To Hvar

The ferry sails at midday so I had a leisurely breakfast. Normally the staff ask if I want tea or coffee, but today I got coffee, no question asked. Oh well, never mind, I'll be on a big stable ferry instead of a hydrofoil.

I had plenty of safety margin when the bus reached Korčula Town so I bought a few provisions at the Konzum supermarket, checked my mail at an Internet cafe, and most important, purchased a phonecard. I searched for baked goods but found nothing promising. There were many travellers getting off and on. This was the same ferry that exactly 1 week and 5 hours ago, had dropped me off in Dubrovnik.

Looking at the passengers enjoying the sunshine and fresh air on the aft deck, you could be forgiven for mistaking this trip for a pleasure cruise instead of a normal passenger and car ferry service.

The ferry sailed up the channel between Korčula and the Pelješac peninsula, rounded the corner and headed for the north coast of Hvar island. We could see the dramatic mountains behind the coast.

Hidden behind the Pelješac peninsula is a discontinuity in Croatia that I would not travel through, a little strip of land around Neum that belongs to Bosnia-Herzogovina, giving it access to the sea. Croatia plans to build a bridge from the mainland to Pelješac, thus joining all of Croatia by road, but negotiations on shipping rights and boundaries are in progress.

I lunched on crispbread and meat pâté then napped. My appetite seems back to normal. Around 1600 we approached the seaport of Stari Grad (Old City) on the north coast of Hvar.

We piled into a shuttle bus to Hvar Town. Midway in the journey, the driver stopped in a lay-by and collected the fares. Clever way of making sure that no passenger is overlooked.

Hvar is a popular island and I was worried about securing accommodation, hence the phonecard. It took me a while to find a working public phone. Unfortunately all the places I called were either taken or could only offer me a double, with no discount for being a lone traveller. Time to seek help from the tourist bureau. They perused their books, and a phone call ascertained that an old lady in the old town had a room free. She came down to the office and guided me back through a maze of passageways to her home, which was built on the side of hill, cheek by jowl with other houses. I wondered how they managed property boundaries here. The room is tidy and fine, though undistinguished.

We had no language in common so I could not get any reply from her about whether breakfast was included. I guessed not, for this sort of place. I wondered what her life was like. Did she have any children or close kin; had they moved away to live in a big city or had they emigrated? Who would look after her when she got infirm? We travellers are constantly glimpsing other people's lives and questions like these are little mysteries that have no answers.

In the evening, I was woken by bells, close by. They reminded of Jan Morris' plaint Too Many Bells, about being not getting any peace from clamorous belltowers in devout Europe, especially in Catholic countries like France.

The dockside promenade is very elegant. You might mistake it for a Côte d'Azur location. There were boats of all sizes and values in port. Loud music was emanating from various sources. Hvar is a chic place to be.

Unfortunately the pizza was not up to scratch. The base was too chewy, the paste too salty, and the olives too green. It was such a struggle to finish that I swore off Croatian pizzas for a while.

Still, it could not diminish the pleasure of sitting in the cool air as night descended, gelato in hand, watching people and the world go past.