Croatia: The superlative edition. (It's not purple, it's lavenda).
September 2014
It was the afternoon of our product design oral exam. After my presentation I was handed a note:
My uncle died.
Funeral tomorrow.
Thinking of driving over (7 hour trip, leave by 7pm)
8:30pm I was in Soronno, I met Tanja, Bea and Souhair on the platform. We took the Malpensa express, sensa tickets and at the airport we picked up our hired fiat, Croatia bound.
Tanja took the first leg. I took over in a service station, an hour from Verona, heading towards Venice. My first experience driving on the right side was on a freeway, travelling alongside semi-trailers at 130 km/h. I remembered my father tirelessly teaching me to keep to the left side of the laneway - 15 years ago when I was on my L plates. It turns out that 15 years of conditioning is hard to undo. I thought the problem would be in knowing where to turn, but the real challenge was realigning myself to the left-hand drive position.
As I don't have a licence here, and my Aussie one is expired, Tanja was to take over before we crossed the border into Slovenia. Before we knew what was happening, we drove right through the border and made it - there were no officials. We swapped again before hitting the Croatia border, which was lucky, as this one was maned and the lady wanted to see all our documents. This took a little longer for Souhair's Lebanese documents, with the official requesting extra information.
It was the early hours of the morning before I took the wheel again. The streets were magical - foggy and beautiful despite the fatigue that had set in by 5am. The girls, who had done their best to stay awake keeping the drivers company, had crashed out by this stage. It was just me, the fog, and our servo sourced Gloria Gaynor CD. Nevertheless, we survived.
We arrived in Zadar at around 8, so the trip was 11 hours, stopping only for toilet breaks. Exhausted but relieved we met Nada, Tanja's best friend's mum. She has an Australian accent and manner very typical of her generation, hence reminding me of my grandmothers, who are long passed.
The funeral was at four, in Vrana, and I managed a few hours sleep which was a godsend. In Croatia the coffin is carried from the house to the grave and it seemed the entire town was there to witness it. The procession was quite moving. The church at the graveyard was totally full and we, the colour girls support group, plus many others, hung back in the cemetery and overhearing the songs, bells tolling, and people speaking.
Then, bouquets were carried out from the church and not long later came the family with the coffin, which was covered by the national flag. There were more speeches. During these I suddenly heard a group of men yelling loudly in Croatian. It was quiet confusing, as if the Westboro Baptist church had arrived, until the first gunfire, which was followed by more commands and shots fired into the air. Tanja’s uncle had been in the army. When the coffin was lowered into the grave the widow, who was standing only by the support of the two women flanking her, erupted in tears. It was by far the most dramatic funeral I have ever attended. I really felt the ritual supporting the exit of this man from the physical world.
Afterwards, Bea, Souhair and I were going to head back to Zadar, leaving Tanja to her business, but at the last minute we were invited into the family’s house, and ended up attending the wake. The house was very traditional, white walls with dark wooden beams on the ceiling. We ate from a giant silver plate full of the freshest, healthiest lamb I have ever tasted. Meat was all that was served other that some bread and a few spring onions. There was also homemade Croatian wine and beer. We managed some chit chat with a family member who spoke Italian.
After all this we went back to our residence with Rooster, Nada's partner. They had lived together in Australia for about 50 years, despite both being from this small part of Croatia. He told me all the places he had lived: Canberra, Mt Gambia, St Albans, all over. He was a lovely man despite being a Collingwood supporter. The girls went into the town for the night but I was so exhausted and not feeling so human after the epic drive, so I went to sleep. I slept for 12 hours.
In the morning Tanja met us at the house and we drove to Biograd. We took a coffee on a balcony with an ocean view, and, more importantly, wifi.
Souhair.
Next we headed to lunch with Tanja’s cousin - Gordon. Zlatko is married to Gordon who is Roja’s daughter - Tanja’s dad’s sister.
Here, we were really spoilt. Roja didn’t speak any English but she tried to adopt us anyway. The food was off the hook. We started with zucchini soup and graduated to a giant seafood dish cooked on a grill in the open brick oven in the shed.
So much of the produce was fresh and handmade, such as the olive oil. This was multi-award winning olive oil (we saw the trophies), and the girls agreed it was the best olive oil they had tasted. Between you and me, it was actually the second most delicious olive oil I have ever tasted, although I didn’t say that ;). The best olive oil I have ever had, hands down, was at a restaurant in Lago di Garda (Italy). This olive oil was like nectar from the gods - it was so good that I consumed bread with it. I could have savoured that stuff from a wine glass (yes, I considered it).
Really, I mean it when I say I have never had squid that good in my life, and I was born on an island continent. While we were eating we were graced with various liquors, such as a homemade fortified cherry wine. After the amazing meal we had a tour of the garden to see the different varieties of olive trees, from which they had made the olive oil, and the other weird and wonderful things that were growing there.
Roja and her fortified cherry wine.
After lunch we set out for a lookout on top of a mountain, there is a well there where bodies were dumped in WW2, and now it is a memorial site. From this national park you can see the archipelago. It was beautiful. The terrain was all rocky with lots of right angles. All the rocks were white. I don't know if it is the rocks, the air or the sea but Croatia has this clean, fresh, and strongly revitalising energy to it.
Beatriz.
I’ve typed archipelago so many times I might have to put on some Vibrasphere.
As the afternoon rolled into evening we drove for dinner with Tanja’s uncles. First we had to drop off some tomatoes and pick up the chicken that had been cooked in the Peka from a place down the road. The Peka looked like what I can only describe as the biggest barbeque I have ever seen. We met some more of Tanja’s relatives before heading to the family house where Tanja’s uncles lived.
There we had an interesting night of political “discussion” between Tanja’s uncle and Souhair, all of which was translated by Tanja. Wine was consumed and chicken was eaten. There were also potatoes that had been cooked with the meat. Sweet lord, there is no better argument against vegetarianism than Croatia with Tanja. Seriously. Rooster says the meat is the best in the world because of the type of grass and grain there.
Photos at Tanja's uncles' house.
The political debate was quite intense, and I retired early, being a non-drinking thirty-something, but I did not sleep straight away. I was awake long enough to hear the delightful cries of a few crazy ladies screaming in Spanish outside of our window. I think I made the right decision. I awoke early, being the thirty-something non-drinking AND suddenly protein consuming woman that I was, but let’s say that one or two of the others took a little more time to rise and shine.
When they did, we went to the Adriatic Sea, near the love island (a heart shaped island) for a quick dip. I am a big fan of trying out new seas, and this one is almost on par with my favourite to date, the Arabian Sea. The beach, which is normally chock-full of tourists, was practically empty despite a very fortunate spell of good weather gracing Croatia that late September weekend. Summer pushed out the last of what she had as we swam in the crystalline water which caught and refracted the sunrays onto a rock laden sea bed beneath us. Truly glorious.
That was Sunday, basically. I’m not really sure what else we did that day. I drove the car on my own for the first time, and totally freaked out thinking that I was on the wrong side of the road entering a highway; I wasn’t, everything was fine. Just after this I thought I was sure I was going in the right direction when a bicycle appeared heading towards me, also freaking me out, but again, I was in the right - pun intended.
To finish it all off we headed back to Zadar to catch the highlight of the town - the Sea Organ. We had no idea what a sea organ was, all we knew was that Tanja insisted that we go there while she hung back. We hurried but made it on time to catch a fucking incredible sunset - “the most beautiful in the world” according to Alfred Hitchcock. The sea organ is a giant (70 meters long) musical instrument installed into the concrete and marble oceanway that uses the undulations in the water to create air pressure. It plays the sea.
It was so relaxing. Zadar would be a very nice spot to do some writing. There was also a cool lighting installation, called the "Greeting to the Sun". It absorbs light during the day then releases it at night.
After sunset we wandered the city. I had not seen it yet as I was sleeping when the girls went. I found and purchased some marochino liquour for Ale. The marble streets and cute shops were very nice at nightime; we ended up at a tourist bar with really nice lighting design. It was basically an outdoor venue with all kinds of different spaces, knooks, and cranies. It was a fun to explore, especially with my colour girls, and I am sure it would go off in full season. We found a hill with a lookout and sat there smoking cigarettes.
Eventually, we finally retired for the long trip back to cold, rainy Milan. We did manage to stop for lunch in Trieste (the city Mauricio’s father is from) before I drove us through a surprise monsoon. I’ve driven through some crazy weather before, but this was some full force torrential rain and it was quite dangerous. The road was underwater but we didn’t aquaplane. It didn’t let up for a few hours, slowing us down, but we made it, with just enough time to turn in the car and crash out - ready for uni the next day!
Trieste.
It was the afternoon of our product design oral exam. After my presentation I was handed a note:
My uncle died.
Funeral tomorrow.
Thinking of driving over (7 hour trip, leave by 7pm)
8:30pm I was in Soronno, I met Tanja, Bea and Souhair on the platform. We took the Malpensa express, sensa tickets and at the airport we picked up our hired fiat, Croatia bound.
Tanja took the first leg. I took over in a service station, an hour from Verona, heading towards Venice. My first experience driving on the right side was on a freeway, travelling alongside semi-trailers at 130 km/h. I remembered my father tirelessly teaching me to keep to the left side of the laneway - 15 years ago when I was on my L plates. It turns out that 15 years of conditioning is hard to undo. I thought the problem would be in knowing where to turn, but the real challenge was realigning myself to the left-hand drive position.
As I don't have a licence here, and my Aussie one is expired, Tanja was to take over before we crossed the border into Slovenia. Before we knew what was happening, we drove right through the border and made it - there were no officials. We swapped again before hitting the Croatia border, which was lucky, as this one was maned and the lady wanted to see all our documents. This took a little longer for Souhair's Lebanese documents, with the official requesting extra information.
It was the early hours of the morning before I took the wheel again. The streets were magical - foggy and beautiful despite the fatigue that had set in by 5am. The girls, who had done their best to stay awake keeping the drivers company, had crashed out by this stage. It was just me, the fog, and our servo sourced Gloria Gaynor CD. Nevertheless, we survived.
We arrived in Zadar at around 8, so the trip was 11 hours, stopping only for toilet breaks. Exhausted but relieved we met Nada, Tanja's best friend's mum. She has an Australian accent and manner very typical of her generation, hence reminding me of my grandmothers, who are long passed.
The funeral was at four, in Vrana, and I managed a few hours sleep which was a godsend. In Croatia the coffin is carried from the house to the grave and it seemed the entire town was there to witness it. The procession was quite moving. The church at the graveyard was totally full and we, the colour girls support group, plus many others, hung back in the cemetery and overhearing the songs, bells tolling, and people speaking.
Then, bouquets were carried out from the church and not long later came the family with the coffin, which was covered by the national flag. There were more speeches. During these I suddenly heard a group of men yelling loudly in Croatian. It was quiet confusing, as if the Westboro Baptist church had arrived, until the first gunfire, which was followed by more commands and shots fired into the air. Tanja’s uncle had been in the army. When the coffin was lowered into the grave the widow, who was standing only by the support of the two women flanking her, erupted in tears. It was by far the most dramatic funeral I have ever attended. I really felt the ritual supporting the exit of this man from the physical world.
Afterwards, Bea, Souhair and I were going to head back to Zadar, leaving Tanja to her business, but at the last minute we were invited into the family’s house, and ended up attending the wake. The house was very traditional, white walls with dark wooden beams on the ceiling. We ate from a giant silver plate full of the freshest, healthiest lamb I have ever tasted. Meat was all that was served other that some bread and a few spring onions. There was also homemade Croatian wine and beer. We managed some chit chat with a family member who spoke Italian.
After all this we went back to our residence with Rooster, Nada's partner. They had lived together in Australia for about 50 years, despite both being from this small part of Croatia. He told me all the places he had lived: Canberra, Mt Gambia, St Albans, all over. He was a lovely man despite being a Collingwood supporter. The girls went into the town for the night but I was so exhausted and not feeling so human after the epic drive, so I went to sleep. I slept for 12 hours.
In the morning Tanja met us at the house and we drove to Biograd. We took a coffee on a balcony with an ocean view, and, more importantly, wifi.
Souhair.
Next we headed to lunch with Tanja’s cousin - Gordon. Zlatko is married to Gordon who is Roja’s daughter - Tanja’s dad’s sister.
Here, we were really spoilt. Roja didn’t speak any English but she tried to adopt us anyway. The food was off the hook. We started with zucchini soup and graduated to a giant seafood dish cooked on a grill in the open brick oven in the shed.
So much of the produce was fresh and handmade, such as the olive oil. This was multi-award winning olive oil (we saw the trophies), and the girls agreed it was the best olive oil they had tasted. Between you and me, it was actually the second most delicious olive oil I have ever tasted, although I didn’t say that ;). The best olive oil I have ever had, hands down, was at a restaurant in Lago di Garda (Italy). This olive oil was like nectar from the gods - it was so good that I consumed bread with it. I could have savoured that stuff from a wine glass (yes, I considered it).
Really, I mean it when I say I have never had squid that good in my life, and I was born on an island continent. While we were eating we were graced with various liquors, such as a homemade fortified cherry wine. After the amazing meal we had a tour of the garden to see the different varieties of olive trees, from which they had made the olive oil, and the other weird and wonderful things that were growing there.
Roja and her fortified cherry wine.
After lunch we set out for a lookout on top of a mountain, there is a well there where bodies were dumped in WW2, and now it is a memorial site. From this national park you can see the archipelago. It was beautiful. The terrain was all rocky with lots of right angles. All the rocks were white. I don't know if it is the rocks, the air or the sea but Croatia has this clean, fresh, and strongly revitalising energy to it.
Beatriz.
I’ve typed archipelago so many times I might have to put on some Vibrasphere.
As the afternoon rolled into evening we drove for dinner with Tanja’s uncles. First we had to drop off some tomatoes and pick up the chicken that had been cooked in the Peka from a place down the road. The Peka looked like what I can only describe as the biggest barbeque I have ever seen. We met some more of Tanja’s relatives before heading to the family house where Tanja’s uncles lived.
There we had an interesting night of political “discussion” between Tanja’s uncle and Souhair, all of which was translated by Tanja. Wine was consumed and chicken was eaten. There were also potatoes that had been cooked with the meat. Sweet lord, there is no better argument against vegetarianism than Croatia with Tanja. Seriously. Rooster says the meat is the best in the world because of the type of grass and grain there.
Photos at Tanja's uncles' house.
The political debate was quite intense, and I retired early, being a non-drinking thirty-something, but I did not sleep straight away. I was awake long enough to hear the delightful cries of a few crazy ladies screaming in Spanish outside of our window. I think I made the right decision. I awoke early, being the thirty-something non-drinking AND suddenly protein consuming woman that I was, but let’s say that one or two of the others took a little more time to rise and shine.
When they did, we went to the Adriatic Sea, near the love island (a heart shaped island) for a quick dip. I am a big fan of trying out new seas, and this one is almost on par with my favourite to date, the Arabian Sea. The beach, which is normally chock-full of tourists, was practically empty despite a very fortunate spell of good weather gracing Croatia that late September weekend. Summer pushed out the last of what she had as we swam in the crystalline water which caught and refracted the sunrays onto a rock laden sea bed beneath us. Truly glorious.
That was Sunday, basically. I’m not really sure what else we did that day. I drove the car on my own for the first time, and totally freaked out thinking that I was on the wrong side of the road entering a highway; I wasn’t, everything was fine. Just after this I thought I was sure I was going in the right direction when a bicycle appeared heading towards me, also freaking me out, but again, I was in the right - pun intended.
To finish it all off we headed back to Zadar to catch the highlight of the town - the Sea Organ. We had no idea what a sea organ was, all we knew was that Tanja insisted that we go there while she hung back. We hurried but made it on time to catch a fucking incredible sunset - “the most beautiful in the world” according to Alfred Hitchcock. The sea organ is a giant (70 meters long) musical instrument installed into the concrete and marble oceanway that uses the undulations in the water to create air pressure. It plays the sea.
It was so relaxing. Zadar would be a very nice spot to do some writing. There was also a cool lighting installation, called the "Greeting to the Sun". It absorbs light during the day then releases it at night.
After sunset we wandered the city. I had not seen it yet as I was sleeping when the girls went. I found and purchased some marochino liquour for Ale. The marble streets and cute shops were very nice at nightime; we ended up at a tourist bar with really nice lighting design. It was basically an outdoor venue with all kinds of different spaces, knooks, and cranies. It was a fun to explore, especially with my colour girls, and I am sure it would go off in full season. We found a hill with a lookout and sat there smoking cigarettes.
Eventually, we finally retired for the long trip back to cold, rainy Milan. We did manage to stop for lunch in Trieste (the city Mauricio’s father is from) before I drove us through a surprise monsoon. I’ve driven through some crazy weather before, but this was some full force torrential rain and it was quite dangerous. The road was underwater but we didn’t aquaplane. It didn’t let up for a few hours, slowing us down, but we made it, with just enough time to turn in the car and crash out - ready for uni the next day!
Trieste.