The Voyage Aboard the One Seven Four

So you think only an ocean-crossing trip qualifies as a voyage? You think a mere Rishon LeZion>Tel Aviv>Rishon LeZion bus-ride does not merit the name?

I beg to differ.

I reached my conclusions the hard way, i.e., cold and bitter experience. Cold, because the a/c on the bus is enough to make an Eskimo reach for his fur coat; and bitter because I forgot to replenish my emergency stock of fruit Mentos, for which I have no one to blame but myself, and the fact that I didn’t think a mere Rishon-TA bus ride required such meticulous preparation.

Women’s fashion this summer dictates large bags, the kind that can comfortably hold a basketball and still have room for the average female city-traipser’s paraphernalia. No, I’m not referring to the rare woman who leaves the house with a tiny clutch that can barely hold a single tissue, house-key, and credit card.

Luckily for me, I have this Lee Cooper shoulder bag that I fell in love with way back in 2008, that has lots of pockets.

On any given day, the bag inventory is as follows: Really Fat wallet (let’s not go there); make-up bag (ditto; the term “makeup” is used here very loosely);checkbook; business cards; Parker ball point, Pilot V5 Hi-Techpoint; mini Sharpie marker; mechanical pencil; assorted keys; tissues; lip balm; notebook/writing pad; Palm PDA (yes, I know they’re nearly obsolete, but it contains so much valuable data that I never look at!!!); diary/datebook (in case PDA lets me down); earphones for Palm; cellphone; mints/cough drops/chewing gum; various flyers and/or vouchers for coffee-and-croissant (possibly out of date); spare panties (old habit from my early twenties when I wasn’t sure where I’d end up spending the night; also accounts for the toothbrush in the makeup bag).

Now, consider all the extra stuff that went into said bag for the purpose of the arduous, demanding voyage aboard the One Seven Four, and the demanding 5 hour stay in an apartment at the Far End of Civilization, namely a central Tel Aviv boulevard, which you must admit is still the far end of civilization from some perspectives; or for a given value of Far, or End, or Civilization:

• Hat
• Scarf/gloves/long sleeved shirt (see Eskimo above)
• Spare T-shirt in case Baby Momo spits up or pees on me, which he has been known to do
• Apple, granola bar – in case my daughter’s [kitchen] cupboard is bare and it’s too darn hot to pop out to Tiv Taam or AM PM along Ibn Gvirol
• Laptop, wireless mouse, charger, computer glasses – in case Momo sleeps like a baby (ha!) and I can work, or blog, or email, or Chat, or…
• Bottle of water, in case we’re stranded at the bus stop (has been known to happen)
• Thingy I promised Daria (there’s always a thingy. Dr. Spock’s Baby & Child Care – yes, there was Help before The Baby Whisperer -- , that comfy tunic, a photo of Daria, 6 wks old, to compare to Momo; magic potion to put Baby to sleep)
• Camera (in case Momo does something really cute, which he invariably does and my cellphone camera sucks, and I’m the last of my generation to not switch to a smartphone, yet)

Total weight: 57.3 kg. Or thereabouts.

I’d better get out my ocean-crossing backpack and start transferring everything to it…

On the bright side, since the reform in public transportation in Gush Dan, a one-way ticket costs me only NIS 3.20 – just under one dollar. Can you beat that?

What Else to do in Dubrovnik

Say you've been as lucky as we were, and found a charming B&B including parking for your car, if applicable.
Say you're not one for lazing on the beach for hours.
What else is there to do?
Lots of things, I suppose. How we actually spent our time is a different question. I think half the time was spent walking around in search of the perfect little restaurant. The kind whose waiters don't nearly drag you in by the scruff of your neck; where there's neither too much sun nor too much shade; neither too empty nor too full; and where you can peruse the menu without the prices giving you a heart attack.

One just such place is the Konoba Koloseum, located on a relatively wide street in the Old City of Dubrovnik, at Uz Jezuite 6, to be precise. The photo was not taken by me; and the place, with tables and chairs set out, looked much more fetching. Sooner or later came the usual question from our bright-eyed waiter: "Where are you from?" The moment we said "Israel", Yerku, renamed Yair by earlier Israeli tourists, lit up and dazzled us with a selection of his flawless Hebrew: "Shalom haverim sheli, ma shlomchem? Tafrit bevakasha… haval al hazman…"

Turns out that Yair/Yerku is not the only charming waiter at the Koloseum…
The following day, we got back from our three-island-tour aboard the Rudolfo in the late afternoon / early evening, tired and a bit chilly, and had no intention of climbing back uphill to our B&B, only to change, go foraging for food, end up in the Old City, then climb all the way up again… So we thought we'd go back to the Koloseum. It was Sunday night, few tourists were out, the streets were relatively empty. The Koloseum had one table with a high-spirited group of Americans, plus a sprinkling of people at two or three other tables. As we approached, a tall, suave, Steven-Fry-look-alike greeted me in perfect English: "Sorry Madame, we're closed."
Taken aback, I just stood there, speechless, and would probably have turned around and walked away, had he not immediately grinned broadly and said, "Sorry, sorry, just kidding, please, please sit down, mi casa es su casa …" and on he went to amuse and entertain us, keeping us in stitches and plying us with food and wine for the rest of the evening. I suspect Maté (Matthew in English) is in fact a drama student or a stand-up comedian, supplementing his income and practicing his art on unsuspecting tourists like me. Shortly thereafter Yerko/Yair arrived, too, making us feel even more at home.

Having heard me say that I was cold (remember the wet, choppy journey back aboard the Rudolfo?), Maté nipped indoors (all tables are set outdoors, always…) and came back carrying an armful of soft blankets… which he proceeded to drape around everyone's shoulders.

During the meal, we got to talking with the jolly American party at the nearby table, exchanging the standard "where are you from"s and so on. At some point, a pretty girl from another table shyly came up to me, and said in an apologetic tone:
"Sorry for troubling you, but I couldn't help overhearing that you're from Israel… I know Israel is a small country, so I thought maybe, just maybe, you know someone…"
[Fat chance, I'm thinking to myself… Population only around 7 million…]
"Do you by any chance know Ruth Morris?..."
"Ruth Morris? The translator? Yes I do… we're both members of the ITA… I saw her last at the conference in Jerusalem… I follow her blog…"
Small world after all… I took a couple of pictures of Natasha, and sent them to Ruth together with Natasha's warmest regards and thanks for having encouraged her early in her career.

Here's Natasha with Matthew's blanket around her:

That was our last night in Dubrovnik. Since the lovely Fadila could not put us up, she arranged for us to stay with her friend Katrina Popov, nicknamed Ina, who lives a short walk away and has an approved room to let. Like Fadila, Ina too adopted us warmly, served us hot tea in the living room when we came in after dinner, and strong Turkish coffee in the morning before we left, bless her. See pics below:

Ina:

Ina's address, complete with official ministry-of-tourism stars;

The comfy, home-like bedroom:

Saying goodbye to Ina and her cheerful 94-year-old neighbor:

Dubvrovnik, come rain or come shine

Luckily, we had more shine than rain. But first, we had to get there. It's a long drive from Split to Dubvronik. We meant to get on the A1 highway, but missed the sign on leaving town – very easy when your Croatian is limited to "hvala" ("thank you") and the road signs are designed for locals who know where they're going anyway – and found ourselves on the E65 – a very winding picturesque route that follows the coast-line. Picturesque is of no use to the driver, who's concentrating on not falling off the cliff or not running down pedestrians in small towns and villages. I proposed that we join the A1 at the first possible opportunity, which we did, at Šestanovac. However, the A1 is an unfinished oeuvre, and about two-thirds of the way down we had to re-join the coastal E65 near somewhere with the endearing name Ploce (as in, "I'm going to plotz"). This proved to be a very convoluted drive in itself, that seemed to take us so far out of our way that I actually thought we were lost and would soon find ourselves in Bosnia-Herzegovina. But we didn't.

We'd consulted our trusty guide-book and decided which part of Dubrovnik we were aiming for, with the intent of finding a decent B&B not too far from the Old City. Ha! We went round and round in circles, up and down hills, fighting our way through traffic, and nearly gave up. Not that I know what that means; after all, we had to find somewhere to lay our weary heads. Luckily, when we made a dash for an empty parking space, we realized it was right next to a Sobe sign. Yay! A possible B&B and a parking spot?! That's nearly more than anyone can expect. As Fadila's husband pointed out, the city has around 5000 legal parking spaces for 20,000 cars.

Fadila and her husband run a lovely guesthouse within easy walking distance of Dubrovnik's old city. (Er, easy when going downhill, that is. Coming back uphill at the end of a touring day is a bit more challenging. But you can always catch the bus uphill.) We gratefully dumped our stuff in the bedroom, and accepted their gracious invitation to join them for a glass of chilled white wine on the patio. The patio, it turns out, is also where breakfast is served. One day it will be shaded by vines overhead. Currently there are some vines, and an awning ready to be pitched as needed.

Fadila is a very attentive and caring hostess, and I'm sure you'll be very comfortable there, unless you're expecting rural peace & quiet with only the sound of chirping birds and the occasional mooing cow. This is a bustling city, and it bustles. Personally, it didn't bother me, I just ignored it. But you should be prepared.

Fadila and I saying goodbye:

As in the other cities we visited, the main attraction is the old city. We went from Small to Medium to Large. So if you start with Dubrovnik and then go to Rovinj, say, you'll "run out" of old city sooner than you expect. The sight I enjoyed most when walking on the city walls was the sea of orange roofs. Thing is, these eye-catching orange tiles are brand new, replacing the old decrepit ones and the ones damaged by recent wars.

We looked for gifts or souvenirs for "the kids" but found nothing worthwhile. The expensive labels are available at similar shops in Israel and elsewhere; the knicknacks are kitschy, and who really needs a T-shirt that says Dubrovnik on it? There was one T-shirt I liked, it said Volim Pivo, which means I love beer :-) Should have gotten that for Baby, to get him started on the right track in life without the ganenet(nursery teacher) catching on... Except perhaps if she's a native of those parts and understands and would henceforth look askance at his parents.

I did buy a large beach towel, though, since we'd booked places aboard the Rodulfo for an island-hopping "cruise": a sailboat with a few dozen tourists going to 3 islands, plus lunch, and soft drinks and wine as much as you want. For beer you have to pay extra, but wine is free.

Aboard the Rudolfo:

I hadn't brought anything suitable for lazing on a beach (no shorts or sandals), but as it turned out, the hoodie and scarf I brought along came much more in handy: on the way back the sky turned grey, the wind picked up, the water was choppy and splashed in our faces. The more experienced travelers got out their high-quality Polartecs, while those in T-shirts shivered bravely. Among the shivering ones was Paloma, a soft-spoken psychologist from the Canary Islands with whom we became friendly on this "cruise". Only half-way back to shore did it suddenly occur to us that Michael was carrying this brand-new big towel in his backpack. We offered it to Paloma who wrapped it around her and made me feel less guilty as I sat snugly wrapped in three layers.

For the rest of our experiences in Dubrovnik, wait for my next post.

Split Personality

Sorry, couldn’t resist. You’ve just got to make a pun when faced with a city named Split.

Split probably has more than two personalities. The two we saw – the old and the new – are so interwoven as to be inseparable. The houses, shops and restaurants are literally built to incorporate both. As our guide Rada said, the law in Split was, that you mustn’t destroy, you may only add on. And that’s what they did in the Old City of Split. It’s quite fascinating, really, to see a modern bank with bits of an ancient wall, ancient flower-shaped drain and other ancient pieces among the spanking new furniture and modern-day equipment. Not to mention that the outer walls of the first floors are of glass – ordained so by law – so as not to deprive citizens of the right to see their antiques on a daily basis.

As in Ljubljana, here too, the Old City with its tourist traps is not the whole story. It is but one aspect, one personality out of several. True, it has a delightful market that serves all; and a promenade – called the Riva – where, we are assured, ordinary Croatian folk like to stroll; these are not reserved for tourists alone. But I daresay most of the city’s daily life does not necessarily revolve around this section of town.

Of course, I may be half or totally wrong, for the simple reason that Croatia’s economy relies heavily on tourism. So, especially as soon as spring begins and the tourists start arriving, it is totally possible that many citizens do flock to this part of town as part of their daily-bread-earning routine.

Arriving at Split around noon on Wednesday, we headed straight for Josip’s travel agency, Travel49. Though “straight” is a bit misleading, considering how we wove our way in the maze of narrow lanes, like many other confused tourists carrying map in hand and wearing a hat and a puzzled expression. The moment Josip heard we wanted wi-fi, he said only one place would do – the Diocletian Palace Apartments, in a 500-year old building. So we have a long and narrow apartment all to ourselves: A 10-meter dark-tiled corridor with three rooms to the right: our bedroom; another bedroom probably meant for the younger generation; a bathroom that even has a washing machine (highly desirable contraption); and at the end of the corridor a fully equipped kitchen. Most of this is rather wasted on us. Still, it’s nice to have spacious, comfortable accommodations right in the center of the Old City. And for a reasonable price, too.

The down side is that there’s no parking anywhere in sight… Josip helpfully marked on the map for us the nearest section of town where parking is free anywhere along the street. Of course, we were not the only ones directed there, so finding a free spot was easier said than done. And once we parked, we had to drag our luggage all the way back to our palatial apartment, I’d say about a kilometer. Downhill, luckily. Which means we’ll be hauling it uphill when we leave… Moral of the story: If you have a choice, don’t bother coming to Split by car.

For anyone truly interested in history and archeology, Split is fascinating. For anyone interested in shopping, I can’t really vouch whether there are any good bargains to be had. Some of the stuff in the market stalls looked the same as you could get locally (i.e., in Israel, in the Carmel market, along Allenby St. in Tel Aviv, and in posh shops anywhere.) For anyone interested in sitting in an outdoor café and passing the time of day lounging and watching – it is excellent. Though I am a bit mystified about these so-called cafes. All anyone seems to drink there is beer, wine, and coffee. What about something to nibble? To help soak the alcohol or accompany the coffee? Nothing. Nada. Niente. You want food? That’s a different story: go to the nearest bakery or pizza place (of which there are plenty.) We did see some people eating baked goods which they brought with… Something we wouldn’t dream of doing “back home”. I really should ask: Is it the done thing? Can I buy a croissant, say, at the bakery, bring it with me to the café and enjoy it with my kava bijela?

-- Time to go and see some more of Split. TTFN.