It's so strange to go from the noise and life of a hostel to the solitude of camping. Parts of my tent are still caked with mud from the Sziget Music Festival and there’s still the slightest scent of vomit lingering. It's nice here; I love my camp sight. I'm right on the beach. I enjoy going to the end of the dock and letting my feet hang into the water while I read or write in my journal. It's so exotic and relaxed.
It wasn't always like this. Miran, a local boy about my age told me stories about life during the war. “All these palm trees, the park...it's all been planted in the last 10 years. This road, it was just a dirt path in the war, we had no money.” He said the campsite I'm staying in now was a refugee camp full of homeless Bosnians. I look around at the turquoise bay and the mountains and wonder if before some palm trees were planted, could people here recognize the natural beauty of this place? Maybe the circumstances didn't lend themselves to it, but I think it's gorgeous here.
I can't figure out Croatian food. I don't think there is a special Croatian meal; it's all Italian food - pizzerias and gelato places, as well as European food and Middle Eastern food, east meets west, baklava and goulash on the same menu.
Split has been lovely: busy markets, Roman ruins, the beach. I'll be saying good-bye tonight and taking a boat to Krocula. My days in Croatia are numbered. I better get organized if I want to see more of the country and still catch my flight from Rijeka on time. I wish this trip didn't have to end!
Thanks for checking in, Lucy
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
1 comment:
I appreciated your description of Bosnia... it sounds lovely.
My only connection to Bosnia are memories of headlines describing a war-torn area and incredible human suffering, so it's comforting to know that things are very different there now.
Post a Comment