Tag Archives: travel blog

Are There Others in the World? — Split, Croatia

Leave a reply

The write ups of Diocletian’s Palace on travel forums reflect the contradiction of a main tourist attraction that both doesn’t exist and is always open. After looking up the Palace on online maps and searching for opening hours and entry fees, we figured out that Split’s main attraction is…Split. There is no actual palace.

The Palace is instead a set of ruins from 305 AD that daily life has taken over. Now filled with hotels, shops, restaurants and a fish market or two, the Old Town of Split is the Palace, walled in with three main gates for access: Golden, Silver and Iron, all of which are made of stone. Well, the arches are stone, presumably the original gates were made of namesake materials. The Golden gate is presided over by the enormous statue of Grgur Ninski, a medieval bishop who brought Catholic masses to the masses by translating them from Latin to Croatian. He looks like a giant wizard, which I suppose is fitting enough. The fourth wall of the grounds doesn’t have a gate as such as Diocletian wanted swim up (boat up) access so built his palace, really his retirement home, right on the water. Reclaimed land on that side has become the modern day Riva promenade.

Among the warren of streets, there is a central square with cathedral, bell tower and men dressed up as centurions in a classier, European version of Times Square superheroes. Walking away from that square we turned down a side street and passed a cafe. I heard my name just as a friend from Vancouver walked up beside me. We’d recently realized we’d be in Croatia at the same time but expected it to be a few days away in a different city. So now I can take credit for introducing her to Froggyland.

Type “off the beaten path” along with any city into Google and do whatever comes up — in Split it was Froggyland. A tragedy that photos were prohibited, words can’t do it justice, but you can see some pictures on their site, froggyland.net. A hundred years ago, a Hungarian taxidermist caught 507 frogs in his local swamp, and over 10 years stuffed and made little dioramas of them in human situations: frogs playing poker; frogs on parallel bars; frog musicians playing songs for drunk frog brothers; and with greatest irony, frogs doing the high jump. 507 frogs. 507. It’s bizarre (frogs shackled and tortured in a frog inquisition) and amusing (a frog classroom with frog students whacking each other over the head with rulers, and bored frogs with their heads in their flippers).

The Hungarian was a taxidermy legend. There are no seams so he deboned, stuffed and wired them internally though their mouths, without cutting them open. Modern taxidermists are agog. The best part was when the attendant introduced the exhibit with great pride, “This is the largest collection in the world!” My sister paused and asked gently, “Are there, uh, others in the world?”

Hvar You Doing? — Hvar Island, Croatia

Leave a reply

When people first get to Split they immediately book a boat to an island. Or so it seems, judging by the excursion kiosks stretching along the Riva into the horizon. Not a reflection on Split, I hoped.

Hvar (pronounced fast like “HowAre you doing?) was our choice for an island hop. It won out based on ferry schedules despite its reputation as a party island.

There should be more synonyms for narrow, crooked, picturesque, cobblestone streets. Hvar added in hills, more churches and multiple monasteries. And met what must be a federally mandated ratio of restaurants and gelato places to Hawaiian shirt-loving tourists.

Being a scientific family, we marched to the tourist info office for a list of sights, which I proceeded to check off with a pen once we had wrestled the map from the attendant. The tourist office was a small room a sole person standing behind a desk. No brochures, only a pad of those placemat mats. The attendant seemed annoyed that we were there and exasperated that we asked any questions at all. Sightseeing seemed to be for show, in any case, as only one of the eight attractions we came across was open to the public. We peered faithfully into the windows of locked churches and monasteries; glanced up at the fortress a Grouse Grind away; and pondered the bizarre coupling of the theatre/armoury before moving on. It was more of an excuse to wander the streets eating ice cream which was fine by me.

Very meta, we caught a water taxi from Hvar Island to another island for a day trip within a day trip. We by-passed the nude beach in our quest for a sandy one. Croatians cleverly make use of any terrain for a beach: cement jetties, sea walls, rocky outcrops where they precariously perch plastic loungers, cliff tops and small strips of sand just big enough for a half a dozen people to lie side by side like sardines. We chose sardine beach but perched ourselves on nearby rocks instead. The cove was ringed by stone retaining walls and trees and filled with turquoise water that sparked when the sun shone on it. Cold, though. It took a friendly Italian tourist hooking my arm to haul me out bodily, likely tired of watching me mince my way around the sharp rocks in my bid to come out. It wasn’t a less painful way to emerge, just quicker.

We finished the day eating local Croatian cuisine (i.e. Italian, more on that later) and hopped back on the ferry to Split back home. Just as the party people arrived.

More is More is More — Zadar, Croatia

Leave a reply

Despite only coming to Croatia for 10 days, we have six towns on the agenda. The less-is-more philosophy is hard to follow when traveling.

The Old Town of Zadar is walled in to keep out marauders of old and cars of new. Pedestrian-only streets of cobblestone are worn to shiny so that they look wet in the evening light. The largest street, Kalelarga, means literally “large street.” It is lined with clothing shops and outdoor restaurants. The parallel streets on either side have the cheaper tourist shops and kiosks.

Walking around the crooked side streets, we stumbled onto cozy restaurants with outside seating, raised patios and courtyards. And tourist prices. But while the servers are few and generally harried, they let you linger at the end of the meal to the point where you forget to pay and get up to leave.

Other than walking the streets, there are 14 churches to see in this small area, the oldest of which dates back to the 9th century. We decided to defer entry until the internal light show started at 8 pm, feeling lucky that we’d timed it right based on the poster proclaiming, “Only two days left.” Turns out 9th century architecture can charitably be described as smooth (simple, bare, unadorned, minimalist, upright) and the light show was similarly unprepossessing, consisting of a multitude of office projectors powered by snaking cords, projecting what looked like Celtic designs on the various blank walls. The most interesting part was an unseen pigeon caught in a projector’s beam and magnified to horror-like proportions.

But what Zadar is known for is the sea organ. Made up of slits in the cement sea wall and strategically placed blow holes, the waves roll in to produce a pan pipe-like music combined with whale sounds that rises dramatically when a boat’s wake sends the sea crashing against the wall.

The 30+ degree heat mocked my assertion that I wasn’t interested in swimming or beaches and had me and my sister jumping into the Adriatic to cool off. Very salty. And almost as buoyant as the Dead Sea, so I was able to float vertically, standing up, without having to tread water, much.

To cap off the moment, we pulled ourselves back out of the water to see the sunset perform a crazy sun salutation light show across what looked like an electrical grid sunk into the ground. The rays heat up metal veins that activate mini lights of blue, green, purple, red, making them dance across the large circle. With the sea organ quiet at first, then loud and insistent as the waves roll in, church bells pealing and the grid’s lights set off by the wonder of physics, Zadar more than surpasses the often lukewarm write-ups as not being a picture-postcard town. And made me eager for the rest of Croatia. More is more is more.

Ne Koala — Zagreb, Croatia

Leave a reply

The travel writing book I’m reading begs me to avoid the “I woke up at X, then ate breakfast at Y before having lunch at Z” syndrome. One technique, the author offers, is to write your day in five sentences. So here is my 5-part attempt, although I’m liberating myself from the actual sentence count.

1. Despite having six devices between us, Mom, my sister and I met in Heathrow Terminal 2 at a predetermined location, old school. Some textual challenges getting the messages to come out on the right device with the right app but we’ve figured it out now. This is the family portion of the trip although we are a member short. It’s a milestone birthday for Mom and we’ve assured her that Croatia will make her the coolest traveler among her set. Although I mentioned this being a seniors tour in a previous post, I can’t keep it up in good conscience since Mom can outlast me in stamina and probably outrun me in a foot race. And my sister? No contest. I’m just hoping she doesn’t make us go camping or sea kayaking or rock climbing or spelunking. Now that I reread this, I don’t think she is going to have much fun.

2. Airline apologies have gotten cagier. The plane took off 90 mins late and the pilot’s apology was “We are sorry for the delay. It was either due to the late arrival of the aircraft or actions of the Heathrow air traffic control.” Is that how it works now? Multiple choice apologies? If so, there should be a formula for the options: a) a white lie that makes you sound blameless; b) throw the nearest person under the bus; c) the truth, “completely my fault and here’s why.”

3. I’m looking forward to the food in Croatia based on the airplane snack. Instead of a small bag of dry pretzels, we received a tidy box with cheese and olives in oil, although that just made the cheese taste like olives, and bagel-crisp-like crackers that listed the second ingredient as white wine. Just as champagne brings out the flavour of strawberries or the other way around, free airline white wine brings out the flavour of white wine crackers. Especially when the flight attendant empties the bottle into your glass, because really, there isn’t enough for the person beside you.

4. I slacked on homework to learn even the basics of please and thank you in Croatian. I was reminded of that as we boarded the plane and paused by the flight attendant greeter while waiting for the line to move. My sister pointed to a sign by the door in Croatian with lots of accents and u’s. I said, insightfully,”Oh, wow!” The flight attendant, surprised, “Can you read that in Croatian?” I put on my best, most resolute voice and said, “It says the door must be closed before the plane can take off.” The flight attendant was taken aback but I’ll have a harder time when signs don’t have the English translation right there below the Croatian.

5. As a corollary to #4, I went to the back room of the Zagreb hotel to pay the bill and was chatting with the manager/owner (desk clerk?). He taught me yes (da), no (ne), please (molin) and thanks (sounds like koala with a bit of throat clearing). I asked his name and was practicing different phrases. Probably too enthusiastically as he asked how old I was and when I told him, he said regretfully, “You’re too old for me.” I guess I should dial back chatting up the hotel staff, or practice the phrase, “Ne, koala.”

Come On! Just Go Already! — London, England

Leave a reply

An elderly couple tripped on my heels as Zone 1 boarding was called. When I looked back, they smiled and said, “We’re just following the people who look the richest.” We all automatically glanced down at my faded t-shirt, sweats and scruffy Toms, the closest legitimate shoe to a slipper. “Well, you look like you know where you are going,” they amended. In my defence, I paid extra to get a seat that turns into a bed. Wearing the closest thing I could find to pyjamas just makes sense.

I was boarding business class on a flight to Heathrow, thanks to an upgrade offer I couldn’t refuse and an enormous talent for rationalization, i.e. will I regret paying the extra money in two years. My fellow passengers are on a seniors tour. I’m sort of starting one myself: the coming leg is present from my sister and me for my mother’s 80th birthday. But first, a quick overnight in London to meet up with friends, Brits I worked with in Brazil the summer of 2012. I’m hoping to re-enact our Brazilian cabs rides, singing along to Call Me Maybe on the radio every morning on the ride into work, but really it is just dinner.

London has changed a bit since I was last here. The baggage carousel now has sensors on the chutes so luggage waits patiently for a break in conveyor belt traffic before making a dash for it. Even baggage forms neat queues in England now. Timid bags wait overlong on the edge of the feeder lane despite large spaces on the belt. I found myself rooting for those. And like an anxious parent, hoped my bag would be well-behaved and not fling itself mindlessly on top of another bag, outing itself as embarrassingly North American. Of course, after 30 min, came the carousel rage, “Come on, bag! Just go already!”

But suitcase in hand, one broken Tube, an express train and two underground lines later, I made my way to the overpriced hotel near Kings Cross which I would charitably describe as stable-like. I’m in the equivalent of the servants’ quarters, listed euphemistically as a triple room. I’ll concede that three people could lie down side by side in the room but that is about it.

My reunion dinner was a mix of great food, liberal libations, fond reminiscing and interesting updates: marriage, engagements, new jobs, and someone bought a farm (in a good way, with sheep and chickens). Fun and fascinating and a reminder of how connecting with people melts the years away.

And best of all, my friends redefined my strategy of rationalization. Instead of using a 2 yr measure of regret, they employ the Deathbed Challenge. By that rule, I can see a lot more perks in my future. I don’t intend to regret.

Tomorrow starts the Croatia portion with family before meeting up with a friend for Turkey, Budapest and Krakow. When I’m on my deathbed, will I second-guess breaking my trip to meet up with my London friends for one night only? Not a chance. Come on! Just go already!