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.

Korčula

That c with a háček is not unlike the English ch, and that's why I was very tempted to correct the tourist who read the čokolada on the label and asked for a scoop of cokolada ice cream in Ljubijana. But that's later.

Korčula is alleged to be the birthplace of Marco Polo, but that debate is not settled.

On the ferry I met Diana and Laurie, an Ozzie couple from Margaret River who were also disembarking at Korčula. They had driven down from Zagreb and were now travelling up the coast. We lunched together in the town and then started our search for lodging. I took one B&B that was closer to town that they had passed up because I wanted to be within walking distance of dinner later. This is the view looking back toward the town. Note again the crystal clear water.

In the middle of my afternoon siesta, Diana and Laurie called by my place to say that they had arranged for a hire car tomorrow to sightsee the island and would I care to join them? Of course, if you'll let me pay a third of the costs, accepting with alacrity. They can also drop me off at the end of the day in Lumbarda, a village a few km outside of Korčula Town, where I have decided to spend a couple of days.

This feral cat was worried I might want some of its dinner. I was actually quite far away, this was a telephoto shot. And the fish was wrapped in an Italian newspaper, wonder how that happened.

There is actually a restaurant inside this remnant of a tower, but I settled for one inside the old town. The tall blonde Croatian waitress laughed at me when I finally plonked myself down at one of her tables. "I saw you walk past a few times," she said. True, there were many choices and I am fussy. I had mussels with chips. It's magical, eating by candlelight in the street on this breezy evening. I'm sure the other diners in the old town felt the same way. In fact I must have been so diverted that I neglected to take any photos of the old town that evening.

Cavtat

I have decided to take the ferry northwards to the island of Korčula on Sunday morning. The departure times to the island of Mljet are not suitable. I may try to get to it from Korčula. The Sunday ferry is in fact the same ferry that brought me here, on its second run of the week. It travels all the way to Rijeka near the top of Croatia and back to Bari twice a week. A sea highway, in effect. If I don't take this ferry, I will have to either wait until Thursday, take a different ferry, or take land transport. And I prefer a ferry to a bus. You can walk around, enjoy the fresh air, take meals and in general feel freer than on a bus.

There is no sign of Manuel or Erica. Maybe they decided to stay on longer. The reason I mentioned them is because I had ruled out Montenegro when planning the trip, and I was curious to know what it was like. (Note from the future: I seem to remember that I was not sure about consular representation in Australia as Serbia and Montenegro had split the year before. Now that I've read that Podgorica is in a beautiful location and that Casino Royale was partly filmed there, I wish I had tried harder. Maybe if I had gone anyway, they might have issued me a visa at the border. One never says: I wish I had taken less photos, I wish I had tried less foods, or I wish I had visited less places. One regrets more the things one did not do.)

Inspite of its world heritage status, Dubrovnik is only a small city, with about 40,000 inhabitants. About the size of an Australian suburb. So I decided to spend today, Saturday, at nearby Cavtat. The bus took some hair-raising bends leaving Dubrovnik by the coastal road but the views out of the bus window were terrific, as this shot looking back at the old city shows.

Cavtat has a pretty bay, and the water is the clearest that I have seen on this trip so far.

That really is the bottom of the bay you are looking at through the water. I took a table at the kiosk in the picture and had a coffee, savouring the breeze.

A walk around the promontory brought me back to the town centre. Not that there was much danger of getting lost. Cavtat has several beach restaurants and I had a nice cuttlefish risotto.

A new bus station was being built and I fear that this will be the end of obscurity for Cavtat and it will be visited more in future.

The return trip in mid-afternoon was not so scenic as the air had acquired moisture, making vistas hazier.

I played a mental game with myself, designing a country which would be the perfect destination. It would have scenery like Switzerland or Croatia. Food would be like Italy or Malaysia or Hong Kong. Public services would be like Switzerland. Beaches would be like the south of Portugal or Australia. Hotels would be like in France. Music would be like in Brazil. Costs would be like in Malaysia. And people? Well, I think people are friendly pretty much everywhere.

Dubrovnik

The ferry passage included breakfast and I made sure to be one of the first to finish because I wanted to be on deck entering the harbour. I had a feeling that the combination of dawn light, sea and the mountains of Croatia would be picturesque and I was not wrong.

Dubrovnik (Italian: Ragusa), the Pearl of the Adriatic, is in Dalmatia, near the pointy southern end of Croatia. Here the mountains come close to the sea, providing a dramatic backdrop to the coast.

There are many islands off the coast, and these are just as photogenic. I really like boat trips, and I prefer them, and train trips, over sterile plane trips.

This bridge is named after Franjo Tuđman, the first president of Croatia after the breakup of Yugoslavia.

The water was so calm and its surface mirror-like. Wouldn't you like to live in one of those houses?

Passport control was perfunctory. As Croatia is not part of the Eurozone, I had to get some kuna (meaning marten pelt) from an ATM.

Before Google maps, one could pore over paper maps for hours, trying to imagine the terrain, but nothing ever quite prepares you for the reality. The hostel was near the top of a steep hill and I had to pause for breath several times. Spectacular views though.

When I had checked in and plonked myself down at one of the refectory tables to rehydrate, who should I spot there but Jeanette, the Australian woman from the Bologna hostel who had been robbed of her bag. So she had decided to press on, after all.

I got into a conversation with Manuel, a Mexican backpacker, whose English was very good. He, an English backpacker, and a couple of Dutch girls were going to the beach and he invited me along. Sure, why not? I have absolutely no plans for this day, intending only to recover from sleep loss from waking at 0530. I had also lost an hour crossing the Adriatic eastwards. The hostel is west of the walled city while the beach is east, so we had to pass through the city. It was thick with tourists. I made a mental note to start my sightseeing early tomorrow and beat the crowds and the heat.

This dog took a liking to our party and hung around us. The beach is pebbly and painful to walk on without footwear. Relatively few of Croatia's beaches are sandy. I had a go in the water but jumped out quickly because it was something like 15C. The curvy Dutch girls were better protected against the cold.

Around lunchtime, I headed back for a siesta. On the way I enquired at a travel agency about ferries north.

In the evening, I came down to find Jeanette regaling Manuel with immigration stories (she had worked for a government department). Manuel and a group of others were going for dinner in the old city so I was invited again. Dinner was at alfresco tables.

After that we decamped to a loud Irish bar where I chatted with Erica, a backpacker from Quebec. Around midnight I left the party. It was a pleasant walk in the cool night. Along the way I passed this lovely hotel.

Even though it's past midnight, there are still people at the open-air tables at the cafes below the hostel, enjoying the cool air. What a life. I've had one too many beers so I missed the passageway to the hostel. Whoopsie. Some people at the tables pointed me to the correct entrance.

Trani and Bari

One benefit of staying in a hotel is the buffet breakfast, when available. I took full advantage of this. With two cups of cappuccino running in my veins, I bounced out of the hotel to wander in other parts of the port before the day got too hot. In the south one has to take more care with broken pavements and even less orderly traffic.

Trani's main monument is the cathedral, dedicated to S. Nicola. Maybe I should have paid him some respect in his house, because he was to cause me trouble later that evening.

Here is the fort of Trani.

Posters in the city publicised that this was Europe Day. On this day in 1950, France's foreign minister, Robert Schuman, proposed the unification of coal and iron production in France and Germany under a single body. This was the precursor of what was to become the European Union.

As I would not get a chance to shower until Croatia, I did so before checking out. I arrived in Bari around 1800 and at this hour the bus platforms outside the train station were teeming with people going every direction. Since I had until 2000 to board the ferry, I went looking for Internet access as I didn't know what how widespread it would be in Croatia. I found it in a laundromat. Nice combination: check your email while your clothes tumble. They told me that bus 20, the one that goes to the ferry terminus, went past a couple of streets away. But after a bit of walking I wasn't so sure anymore, so I retraced my steps to the bus station.

At the enquiry counter, the clerk, in reply to my question, said slowly to make sure I understood: 20 barrato, meaning 20/, the route going in the opposite direction of 20. In Europe, the bar or slash is a mark that commonly denotes the negation of something. For example, at the town limit of Anacapri, you will see a road sign with Anacapri and a bar running across it.

The 1925 bus didn't appear. Finally the 2005 bus turned up but the driver chatted with colleagues for 10 minutes before setting off. As the bus reached the middle of town, we hit a huge traffic jam. It was the last day of the Festival of S. Nicola. Yes, the same one called Santa Claus elsewhere. And Bari is his hometown. The bus diverted left and right to avoid blocked-off streets. Even the Italian backpackers were confused. At one stop, a whole crowd of celebrants got on. Like me they had no idea where they would get off, they were just trying to get closer to the celebrations any way they could. Luckily the bus driver knew we backpackers were going to the ferry and told us that he would announce when to get off.

All that delay had eaten into my safety margin and I was so flustered that as soon as we reached the port, I walked towards the ferry, only to be stopped at the loading ramp by officials. No, no, you have to go back, they said. Ma dov'e? I cried in frustration. They pointed me to the immigration building. Ah, stupid me, if I had been thinking I would have realised that there would be some formalities. So after walking back and getting my passport stamped, I boarded a shuttle bus which took me to where I had been 15 minutes ago, but this time in the right queue. All that exertion on a humid evening had soaked me in sweat. Anyway I was safe now, it was 2130 and there was half an hour to spare. In fact the ferry departed 30 minutes late; perhaps some passengers had been delayed by the traffic.

But we did get to see fireworks over the city at the conclusion of the S. Nicola holiday, so the saint did give us a good send-off in the end.

Up on the deck, under garish fluorescent lights, passengers were cooling off in the breeze and refreshing themselves with amber fluids.

My cabin is deep in the bowels of the ship. I have the whole 2 bunk cabin to myself. The low hum of the engines pervades the whole space. Time to use the ear plugs. It was soothing in a way, because it drowned out any surprising noises, and I slept well on the crossing.

Trani

The train compartment was warm and humid when I entered as it had been a hot day in Bologna. A fellow passenger opened the window a crack to let cool air in and the temperature dropped agreeably over the night. I awoke around 0430, and did my ablutions before anyone else then watched the scenery slide past as the day dawned. The Apuglian landscape was visibly different from Emilia Romagna's. Where the vegetation had been pastel greens, they were now saturated colours. They appeared spikier and more robust. The land was harder, and walls of stone formed boundaries. The light was brighter and harsher. Occasionally we passed prosperous housing estates, and billboards like Ikea's showed that some people at least, were plugged into the consumer society.

Around 0630 we arrived at Bari. I had a coffee in the station bar then rested in the waiting room, listening to the Powaqaatsi soundtrack, until it was time to find the ferry agent office. The manager, who was the first arrival, let me in to await the clerk handling the Croazia bookings. I wondered what business was like years ago when the Balkan wars were raging, and cross-Adriatic services were suspended. I suppose there were still the services with Greece.

Ticket secured, I caught the train back to Trani, nominally 45 minutes north by train. Only it was 55 minutes because it was the milk run. The hotel had received my Internet reservation and I had a long-overdue shower and nap.

Trani is a smaller and more picturesque place than Bari, which is a working city and port, at one end of the Greece-Italy route. Visitors usually just pass through to points west and north. Trani attracts pleasure craft and holiday-makers.

For lunch I chose an alfresco restaurant offering a fish menu. Looking at people at the other tables it seemed that the chef was giving each customer a slightly different variation for the primo piatto. I got pasta shells and shellfish. When the bill was settled, they were 2€ short of change so they knocked that amount off the bill. Just like that.

In the evening, after a siesta, I joined the populace in the evening passeggiata, exploring the port fortifications. I got noticed more here than up north I think because foreign visitors are rarer.

I took this picture by propping my camera against the wall of a B&B place in the port. The owner had a look at what I had captured and approved. We then got into a conversation, the usual where are you from, where are you going and so forth. Why didn't you stay at my place, he asked, as I was leaving. Perhaps next time, I said, laughing.

At the gelateria a couple insisted when it was my turn. Polite people here.

It's my first hotel room since the beginning of the journey and it came with a TV, of course. After midnight, a public station put on a, um, saucy movie from the US, dubbed. I had read about this sort of programming and now I was witnessing it. It was bizarre in that it seemed to be a mashup of two movies and the storyline made absolutely no sense as a result. Not that these movies have much of a storyline to start with. The other fascinating thing was that the commercial breaks advertised mundane things like household goods. Maybe Italian couples need all the encouragement they can get to do something about the plummeting birth rate, close to the lowest in the West. If so I don't think it helps. The reasons are not hard to discover and have to do with women being in the workforce, housework, and willingness or not of the partners to share chores.