more night in Split, tackling Marjan Hill with Ivan's brother the following morning before starting the long trip back to Australia. Incidentally, Crotia's parting words to me were spoken by the chick at passport control - as she stamped by passport she commented: "Benjamin, you have interesting hair-do". With her accent it sounded pretty sexy, but then this could have also meant "dude, you look like a jackass, get out of our country".
The return trip was a test of endurance. An 1.5 hour flight back to Frankfurt (with the pilgirms) where we had a six hour lay-over in the airport. Incidentally, the Frankfurt airport, like Lufthansa, is somewhat of a no-frills zone. Though extremely busy, other than free newspapers in several languages, the airport offers little in the way of food options or ways to occupy oneself for six hours. We actually ate at McDonald's (I ended up with a happy meal due to some problems on Uta's behalf with her native tongue - I didn't get full, but at least I got a toy). Also, the aiport must have the worst indoor air quality of any airport in the western world, due to the prevalence of smokers and the half-assed mechanisms in place to prevent second-hand smoke. The experience was not unlike sitting in a bar, although even most bars in the world are now smoke free. This was followed by a 11.5 hour flight to Singapore (punctuated by an early conflict between two grown mean fighting because one was pushing the seat of the guy in front of him), where we had a five hour layover - fortunately, the Singapore airport is stacked with goodies. The last leg was 6.5 hours down to Melbourne, arriving around 6:30 in the morning. Jet lag has been kicking our asses around the block for the past couple of days, but hopefully we're on the tail end of its effects. Another work week is just around the corner. . .
Photos
here
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