Kravike Falls, and back into Croatia

I am now writing from Split, Croatia. It is the last day of our trip. Tomorrow am we head to the airport, then back home thru Paris, with about a five hour layover. Usually I would dread that, but with reports from friends that it took three hours to get through customs, maybe that's not such a bad thing.

On our way here, to Split, we stopped at Kravice Falls, still in Bosnia. Our host in Mostar, when Loring asked whether people swam in the river, was that it was very cold, and that Kravice was a really nice swimming place.

It was, but it was also mobbed, as most everything on this trip has been. I didn't mind,  the waterfalls were beautiful, and amidst them was a lake,  which was filled with bathers of all kinds,  tourists, locals,  daredevil young men,  Muslim women in hijabs and burkas. I've seen women in burkas. full black coverage, go into the ocean before, in Israel,  but none of them did here.

 At first we thought there were no regulations and no lifeguards, but eventually saw a guy in a  canoe whistling at one person for climbing up the rocks to one of the waterfalls. One brief whistle, then he headed to under a tree with some shade and joined another  canoe with a couple of other young men it it.  They didn't seem to be doing much guarding, of lives, falls,  or anything else. 

If one had thought of it as a once pristine set of waterfalls, now overwhelmed by tourists, it could have been annoying and disappointing. But everyone was clearly having so much fun, together in one environment, it was a gathering of people of all kinds, kids going in the water for the  very first time, teenagers, dormant lifeguards, etc.  There were a few cafes, and many people just sitting on the grass and on the concrete, with towels spread out, lunches, etc. It was a fifteen minute hike down.  I had the feeling that many of the people there were local, as well as the myriad tourists.  

We eventually continued on to Split.  I had chosen it over Dubrovnik, because it had sounded like Dubrovnik was absolutely sieged with tourists,  between cruise ships, fans of Game of Thrones, etc.  Well, it's hard to imagine a place more inundated than the old town in Split. Diognenes Palace  is more than a ruin of a castle. It is a veritable  town into itself. It is massive, and a warren of little streets and alleys. Its architectural is impressive, and beautiful. But amidst the falls and alleys are shops,  some junky souvenir stands, lots of high end designer shops, jewelry stores, intermixed with restaurants and ice cream stands.  There were also a number of hostels and hotels within the complex.  A little of everything, and a lot of people. We had to elbow our way through.  Kind of depressing to see an incredible ruined palace turned into a veritable shopping mall. 

Beyond the castle is the waterfront, also lined with cafes, and people selling a variety of boat tours, from hour long to all day cruises with music and food. None of them seemed that interesting, though, because we were pretty sure they involved stops at various tourist places with more souvenir shops.  on one end of the waterfront was the beach we visited twice, and several other beaches after that.  On the other end, past the waterfront cafes and docks, is a park with a big hill, and supposedly stunning views overlooking the city and ocean. But we didn't make it that far.

We have been walking everywhere. Parking is almost impossible in the old part of town. We were incredibly lucky to find someone leaving just as we located our home, (a challenge and a saga in itself) and have left the car there for the entire three days we are herel. We would probably not find another spotif we were to drive anywhere.   We are just outside the palace, less than a 10 minute walk, and about a  15 minute walk to the beach, where we spend a couple of hours both yesterday and this morning.  Our apartment here is great, although tiny, has a small kitchen, bathroom,  bedroom, and a little sofa in the kitchen. There's also a desk in the bedroom, which is  where I am writing from.   Best, there is a large balcony right above us.Our house is just outside the palace walls, but is a different environment entirely. It is largely residential, alathough there are apts for rent mixed in.  The streets are narrow and hard to negotiate, or even to know if they are driveable at all.

I have tended to search for places with views and/or balconies, wherever we go, and have had a great variety of them, from garret studios with a view of the Eiffel Tower,  to a garden with myriad waterfalls surrounding us. in Rakove,  to a porch overlooking the town in Jajce.  

Only problem here, in Split, is that our patio is  in the sun, although there is an umbrella and a couple of lounge chairs. But the heat has been oppressive, everywhere we've gone. It was too hot to sit up there even at 9am today. But by tonite, it should be cool enough again. 

There are at least a couple of museums here in Split, although it may be pushing it too far to call the one we visited yesterday, Froggyland, a museum.  It is a couple of rooms filled with dioramas of stuffed (real) frogs in various activites, like having picnics, logging,  a schoolroom, with student frogs hitting each other with rulers, etc.  It pretty much defies description. I had heard about it a few years ago, on Atlas Obscura or some such site, and then a friend who visited brought me a postcard.  But I had forgotten that it was here, in Split, and would not have remembered if Loring had not mentioned it in reading an online site. I would have been extremely upset if I hadn't realized until we left.

It was all built by one man, 60 or 70 years ago.  I hesitate to  think about whether he used frogs that had already died, or  if the hundreds of them (500 plus in all)  had been sacrified for the cause.  But if you go to Split make sure to see it, you'll never see anything else like it.  And whether you like it or not, you have to admire the guy's creativitiy and skill.  I burst out laughing at pretty much every scene.We took a few pix before getting yelled at, hadn't actually seen the no photos signs. I will post one or two on facebook.

We haven't been doing much cooking here, or on this trip in general. Some of places didn't have kitchens at all.  And the food in Bosnia was so incredibly cheap that it didn't seem worth it ,  it was better to get more chances to sample the local cuisine. We've been having breakfast at home, then a big meal for either lunch or supper, and snacks in between.  The local cuisine features a lot of meat, and I've tried to order other things. But yesterday, we went to a restaurant for lunch that our host had suggested. When we first got here and found the restaurant the first night, there was a long line waiting to get in. So we decided to try to get a reservation the next day, or see if it was less crowded at lunchtime. 


That worked well. The second day there was no line at all, although the tables were mostly filled.  I had a lamb stew with peas, delicious, and Loring ordered the house specialty,  beef cooked overnight in a wine sauce, which came with gnocchi.   I chose "Croatian Swiss Chard" as my side, which was  also delicious.  I think they boiled it first, then cooked it further with olive oiI and spices.)  I gathered that most people order some kind of potato with the stews. I saw people  ladling stew over fries, as well as over mashed potatoes.  Luckily, Loring's had come with a huge bowl of the gnocchi, and I ate at least half of it with my lamb stew. 

There's a bandstand on the waterfront, and we've seen two events there. I am hoping there is something interesting there tonite. The first night, it was traditional women singers, then dancers. It was my first and only encounter with traditional music or dance on this trip.  I was delighted,  and got a couple of videos with the crowd, and a couple of children imitating and doing their own versions of the dancers' moves

 Last night the stage was set up for another event. We waited to see what it was. A  marching band that looked like high school students came from down the street.  That was followed by a lot of men, young and not, all dressed in white sailor uniforms. They filled about half the seats set up, including right next to us. For the next fifteen or twenty minutes, a man, probably the mayor, spoke, and of course we didn't understand a word.  He introduced a variety of men, and one woman, who came up to the stage to plant various flags.  People applauded at each one.  Some were wearing full uniforms, not the white navy ones.  Others were wearing military type shirts with jeans.  One was wearing a tee shirt and jeans, but a military hat.  It was not something we would have seen in the states. 

Eventually, a group of male singers came out and sang what must have been the national anthem, since everyone stood up.  Some people sang along, including the navy man next to me, but most didn't.  The mayor had his hand over  his heart, but most people didn't. I wish I'd been able to understand what was said, and what the occasion was.

We left before the event had ended, and strolled the waterfront, stopping for a fruit smoothie. They are big here, almost as popular as ice cream.  Mine was called hot lips, I think. It was watermelon and lemon. I may have to stop for one last one tonite.  We'll go out again soon, to a museum that we are not sure what to expect of, then probably dinner, and then take a look at the stage again to see if there's a performance tonite. I  imagine there will be, especially since it's Saturday night.  And then, hopefully, we''ll spend an hour or two on our very nice balcony. Which is, by the way, a level above our apt.  you have to go out of the apartment and up a flight of stairs. There's another apartment up there that opens right onto the balcony. So we share the big space with them, each with our own half. I haven't seen any others there, but have heard them, a man and a small kid.  By 8 or 9 pm it will hopefully be cool enough to sit out there.

I hope to write some more reflections about the trip,  and whatever awaits us tonite before we leave early in the am.  Perhaps from the airport or on the plane. 

As I said, we have a long wait between planes in Paris. So maybe then I will finally catch up by writing some highlights of my/our adventures in Paris.

Until then....

Onto Sarajevo, and then to Mostar, in Bosnia-Herzegovina

I went back looking for gaps in my narrative that I wanted to fill in, and discovered that I never published this entry, and it has somehow disappeared.  So I will try to recreate it here, since Sarajevo, especially, was one of the most interesting and poignant parts of our trip.

My major concepts of Bosnia, and particularly Sarajevo and Mostar, before we travelled there, was images and memories of the war in the 1990's, and a book that had been written by a Sarajevo teen, Zlata, who has often been referred to as the Bosnian Ann Frank. I think it's called Zlata's Diary.   She wrote detailed descriptions of her life then, of people dashing out amidst sniper fire for bread and water, of living in fear, without electricity, over many months. The images have always stayed with me, and are part of the reason I wanted to travel there.

Zarajevo is filled with history, not only about the most recent war. It is also where the Archduke Ferdinand was assassinated in 1914, triggering World War I.  It is also a vibrant living city.  If one were to go there without knowing the history, it is likely that she would never realize the scars it . Unless one visits one of the museums dealing with the horrors, or takes a walking tour. Or once one sees the wall of a building riddled with holes, and is told or realizes that they are the result of sniper or shell damage, still unrepaired after 25 years. And once you realize, it is hard not to see everywhere.

We looked and saw, in villages and in the countryside, as well as in Sarajevo and Mostar, destroyed abandoned buildings as well as pockmarked ones.  In some cases the buildings had been attacked, others probably were abandoned when people fled, many of whom never returned to their homes or country.

It is hard to imagine those other times, in fact, at least for me, impossible, no matter how much I try.  I have had similar feelings in places affected by other wars, particularly the Holocaust.  Not just in places like Auschwitz and Dachau, but in mundane places, homes and businesses, from which people had been deported.

One of the first place we visited in Sarajevo was the beautiful city hall building, not far from our apartment.  . We discovered that it was a reproduction, and had only been completed a few years before.  Later, I saw a film at one of the museums that showed the building burning, being totally destroyed, in the 90's war.    It had been built in  the late 19th century, in a semi Arabic style, partly to emphasize the co-existence in the city of people from various backgrounds and religions.  Not only the building, but the vast library of some 2 million books was destroyed that night. And that could not be reconstructed.

The building reproduction was beautiful, though, and a woman in one of the rooms talked to us at length (she seemed thrilled to have visitors)  about a new agency installed there that was dealing with documenting the war crimes.

Later, we joined a free walking tour (I've taken them in other cities, Jerusalem and Berlin.)  The guides depend on tips. This guide, whose name we never found out because we joined it already in progress, was terrific.  He was in his 30's and had been seven when the war began.  It was very moving and enlightening to have a first hand account. He freely talked about his experiences and his beliefs, and encouraged people to ask questions.  He was also adept at keeping much of the tour lighthearted, and balancing the terrible stories with the positive.  He had lived in the basement of his apartment for four years with his family.  They had lived on the eighth floor, too high to be safe. Many people fled before the city was barricaded, but about twenty five people, including his family,  spent the war years there.  He described his mother going out with plastic jugs to fetch water, several times a week. We had already read and seen films about that, but it added another layer to have his personal experiences. I would have loved to talk to him at greater length, but he had another, private group booked for the afternoon. (a food tour!)

Later in the tour he took us to the brewery that Sarajevo is famous for. It's built on top of a spring in the middle of the city, and is still an operating brewery.  But during the war, it became the one reliable source for clean water.  People would haul their jugs, often in carts or childrens' wagons, usually under threat of gunfire.  They didn't always make it.  I've read both factual and fictionalized versions of the four year siege, the snipers, even the City Hall and Library burning and the trips to the brewery for water.

 Our guide described himself as not religious, and not hating anybody, even the Serbs who committed a veritable genocide of the Muslims. He said his parents were secular Muslims. And, on a more lighthearted note, he related the story of once asking his mother why she considered herself Muslim. And her answer, that she liked baklava!

He ( I wish I had found out his name, we never even knew the name of his tour business) took us to a bright, one might say garish, building that dated from the communist era. We had already walked by it, I particularly noticing the very nice, bright murals along the inside corridors.   He told us that most Sarajevans considered it the ugliest building in the city. The building colors were bright blue and yellow. It  was right next to the one still operating synagogue, and one theory was that it had deliberately been built there by the communists to spite the Jewish population. It's the one synagogue still operating in the city, although there are other buildings that remain, but not as synagogues any more. I'm not sure how many more  there had been before the war, if any. But the Serbs had targeted both mosques and other religious buildings.  I don't think any of the minaret towers had survived, but most, maybe all, had been rebuilt.

 A fascinating addendum:  the yellow-blue  building was one of the more desirable and expensive places to live in the center city, more so than the beautiful Hapsburg era building across from it.  One possibility - from the building, you couldn't see it, whereas from nearby buildings it was the view!  I'm sure that there are some who truly do like the building.  I wouldn't call it ugly, but it sure was different, and didn't seem in the right place. Then again, the Eiffel Tower was considered ugly when it was built.

I will stop here and post this now, before I do anything foolish and lose or delete it again. Will continue on with another post.

Back again, same post.  I decided to live dangerously and add to this entry, rather than post a separate entry.  Trying to keep at least a semblance of chronology. 

Mostar  was probably the most frustrating stop in our travels.  What I'd known about it before was its famous high medieval bridge. It had survived many conflicts, but was destroyed during the 90's war. It has been rebuilt, and reopened about a decade ago.  It is the central focus and symbol of the city as it was before. It is also the focus of the tourists to Mostar. There is a famous diving competition every summer, which brings divers and visitors from many places. Around the bridge, on the cliffs and below, are numerous restaurants,  with wonderful views and friendly waiters.

The bridge was also the route into town in old times to the market, to traders from afar, Turkey and other places.  And it is today, too. The market still exists, or exists again.  But it is now a tourist market, hard to tell the local crafts from the imported from probably China ones.  And it is so thronged with visitors that you have literally to elbow your way through.  I did eventually find a metal worker who made interesting plaques out of copper and enamel. He was a second or maybe third generation vendor in the same place. His father still makes art, but worked from home now while the son and his wife ran the shop.  I did get my Mostar souvenir, a small piece that looks, if you look at it one way, as a face, but look again and you will see it's a represenetaton of the famous bridge.  I know it's locally handmade, I spoke with the artist. Loring is less convinced and more cynical.  But I agree with him that the market is really just a tourist trap, and it and the bridge and market is basically the whole old town.

 I went to one more war museum. Loring had had enough of disaster museums and went to the beach under the bridge to read.We arranged to meet up an hour or so later. When I got to the bridge, there were a couple of wet guys in Speedos. They had just jumped. One sounded American. Anyone can jump after going thru a short training including lower jumps, and paying 50 euros. (about $60)  There are local divers, and also tourist ones.  I don't know how many of them get hurt. It is impressive to watch.  Loring had watched several jumps already, and took a great slow motion video of one.  At one point, the local man next to him said, "this should be interesting. " explaining that the jumper was a tourist.  But he apparently made the jump okay.  Maybe he was the English speaking guy I saw later on the bridge. 

We did walk some, and saw the non tourist part of the town.  There were a number of damaged and destroyed buildings, even 25 years later.  Reconstruction is still ongoing outside the central old city, the tourist part.  One building, totally destroyed except for some of the outside walls, had an interesting exterior, looking almost like Egyptian hieroglyphics. I assumed it had been a museum. But later, we were told that had actually been a shopping mall.  It made us realize that not only was there still a lot of remaining destruction, but that Mostar had been a modern city, with amenities like large shopping centers.

Well, that's a recap of Mostar. Interesting, yes. Would I suggest people go there? Probably not,  just because the tourist market and bridge were basically all there were to do and see, and both were totally overwhelming because of the crowds.  I enjoyed the smaller, off the beaten path discoveries more, the places like Rastoke in Croatia, and Jajce in Bosnia.  And Sarajevo, largely because it is important to remember atrocities and genocides, and hopefully somehow prevent them from occurring again.  And because there is a lot to the city, in addition to the history of the war. 

Back to Pula, in writing

I'll now go back in time to Pula, our first stop after Paris. We flew from Paris to Pula. We'd picked it mostly because it was a short flight and cheap trip from Paris. Once we had that reservation, we mapped out a potential route through Croatia, to Bosnia-Herzogovina, and back into Croatia, where we will drop off the car and fly back home through Paris.

We didn't know much about Pula, aside from the fact that it has one of the world's largest, most well preserved colloseums.
We didn't expect it to be as much of a tourist town as it was. The main streets were thronged with tourists and tourist shops, and restaurants. Our apartment was in a modern building overlooking the main street. But we were several stories high, and were not at all bothered by street traffic. And we had interesting views from the apartment, including Roman ruins just next door.  And also a patio overlooking the harbor. The harbor was filled with huge cranes, that we at first thought were dormant, left over from other times. But in fact they were working cranes, and it appeared that most, if not all, were involved with shipbuilding.  A little further down the road was an additional group of cranes. These were lighted up for several hours each night, in a kind of art installation.

The collosseum was indeed impressive. There had been a film festival that had ended just a day before.  There were workers disassembling the massive scaffolding that must have supported the screen.  The arena was still filled with a mass of blue seats.  The temperature was hot, as it has been the entire trip until yesterday, when we arrived here in Jajce.  I did not envy the workers out in the hot sun for however many hours they had worked.

They hold concerts in the arena fairly regularly. Our neighbors at home, when they were living in Prague, had attended a concert of a group they'd long been wanting to see, there in the stadium, and had said it was a remarkable experience. They also stage regular gladiator reinactments, which I would guess  would not be quite as moving. And, you can rent gladiator clothing and have your picture taken.  The booth wasn't open when we were there, which is just  as well. I might have been tempted.

Our second night, we took a boat trip out past the harbor around the islands nearby. There were a number of boats, and a variety of trips, offered by various vendors along the harbor walk. Some were  day trips, some involved swimming and looking for dolphins. The one we chose was advertised as a "fish picnic."  I liked the sound of that, and it included boating around the "light giants" as the illuminated cranes are called. So for about 30 euros,  roughly 35 dollars, we had an over three hour cruise, complete with fish dinner, all we could drink, (wine, juice or water) and a lovely boat trip. The captain narrated from time to time, in several languagaes, but it was hard to understand any of it, even the English.  The dinner was delicious, and included a cabbage salad. a combination of cabbage and tomatoes. When I complimented him on the salad, he said that the cabbage was from his neighbor, and the tomatoes had been grown by his father.

As we cruised around the light giants and approached the dock again, we heard music from the lower deck. It took us a few minutes to realize that it was live. As we headed downstairs, we saw that it was the captain, playing the accordian and singing. When he saw us, he said - Ah, the Americans, and started playing When the Saints go Marching In! 

Neither Loring nor I had ever realized before, until that evening, why construction cranes are called cranes. Oddly, it occurred to both of us at the same time, and in retrospect, seems so obvious.

The trip from Pula, through the border into Bosnia, was pretty, and pretty uneventful. We had read about lines at the border, but anticipated nothing except a brief back up, much much less than the New Hampshire toll booths on a summer weekend. The customs guy asked us where we were going, and since we said "Jaycee" not knowing how to pronounce the town's name, he looked baffled. When we added Sarajevo and Mostar, he waved us on.

from Jajce (sounds sort of like "yahtzee") in Bosnia-Herzogvina

I am sitting on the patio of our Jajce home, a rooming house here in Jajce. We have picked our locations partly by distances, leaving an approximately 3 hour drive between destinations.  It's hard to know from pictures and limited information what to expect, but I would say that, so far, we have done quite well.

Tomrrow we will head to Sarajevo, and then, a couple of days later, to Mostar. Those are the two locations in Bosnia with which I was at all familiar, and that, only because of reading about the war here in the 1990s.  I read a book, Zlata's Diary, which was quite well known at the time, written by a young girl who lived here during the war,  She's been called the Bosnian Ann Frank, and the comparison is apt.

The owners of the inn here are quite friendly, but speak hardly a word of English. It is helpful to us that their son and his family, wife and two daughters, as well as their daughter, are all here visiting. The family all left during the war, and just the parents returned. The son, Dino, and his family, live in Australia. Their girls were born there and speak just English. They were amazed that we spoke English!  Aisha, the older one, has been busily cleaning every available surface, tables, windows, walls, etc.  Her younger sister Elma is equally adorable.  They are about six and four, I'd guess, and their mom is pregnant. I asked her about family leave  in Australia. Everyone, working outside the home or not, gets at least the minimum wage, close to $500 American dollars a week. Wow. And she says Australians are jealous of countries like Sweden. 

I've been chatting with her for a while. Loring has been off on a hike. We both hiked up to the fortress that looms over the town this morning. And then we drove to the waterfalls and little mill buildings that are a few miles down the road, which is whaat you see in every picture about the town. It's a virtual Disneyland down there. There's a large hotel, and an amusement park/playground, plus horsecarts, bicyles built for two, etc. Hadn't known what to expect, so it's a good thing we didn't choose to stay there. Plus, it was pouring. So it's also a good thing that we didn't walk, as Loring had originally proposed. We didn't even get out of the car, but was able to get a good view of the falls/mills, etc from the car.

Returned here to the center of town, which is pretty small. There are a number of cafes and shops, but the shops have mostly been closed. They are for the most part aimed at locals, although there are a few souvenir stands. Just across from us is the central mosque, although there are several others in the town.

Shortly after we arrived yesterday, there was a loud honking of car horns from a procession of car, with some waving flags from the car windows. My first thought was that it was a political demonstration. But it was actually a wedding. Since then there have been a number of similar wedding processions.  And we watched the aftermath of a wedding at the mosque, right from our patio here.  In fact, here comes another one now. The first couple were interesting. Now it's getting kind of annoying.  Apparently, it is a fairly new tradition, does not date from before the war.

While I have been writing and chatting with the girls' mom, Loring has returned from his walk. He went way up the hill, saw another, outdoor wedding. Also walked by many buildings riddled with bullet holes. Our guess is that they restored and rebuilt the buildings here in the center of town, because we haven't noticed any around us, but didnt bother or have the funds to repair the farther out neighborhoods.

We've talked a bit with a variety of people about the war.  I'd read not to bring the subject up, that people didn't like to talk about it. But it hasn't been our experience; we've only talked about it when people brought it up. Dino's wife, the girls' mom ( I need to find out her name) said it was bad, but didn't go into details.  Mostly people have said that they left the country for that time period. Some have come back, others just come back in the summer to visit family.

Got to Get Back to the Garden

Back in the garden again, second and last night in Rastoke,

It is a beautiful place to write.  Loring is wandering around the garden, out of my sight, taking lots of photos. It is hard not to, it is so picturesque at every turn.

This morning we headed up the hill to the village above, in search of breakfast. There are numerous cafes here, but most serve only coffee and other beverages.  The restaurant where we ate last night did not serve breakfast. The cafe down here didn't either. The pizza place had only pizza and lasagne, which they were apparently willing to serve at any time of the day. I am not a big pizza fan, and in the morning it seems even less appealing than later in the day. So up the hill we went to the larger village above, which we wanted to visit anyway. Bea had told us that the weekly market was today.

In Sludj, though, we could find no breakfast either. Plenty of cafes, with plenty of people in them, but no food. I wondered what the tourists like us do for breakfast. We eventually noticed that a number of people had crumbled paper bags on their tables , and realized that they had bought pastries and brought them to the cafe. But we couldn't find a bakery either. We decided to go to the supermarket,, where, right inside the door was a bakery, with a separate cash register, perhaps a separate business located inside the store.

The young woman behind the counter spoke no English, although most young people here seem to, but another customer offered to help us. I wanted something with chocolate, and got a croissant, Loring wanted something with meat, and got something that had some, plus a second thing. We sat in the cafe and ordered our coffees, and tried to linger and drink them as slowly as possible, as the Croatians do. That isn't easy, especially with an expresso.

A man about our age guided a frail older man,  clearly his father, into a seat opposite us. We tried to make room for the son, but he indicated that it wasn't necessary. He left, but came back a few minutes later, with a package of cigarettes for his elderly dad, then left again and didn't return. We wondered if this was a form of  elder day care,  that the son would return for his father at the end of the day. When we left, I smiled at the man, and he smiled back wanly. Or maybe it was happily, it was hard to know.

We've now moved from the garden back to in front of the house, where we still have a nice view, and can dash inside if it begins to rain. It is already thundering and lightening. Did I tell you that you get to and from the garden by a secret door? Well, it's not really secret, but feels like it. You go thru the garage to an old wooden door, which is pretend locked, and covered with a broom.  It makes the place feel even a bit more special.

On the way back down to our village, we stopped at the market and bought peaches and plums, which we have been eating throughout the day. They were incredibly cheap, just as Bea had told us. The plums, about 20 of them, cost about fifty cents, total. 

Later, we went to the swimming spot, a calm section of the river with grass banks on both sides, a bridge crossing from one side to the other, and steps at intervals leading down to the water. There were a number of people in and around the water, but it was by no means crowded.  There were a few little changing booths, material around a frame, and a small snack stand. The water was clear, with lots of little fishies, and pretty warm. Loring did a few lazy laps up and down the river, and I floated around a bit with my favorite toy, my underwater mp3 player.

After a nap, a trip to the second restaurant that we had not visited the night before.  It was perhaps five or six o"clock, hard and unneccesary to keep track time in places like this, Dinner is served until late, about 11, but there seem to be customers patronizing the places at all times of day.  I had mushroom soup, and then a pasta dish with smoked trout. The trout was actually blended into the sauce, and it was delicous, though rich.  I asked the young waiter what was in the sauce, guessing that it was cream and a little tomato sauce, plus the trout. He didn't know and went to ask in the kitchen.  He came back, said it was smoked trout plus secret ingredients.  I don't know if they really wanted to protect their recipe, or if it was made from something packaged or was ketchup or something like that. It was rich, as I said, but I managed to eat it all.  

Only problem, after all the delicous rich food, I had no appetite saved for the dessert I had envisioned, back up to the second restaurant. So back it was to our little house, and our little room, amidst the running falls and streams.

Rastoke, a fairyland of waterfalls

This will be our second night in Rastoke, an amazing little village. Just a couple of closing comments about Avignon, then I am going to  write about here, and eventually backtrack to Paris.

I just wanted to mention that all the events I attended at the Avignon festival are part of what is called the "Off"  I never even came across the On or figured out what it is. I imagine the On is, or partly is, the events that take place within the Palace of the Popes, the impressive building that was once the Pope's summer residence. (medieval times, if I remember right.)  That is where I saw the Bejart Ballet company's incredible performance of Stravinsky's Rites of Spring, which stays with me still, 50 years later.  I have seen several other performances of that piece, but nothing that compares to that. The program for the Off festival is like a telephone book, well, one for a small town, anyway.  Performances, which start at 9 am and go to about midnight, are listed by venue, alphabetically, then crossed referenced by time, type - theatre, circus, music,dance, mime, comedy, humor(not sure about the difference between the last two), appropriateness for children (by ages), appropriate for people with limited French, etc. They also list by country of group, altho the vast majority are French, and probably a few other categories.  I looked mostly at the music and dance ones, and even so, there were many more than I could have seen in a few days, or even if I had more time.

Well, that's enough about Avignon, although there's more to tell.  As I said, I will now write about where I actually am, for a change. And if I ever catch up, can't think of a better place to do it than right where I am.

We are in a room in a woman's house, Bea, in the tiny village of Rastoke. As far as I understand, Rastoke is a section of the larger village of Slunj, which is a short hike above us. The major attraction in this part of Croatia is not far from us, the famous lakes and waterfalls of Plivice, which are I think about a half hour away, at least without traffic. But from what I have read, they are mobbed with visitors, especially in the summer, and you have to wait in lines even inside the park, and hike with constant traffic, and we assume the car traffic getting there. So we have decided not to go, although from what we have seen in pictures, and been told by friends who have been here, they are spectacular. So we chose here instead, in our trek through Croatia, into Bosnia-Herzevovina, and back to Croatia for our last few days.  We didn't even realize it was this close to Plivice when we booked it.  Bea said to us, in her limited English, yesterday, "tomorrow, Plivice?"  She seemed a little surprised, but perhaps pleased, when we said no, we were staying here.  She is warm and welcoming.  She showed us her garden,  but not until towards evening, because there were snakes and she doesn't like them.  We did see a posting later about  venomous snakes, so I guess it's a good thing. But we are sitting here in her garden nonetheless, in the middle of the day today. I am sitting at a picnic bench, with the falls all around me. At least if I see a snake I can lift my feet up or stand on the bench! 

This place is enchanting.  I picked it well. You are never sure until you reach your destination if the place will live up to your expectations.  I pictured Bea's garden as a patch of vegetables and  perhaps flowers.  It is more a meandering path through foliage interspersed with streams and  falls, everwhere, and little wooden bridges over some of them.   Bea's garden is a series of little patches intermingled with the water, lettuce, cabbage, zucchini, strawberries.  Across one of the streams is a private park, with an admission fee. I think we have the better spot. In fact, I think we may have the best spot in town, although there are several little islands that I think belong to residents, and maybe a few other gardens that we can't see, like ours can' t be seen. There are, though, a lot of visitors who walk down the path to our house (it took us a little while to find it) because it's so picturesque. Until they see the private sign and the log across the driveway. We even have a parking spot inside Bea's garage, and parking seems to be at a  premium. There are cars parked all along the road up to Sludj.

The place is so small that pretty much everything is on the map, the few restaurants, all the places with rooms to rent,  the museum ( have yet to check that out but will)  the swimming place, the souvenir shop (which is just a small cart.) Yesterday, we went to one of the three restaurants for a drink, sat in a swing seat for a beer, and a grapefruit beer.  Then decided we were hungry and decided to order an appetizer to share.  Smoked trout seemed the specialty, there was a smokehouse and also a pen with numerous fish waiting to be called for dinner. We were puzzled by the price of the smoked trout meal, it was something like $100 a kilo, but we didn't know how much a typical dinner weighs.)  The smoked trout appetizer, though, was reasonable, and we ordered that. It was delicous, came garnished with lettuce and tomato and served with what seemed like an entire loaf of bread, sliced, and one shared serving almost satisfied our hunger. We ended with an also shared apple strudel, also wonderful.

In Rastoke, Croatia, still writing about Avignon!

We are now in a tiny town in Croatia, our second stop in Croatia. Carolina commented on Loring's fb photos that it looked like a fairytale, and she is right. We are here for two nights, which is our modus operundi for this trip, including Paris for Loring. It is a different way from how we usually travel, and so far it seems fine, except that we never get to unpack our suitcases, and that makes it harder for me to find things!

So, hopefully to complete writing about my French sojourn, or at least the Avignon part of it.  I wrote about some of the group, now I'll mention a few more. We were mostly American, aside from Deborah and her daughter, Denille. But even that's complicated. Deborah is, or was, Australian. She's lived in Michigan for many years. I think she's an American citizen. Denille was born in the US, but is an Australian citizen. She lives in Qatar with her husband, and has worked at a university there teaching graphic design for seven years.  She is in her forties, but looks like she is in her twenties. She was of course flattered when I told her so. A little later, one of the others said the same thing to her.

Now, that is only the beginning of the complexities of their relationship and their relationship to Laurel, the mosaic teacher. Laurel's mother and Deborah were each married to the same man. Laurel's mom was wife #1, and Deborah was wife #3.  He is now on wife #7. Got that?  Laurel and Deborah met once before at a family reunion, but Denille and Laurel had never met before.  Denille's father was not the man married to both women, her father died, Deborah married again, and has a half brother by the second husband. Got that?! 

A couple of the others:  Su is from Newburyport, and teaches Spanish at Masconomet. She came on this program last year, and liked it so much she came back.  Heidi lives on the Cape and is a personal chef.  Martine is from New York, lives on the Upper West Side, and is a psychologist.  She and Su met at another mosaic workshop, in Mexico, also run by Laurel. That's probably enough about folks for now, altho there's still a few more. 

So, to wrap things up, if I can, about the workshop week, we actually only did mosaics on four days of the week. When I first saw the schedule I was disappointed about that. In retrospect, it was a good balance. The first day, we mostly rested from all of our travel and adjusting time zones. On two days, we had a bus and did excursions. One day we went to a couple of towns inclulding St. Remy, where Van Gogh lived at various times, having instituionalizing himself. Martine, Su, and I walked up to the place and took a little tour.  He had painted a lot there, and they had reproductions of many of his paintings and said where the originals now were. They also had some situated at the spot where he had painted them.  We also went to Les Baux, where bauxite was mined, and named. Loring and I had been there over 30 years ago, and found it way overtouristed then.  It was, of course, even more so now, although it's at the top of a hill and not room for much expansion.  I could have skipped that. But, nearby,   in what had once been a quarry, there is a spectacular program called something like Ateliers de Lumiere. It's an indoor sound and light show, and they do different shows. Ours was about Van Gogh.  And then followed by a shorter hippyish one - Beatles and Donovan and like music with very hippy bright illustrations. The impressive part is the space, it  is huge, with many corners and grottos, and images on every wall, as you walk around.  I believe the concept for these programs began here.  There is now one in Paris, in an old converted  building,  once a factory, I believe. The current show there is about Klimt. 

Now I will move on to Avignon proper, and the festival. I had booked a room on a site called Wimdu, similar to Airbnb.  It was a room in a home in the old town, which was important to me.  I wanted to be able to walk around the festival easily, and be able to   go home in the middle of the day. The location was perfect, although it took me a while to find it. One of my missed connection misadventures. The other one, later, was finding my Paris apartment.  All I had was one of the "Portes", entrances thru the ancient walls of the city. The taxi dropped me off,  sent Su off to the train station on her way to Marseilles, and, I later found out, worried about me.  She had suggested I go to a cafe with wifi, a smart idea, and contact Sarah, my host.  Problem,  the cafes all said no wifi, not sure why. They said it had something to do with the ancient walls.  Hmmm. I finally prevailed on the   woman at the desk of a hotel, after much pleading she contacted Sarah on her computer and I got the address. It was only a block or two away from where I'd been let off. 

My room was on the second floor of Sarah's apartment.  She, her 25 year old daughter Mia, and MIa's boyfriend lived on the first floor. The bathroom was on the first floor,, along with the kitchen. My room was just a mattress on the floor, or maybe a low futon, and a bureau and a fan, much appreciated. The weather has been brutally hot, in Avignon, Paris, and now here in Croatia. There was a little alcove with a desk, where I left my suitcase.  It was perfectly adequate, especially since I didn't spend much time there  except for sleeping. (At night, and also for almost daily naps in the afternoon.)

Mia was a singer, and her boyfriend a guitarist, and they were planning to play on the streets, but weren't sure where.  I'm not sure if it was their decision, or if it's licensed and/or scheduled. I heard them practicing in the apartment.  She has a beautiful voice, very jazz like and belying  her quiet demeanor. I really wanted to see them perform, but never was able to schedule it.

In all, I saw five performances in three days, one the first day when it took me a while to find the place, and then to relax before venturing out. This is the third or fourth time I've been to Avignon. The first, my original trip, exactly 50 years ago this summer. I was there once with Loring in the 80's I believe. We were only there for a few hours.  And a few years ago, I came down overnight from Paris during the festival, and stayed in Marseille because accomodations are tight in Avignon during the festival. That time, I just walked around and watched street performances. I remember trying to find my house from 50 years ago, unsuccessfully. The time with Loring I did find what I thought was the place, and I think considered ringing the bell. Or maybe I did ring the bell and someone answered and pretended she remembered me. I'll have to ask Loring.

This time, I had no expectation of remembering the location, but as soon as I looked at the map, the name of the street jumped out at me - Rue Violette!  It was an old house with a large enclosed garden.  What I remember is a huge bedroom with swords  hanging on the wall, that had been her husband's.  And her serving me biscuits with butter and marmalade, and coffee in a bow.  And her daughter and son-in-law, or it may have been the other way around, who came to visit with their two huge dogs. 

There is only one house  on Rue Violette that matches the description.  I could only peer into the garden through the large metal doors, and see that it was now apartments. There are some newer buildings on the street, which is only one block long.  But  I couldn't say for sure that the others were newer than the 60s.  It's funny how some things stay with you, like biscuits with marmalade and butter, and other, more recent memories, like what you did yesterday, can't be recalled. 

Let me describe the five shows I saw.  The first had been recommended by my mosaic teacher, Valerie. it was a kind of musical comedy and discourse between Beethoven and  jazz guitarist Django Reinhard. That show played in alternation with one about Bach and  some other musician. It was the other that was playing the first night.  It was four incrdibly talented musician/comedians.  Even though there were many jokes I couldn't understand, there were many I could, and a lot of the comedy was physical, After the show, Bach and cohort served wine to the showgoers, out on the street. I told the non Bach guy, in French,  how much I had enjoyed the show, even though I couldn't understand some of the jokes. He responded that that was ok, he didn't understand some of them either. Funny guy!. Next night, even though there are 100s, maybe 1000s of performances, I went back to see Beethoven. Also just wonderful, although I must say I think I preferred the Bach one. Am glad I saw  both.

Another show was called Speakeasy Hip Hop and the flyer showed  guys dressed in 30s style. It began with four men dancing,  not just hip hop but tap and a real combination of styles. After a bit, a fifth dancer came out, a woman. The guys were great, but she was phenomenal.    From then on, the performance went to a whole nother level.

I had seen a group in the street, two women singing,  Chatanooga Choo Choo, I think, in classy short red outfits, and a man tapping. Based on that, I went to see their performance. Their singing and dancing was great. There was a little plot line, that involved some competiion between the women, but either I didn[t understand it well enough, or it just didnt add much to the show. It was definitely fun to hear songs like "It's all about the Bass" sung in French.

The fifth show I saw was the only one that was rather a disappointment.  It took me a while to recognize that it was based on The Little Shop of Horrors.  I had seen "Broadway,  Music"  something else in their ad and that caught my eye.  The problem was that the actors werent very good, it seemed more of an amateur production than any of the others. They were thrilled, though, when I told them afterwards that I recognized the show.  I  wonder if they knew that Jack Nicholson was the  dentist in the orignal movie, early in his career.

I am going to stop here,  only because I am having trouble with internet and  computer, and don't want to risk losing all   i've just written.  But I will continue on writing with another post. Who knows, this may be the day I catch up!