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With a girlfriend to the sea, again! The August 7th
You can come back on the previous part of this travelogue here.
If you don't want to read, skip the text and see the images of this day here.
You can see the map of this day of the journey here.
Maybe it's from the sleeplessness and the lack of rest (still we should earlier have gone to bed last night) and maybe because of a gloomy, humid and uncomfortably chilly morning, maybe it's from…. , but this day started as heavy and gloomy, not just in meteorological terms.
Already after seven, we packed up our tent and everything else on the bike and were ready to continue our journey. I was feeling the need to thank the host for allowing the overnight stay, so I ringed at the door of the rectory.
"Who is it?", I heard from the other side of the door (some distance away, as if asking from the bed). After I told him who is it and thanked him, I heard "Thank God and good luck!" I heard that from afar (I almost realistically expected the addition "..and I continued to sleep!")
Before continuing the trip, I filmed the ambiance of our night's dream.
Since my last visit to this place nine years ago, I remember a delicious pie called "burek" for breakfast, so I suggested to my companion that we do it this time too. (Burek is a family of baked filled pastries (filled with minced meat) made of a thin flaky dough, of Anatolian origins and also found in the cuisines of the Balkans).
On the way through the town we first found a supermarket in which I supplied for food and drinks for today's trip.
Then, not far from that supermarket, we found a park where we placed, so I could go to the pie house for a burek-pie.
In that pie house was a hustle and the strong smell of burek-pie. Slowly, inch by inch the queue, together with me, was approaching a middle-aged woman on the other side of the counter who sharing burek-pies and taking money. I stared at the casseroles with anxiety as to whether any burek-pie would stay for me. Just when I thought that there were enough it, a guy in front of me asked for 30 ( !!!) pieces.
"I want two burek-pies, please!" I said after I finally got my turn.
"No, it's gone, It'll be ready in about twenty minutes!"
"Damn!" I thought in myself. I didn't want wait for another twenty minutes, so I bought three cheese-pies which I paid3 KM(1,5€) together.
I came to a park where my companion was surrounded by a stray cat and a stray dog, and a young a beggar woman with baby . Upon my arrival, they all went their own way. That scene on my companion left the unpleasant impression of misery, sorrow and poverty, side by side with lavish supermarket and angry cars dragging through the streets of Jablanica.
I took out the yoghurts and cheese-pies I bought (two for me, one for her) and we started eating.
The cheese-pies were not some big (that's why I took two), but their taste was divine. It's amazing to me that something can be so cheap at the same time and yet so delicious.
Enjoying breakfast, I tried to cheer up my companion, who was a little bit restrained, silent and withdrawn .
From the beginning it was only as a blurry hint, and during the present day it gradually cleared up, to the end of my consciousness I became aware of the difference, rooted in this day, between myself and my companion. We were not so different before or after this day as we are today.
The opposite impressions were mixed, they were magnified side by side, increasing the difference between themselves. And while for me it was all beautiful and wonderful with a couple of awkward, negative, excruciating elements, for my companion it was the complete opposite - for her it was so discomfort, negative and excruciating with a couple of beautiful and wonderful elements, many times insufficient to to fix that discomfort and nausea, at least for a little, to reduce it.
So, right from the beginning of this day, while to me, this place was so cute, so cramped on a couple of square meters of a flat surface, is surrounded by hills with almost vertical cliffs, with the liveliness of people of cheerful and happily conversations, my companion was sick about the garbage everywhere scattered, about of the abandoned cats and dogs, about of the neglected and filthy clothed beggars who begging for the coin.
The first three kilometers which we rode, we rode by a narrow but paved road. Asphalt replaced the narrow gauge railway, which bound the interior of Bosnia with the sea from the end of the nineteenth century until the 1969. Following the construction of the "normal" railroad, the decay of the old railway infrastructure ensued. Somewhere, like here, because of the connection between local villages and hamlets, some of this old railway route is preserved. In the west, it is normal for bicycle lanes to be built on the tracks of abandoned railways, even with the necessary infrastructure (restaurants and lodging in former railway buildings). Well, now we have a chance to feel what the former railway looks like if it be upgraded to the bike lane.
To reach its beginning we need to cross the Neretva. The bridge over the river, which is deep down in the canyon, is next to the Museum of the Battle for the Wounded on the Neretva River in Jablanica during WWII. I didn't know if it is open, or whether there is anything inside, but I was surprised by the huge inscription on the building, that they had not already removed it in the spirit of the universal demolition of all the mentions of the partisans, like the one on Maklen pass.
Museum "Battle for the wounded on the Neretva" Jablanica
Next to the museum is a narrow-gauge locomotive with a wagon on the edge of the abyss of a long-ago destroyed bridge.
Interestingly, the bridge behind the locomotive was not demolished in 1943, while the battle was being fought, but in 1969 to make the film of the same name. Why it was done, who will know, it seems that the politics of that time had an impact. The "real" bridge, which was demolished in 1943, is now submerged in Jablanica Lake.
Let's go back to this bridge. In the time of the former Yugoslavia, as made at other monuments, efforts were made to make as great a spectacle here as possible. In addition to the already mentioned magnificent museum building, down a little above the water of the Neretva River, a wooden replica of a makeshift bridge was made on the demolished bridge. All visitors, including the author of these lines, in the early 80's, had the opportunity get down the zigzag path till the cold water of the Neretva River and to walk along the improvisation bridge, trying to imagine what it looked like in 1943 with the sounds of machine guns from the occupying planes. I remember that walking through that bridge was especially interesting for me and without the sounds of these occupying planes.
With the disappearance of the former Yugoslavia, its state of mind disappeared. Another state came up with a different mindset, and a demolished, and improvised wooden bridge left it for the water to carry. That's what it did, or rather, tried, and changed it mind at the end. And now every passer-by, if he pauses a little , has the pleasure of watching a bridge that is pulled down by strange logic (rarely which bridge is destroyed for the sake of film), which at one time was also a kind of tourist attraction, and now is a representative example of the universal destruction of everything it is reminiscent of the ideology of the former state (again, like that monument on Maklen). Without any ideological thinking, it seems to me that both the eye and the feet would be better off to see and walk along a makeshift bridge than to watch this wretched disrepair and decay.
The beginning of the road, which used to be the railroad, seemed neglected and desolate, therefore sinister to my companion. The gloomy morning after a rain, that had left a trail in the air and on the road, amplified that impression. I tried to cheer her up with peace, quiet and lack of traffic, but for her that was just further confirmation of this gloom.
The first was to go through the tunnel, which, behold miracles, was illuminated.
After exiting the tunnel, it was as if we passed through a space-time door. There was no trace of man anywhere except the narrow road. It was as if we are a hundred kilometers away from the smallest village. That desolation and lack of people was, of course, sinister to my companion. Well, if I wanted it, it might looked like it also to me. I admit that a cool, cloudy, humid morning encourages this kind of thinking, and it starts to look a bit like that to me… damn it, so I guess there is something nice around us! Here are some images bellow, I would say, of a kind of cycle path through unspoiled nature. Whether it looks repulsive and sinister or attractive and cute, you decide for yourself (though this is difficult from the images, it is best to take a personal ride by it).
The complete absence of traffic, together with deaf silence, can further reinforce that repulsive and sinisterness , but if we see something nice and attractive in it, all this quiet and easy riding along the asphalt path can seem to us enjoyable and unforgettable (it's all in our head ).
The Neretva River, which is to our right (now especially closer and more enjoyable to observe), has already subsided here in the stillness of the lake water. From Jablanica to Mostar there are three hydroelectric power plants, each with its accumulation, and from the once crude and wild canyon at which bottom were foaming the Neretva river, we now have the calm and quiet water of the lake, which swallowed most of the canyon.
A colossal steel bridge over which the present railway goes to the coast, or from the coast. That present railway is several times faster than the narrow-gauge railway has been. Usually bridges are concrete, so this one is made of steel which makes it even more interesting.
The ride through this wilderness will last until the first settlement, which is visible in the distance.
According to the map I'm looking at now, its name should be Djevor. I mention the name of the settlement with uncertainty, because when passing through it there was no sign board with the place name. We didn't even stop in the place, and there were no people to tell us where we were, and after all, that didn't interest us either. Well, here's just a guess of the name based on the map.
We complained that it was deserted, nowhere vehicles, so here's what we were looking for! Before entering the place, a van came and a couple of cars behind it. Where now!?, There was a moment of panic in me and my companion, because of the narrow road. But, the next moment we were ashamed of it, because the drivers patiently reduced the speed and carefully passed beside us (when the drivers are not furious, the road is not tight).
Entering the place in some way heralded a bridge over a creek that looked to me (a bridge, not a creek) somehow youthful. Anyway, much younger than the narrow-gauge railroad that rode here 50 years or more ago. Too bad, I would be interested how was looks like the old bridge architecture.
Riding through the place, rich in greenery, it seemed to me to walk through a calm, quiet but well-settled neighbourhood, which with its calmness and quiet is very proud and jealous of it. What was it like to sleep in these houses 50 years ago, when the iron monster with his followers was passing only ten meters away from the house, I can only imagine?
After the exit from the place, there was greenery again and a narrow asphalt road. I persistently imagined it as a bicycle path and not as a (narrow) road. After a few hundred meters of driving, all the idyll of exotic cycle path ended with a wide bridge across the Neretva River. I paused for a moment, recording the place we had passed, as well as the exit to the main road, on which we will continue our riding.
Going on the main road seemed to change the climate, so instead of most of the greenery, it mostly turned grey around us. This was because we entered the canyon, but in the true sense of the word, the Neretva River canyon. It was something wonderful, beautiful, to see and to experience. The almost vertical cliffs of layered rocks on either side of the river were around us. I've ridden by bicycle this road twice in my life so far, but I was blinking in anticipation of the pleasure for passing by this road for the third time.
The road is wide, with a line along the edge, so there is often room for the bike outside the line, towards the edge of the asphalt road.
So, everything went great, everything went for high five… .that there is no traffic.
Which was very heavy traffic!
And that traffic was very, very fast too!
The mass of cars, trucks and buses was driving in both directions, so when they pass by us, it looks they are flying very close to us. The gust of wind that pulls us in seems like it will lift us off the asphalt and take it high, very high, and then throw us far, far away.
That's what looked like to my companion, at least.
In contrast, I was comforted that there was enough room on the wide road for both us and those traffic, that the feeling of the wind when passing the vehicle was more psychologically unpleasant than objectively dangerous. But irrational fear is not helped by a rational explanation.
So we are left to relive this day of completely contrary views. While it was a nightmare for her, I tried to refrain from admiring the canyon's harsh beauty, indulging in that restraint. Some form of hope gave me my a camera, the use of which I captured that raw beauty, hoping that later, much later, when the day would pass, and with it this immense, though irrational, but still, fear at my companion, and then all this will look nicer to her.
I was sorry for her, I felt miserably helpless in the inability to melting that fear, to eradicate it and turn it into a pleasure which I felt, but I didn't know how to convey it. All I have left to do was only to stay with her and giving her the dynamic of the journey as she wants, with the hope that this fear will pass.
And what was it what I failed to convey to her at that moment? !?
Tired of everything, my companion had a desire for coffee. For the morning coffee.
Without talking, I agreed immediately to choose wherever she wanted a place to drink coffee.
It will be that by the generosity of God I have been so abundantly rewarded with the place chosen for the said ritual of drinking a black beverage. If I should choose a place for rest I would choose just this. At the first moment, all this was amazed, surprised me. It was too improbable to be accidental.
The cafe, when we approached it, turned into a large restaurant, was located along the creek that through its canyon reaches the water of the Neretva to merge with it into one. I already said that we travel hand in hand with the rail, which is somewhere up there to our right and which we mostly don't see. Now, just as was road, so did the railway with its bridge, was crossing the creek. By nice, arched bridge.
Now, in a strange way peculiar only to the patience and perseverance of a man, here, somehow, there was an intricate complex of this restaurant under the railway bridge, next to the road and under the road bridge.
It was not even ten o'clock in the morning, so the restaurant was empty. That void was repulsive to my companion (everything is repulsive to her this day, so it would probably be a repulsive and full restaurant), so I bought a "coffee for the go" cavalierly, and also cavalierly, gentle and considerate brought her. She chose a place for rest across the street from the restaurant at the extension behind which, in the abyss, was the blue-green of lake water. On some of the better days, I mean nicer and warmer days, there will be a swim, which I conclude from a board that then acts as a diving board.
As my companion sipped on coffee and while she was sitting on a stump (obviously the first step to the hot lamb from the spit - splitting the wood to roast that lamb), I was staring confusedly at the ground in front of me, I buzzed with my eyes up and down and left to right. Below the road bridge was nicely polished benches where guests should consume that lamb (with which, as I said before, all starts where my companion sits). The benches are located below the arch of the bridge, and on the curved wall of the arch is the text of an old Bosnian folk song, written by a certain Hamza Humo back in 1937, with the addition that "sitting here is a delightful, not to ask is shame, not to read is sin!"
(I apologize for missing a translation of the song, but my English is far from good, so I'm afraid my translation would ruin that song).
Looking up at the rocky cliffs along the concrete embankment of the railroad, I noticed they were roe deer in the enclosure. Delighted by the rare possibility that they could be viewed through the lens of a camera for more than a second, I shot a few shots to "turn out well". However, unlike those in nature, these roe deer are accustomed to the appearance of people, and no longer register them, but do what is already on their mind. So, unfortunately, I was completely ignored, so the extra quality shots were missing. Therefore, below you have the opportunity to see what I filmed, not what I wanted to film.
As I looked in the direction of our journey, I saw beautifully that the canyon was not joking, but rather it squeezed the river, that is, the lake with almost vertical cliffs. It is a miracle, and at the same time the skill of the builder, that they found a place here for the road and the railway above it.
When my companion gathered strength for body and mind, we continued our journey. She noted that she would like to find a quiet and calm place (whatever that means) tor rest better and longer. I promised her I'd find something like that. Until we find such a place, I continued to shoot with the camera whenever I find attractive for it (which means very often). Still delighted with the beauty of the canyon, I re-shot the scene, not far from the previous image.
And so we drove along a road that barely managed to find space for itself, though it did not influence on its lavish width. Only occasionally I managed to look " up there" to see a railway which seemed to me that it travel here through tunnels more rather than by daylight. However, after a while on this side of the canyon was no longer a place for both of it, so the road, after did saying goodbye to the railway, skipped the water with the help of a bridge and continued on its way on the other side of the canyon.
In my young days, when traveling here with my family to relatives in the south, it was mandatory to stop at the extension behind the bridge. I hoped it would be a good place for a longer vacation, so I suggested it to my companion. After crossing the bridge, there were now stone benches with tables on that extension. That would even be nice if it were neat. And it's not! The garbage was so large, scattered over such a surface that it looked as if the garbage collection company had been on strike for at least half a year. So nothing of the resting at this place.
As we were crossing the bridge, I shot the scene we had just passed, just out of hand, during the ride itself.
And yet I have a great desire to show you that bridge. And not only that! You can see the comparison of the wild canyon wildlife before the construction of the hydroelectric dam and the restful calmness of the lake in the images below, so you can judge for yourself.
Traveling to the coast by car in 2005 with my (new) family, I stood behind the bridge and photographed the scene. The hydropower plants were under repairing, so the lake had to be emptied. After many years spent under the water, the old bridge returned to the daylight.
Even though we were traveling down by the stream of the Neretva, therefore downhill, and though downhill was mild, it does not mean that there is no uphill. This is ensured by some huge stubborn rock that vertically bends above the Neretva River, so that the road had nothing to do but go round it from the other side.
As I don't believe in coincidence, God again influenced in choosing the right place for a long rest. The extension was large, so we could more than get far enough from the road, and again there was no official parking, so no one had stopped on it long ago. I conclude this based on the complete absence of garbage. So big and clean and therefore ideal for resting!
If, however, it was no accident, yet something else was at the point, was shown by the thick shade of the tree and a small sub-wall, each with its purpose. The wall is required to stretch the sleeping bag's pad and to be nicely and comfortably placed in a reclining pose, and the shade is a necessity for this bedding to take on Paradise comfort.
Even at that uphill (of course, so where else !?) when touring the rock, the sun finally cleared away the clouds that had been dragging on since last night, retaining the previously described unpleasant moisture. Now that sun was cheerful and was shining abundantly on everything alive and not alive, and the unpleasant freshness of this morning had become so much pleasure that it had taken on the true Paradise outlines together with the sun.
In this Paradise of the Earth, after tucking under my jacket, my companion immediately, in an instant, sank into the dreamy expanses of the righteous.
"I look at her as she sleeps" as the song says and I feel a smile of pleasure on my face. There, that was I needed it! The aforementioned feeling of helplessness that overwhelmed me in ignorance, in the inability to turn her fear into positive pleasure, resulted in patience and hope that something would already happen.
And it happened!
All we need is to be patient and persevering.
And let no one tell me that this kind of shade, this kind of wall, and this kind of extension od the road, and all of that right on this place, just came together by accident.
Come on, please!
About the others have already been talked about, but by what was this place so significant? Well, after a few steps, the mouth of the Dreznica River in the Neretva River comes to my eyes. Long ago, back in the 1980s, while the wild, unrestrained Neretva was raging here, I filmed this estuary, somewhere right here, so here's another comparison for you to see.
Immediately to the right of the above shots, when I moved the camera slightly to the right, a bridge over the Neretva River leading to Donja and Gornja Drežnica entered in the image.
After about twenty minutes of deep, calm sleep, my wife's eyes opened with a smile of rest, pleasure and refreshment. Not to believe how many a few tens of minutes it strengthens the body and refresh the spirit. Anyone who has not experienced this should try it instead of swallowing various antidepressants, analgesics and other products of the pharmaceutical industry.
The problem was still there, the trucks were still frantically passing us, the gust of wind still scared us to hell, the tunnels were still dark, noisy and scary, but it was somehow easier to handle all of that. In a word, despite everything, the wheels of our bikes were still spinning.
Unexpected and sudden, not on this ride, but much later, when preparing the photos for this reportage, I noticed another example of a case that is much, much more than that. So during the drive, in a moment of slow motion, we found a moment for a short break, just enough to drink one or two sips of liquids, wipe the sweat off my face, and even squeeze the trigger on my camera. And where did we stop !? Just at the same place as the two of us were the "ordinary" girl and young man, when we first cycled to the sea back in 1986 (see "The first time with the girlfriend to the coast").
When I noticed this, browsing through the footage, I was amazed for a while by the surprise with which precision God had determined the locations of the present break. All to Him and thank Him!
The tunnel we encountered was different from all the ones we had before. First, because it lacked any, even the slightest trace of light on the other end. Second, there was a wide footpath over a meter wide, separated by a high curb from the roadway. Third, it was illuminated.
Moments after the confusion, I realized that this one, concerning the others, is special because of extraordinary length. I slowly, too slowly, I was understanding, I was realizing slowly, I was looking for a solution, it seems to me, akain slowly, too slowly. But, when one truck overtook us,I knew immediately what we to do, so I told my companion: "We will continue by walking on the sidewalk!"
By the way, once again as a general note, generally on this trip, not just today or just in this tunnel, in front of every tunnel, but every single tunnel, we stopped for turn on a light on the flashes - both, the front one and the rear one.
And so, with a strange feeling of protection that we got by the flashlights and by the sidewalk, calmly and relaxed I walked as if I were in a promenade, watching the frenetic chaos of the vehicles and their thundering sounds as if the plane was coming down. I was fascinated by that surreal, alien, psychedelic atmosphere in which two tiny, fragile cyclists was breaking through the frenzied beasts of the deepest hell. At the exit of the tunnel, we turned aside to turn off the flashes. I turned to my companion, and, still impressed by the strange excitement of the past moments, I was irritated to ask if it was, at least a little, interesting to her. She just shook with her hand without saying anything. With "Thank God!", I saw in her eyes that she was more, much more thrilled when I told her there were no more tunnels today.
Fifteen kilometres before we reach the first houses of Mostar we leave the canyon, and before us, there is a view of the valley above which the Velež mountain towered.
As in front of any major town, the intensity of traffic here in Mostar also increased here.
We needed to concentrate to monitor the traffic situation in front of you and go forward, and only forward without looking on the left or on the right.
We took only one break at a large shopping centre for fruit and beer. That freshness from last night had melted away, and now the true hot Herzegovina sun was heating up from the sky. It became hot.
The closer we were to the city, the denser the traffic. In fact, it can be safely said that there were columns of vehicles in both directions with greater or less distance between the vehicles. In this general turmoil, I was able to suggest to our companion that we take a detour into the city if she wanted to.
"No, let's move on to leave this traffic jam as soon as possible"
I would be glad because I didn't want to go into the city crowd. Mostar, on the last trip, nine years ago, I toured detaily, so my wish for it passed. Generally, I notice with myself that as I get older, I am no longer comfortable by traffic jams and I even avoid it as much as I can. Therefore, I was pleased with the choice of my companion.
We rode on some sort of a detour of the town of Mostar, which was continued on the left side of the Neretva River, but far from the river, on a long uphill. On the right, we have a view of the panorama of the city, when we manage to look at, it because there is a constant traffic jam on the road. At some extension, I was able to stopped and filmed something of the Mostar town for a moment.
After the uphill, a downhill followed. Since the sun was shining very hot, a real summer atmosphere, so it was a real enjoyment in the breeze during the drive on that downhill.
Everything that is beautiful lasts for a short time, even this downhill. We stopped behind a road sign and sat in the shade, catching our breath and chilling in the gentle breeze. In addition to the resting, we stopped here to check the direction from the local and received confirmation of my assumption that, finally, it was time to leave this main road, which would particularly cheer my companion.
We should turn towards Nevesinje, and after 4-5 kilometres to the right towards Blagaj. So, today it is the destination of our journey, and soon we will leave this controversial main road, so we were in no hurry, but rather, enjoying the shade, watching the crowd around us. The crowd was made up of vehicles whose traffic was still heavy in both directions, but a lot of people also increased that crowd. Across from us were standing where locals sold tourists everything and everything from this area, fruits, drinks and other necessities. Suddenly, one guy from these stalls was running and shouts "They're coming! They're coming! ” Nearby a bus with Polish Registration stopped near them. A river of middle-aged and elderly people got off the bus, heading to the stands. Then started a cacophony of different languages and dialects, bargaining on offerings, rejection…All of that was very interesting for us both to look at, as we located at the distance of all of that.
As we continued our journey with a special enjoyment, we left the main road and turned left. And this turning would be kind of weird as if the desperate highway were trying to extend our stay on it for a moment. For that, it made it an endless column of vehicles coming to meet us, so the waiting was ominously extended, but in the end, at some point in the break of the column, we noticed an opportunity for us and we turned left onto the road to Nevesinje.
And on that road, the calm, the peace and the silence, just the quiet noise of the breeze. Unaccustomed to the lack of constant noise, my ears made some noise themselves, buzz, so it took me a long time to calm them down. Somehow, suddenly, this silence arose, so we looked at each other in confusion. If it weren't the breeze there, it seems we could have heard the sound of eyelash blinking, how shocking the lack of traffic was and its noise.
We crossed the main railway with an overpass, which overlooked the vast vineyards of, I suppose, the famous Žilavka (a type of grape for wine).
And then that breeze stopped being a breeze. I only noticed this when it became difficult to drive forward because the wind was blowing straight in my face. Lifting my eyes in front of me, I saw that somewhere in the distance was dangerously blurred sky. It looked like a real storm cloud. I located it somewhere southeast of us and hoped that the storm was going further east, as it was rain mostly from the west and going east. But this one seems to have forgotten something, or someone, so it was returning. Straight toward us.
A furious race ensued, the struggle of a small, tired man and a cruel, furious nature.
It blew straight at us with so much power that we switched the chain on the bike to a combination for uphill riding. That was how I felt - like driving a steep, too steep uphill. Who gets to camp soon, us or the storm? I don't know about the storm, but we didn't even know the exact location of the camp, just that it was somewhere here.
And so we drive with the effort that we run almost 40 for an hour, but realistically, we move almost 10, breathe full lungs, the heart wants to jump out of our chest, and the sinister rolling of a storm cloud is getting closer and closer.
And finally, the camp!
We flew into it at lightning speed, at least it looked like it to us, huddled beneath a canopy, an arbour, a wide roof that was on columns instead of walls. That roof covered the tables of the restaurant/dining room, and the bar, which was also the reception desk. The covered area was quite large, at least thirty square meters, so there was room for bicycles as well.
As I voraciously drunk Sarajevo beer obtained from a guy at the bar/reception, with the storm wind it started to rain. As we were faster in this storm race, so how could I celebrate that victory, at least with that beer !?
That's it, as far as today's ride is concerned. In the end, it turned out to be an extremely wise and far-reaching decision to give up visiting Mostar. Now we would be somewhere in the city under a canopy we would curse the poor choice and regret that we did not move on.
It's only 3.30 pm, we still have plenty of time of this day. I was hoping that this storm would pass quickly and that there would probably still be time for the sun too, so we could go to the water spring of the Buna River, which is about 4-5 km from the camp.
The storm didn't last too long, unlike, say, the one in front of the Bugojno town. Nevertheless, we are close to the sea so the spirit of the Mediterranean is well felt.
The rain, then, stopped, even the sun appeared, that is, everything was as we expected.
We first need to solve our home, so after touring the camp and choosing a place, we started to pitch a tent. I always comprehend this raising as a special spiritual ritual, so with real joy, slowly and thoroughly, I moving around the tent. I was completely immersed in this moving, when, just like from a pleasant dream, I was conveyed by the panic warning of my companion: "The rain is starting!"
Only then did I realize that it was raining. Okay now, it's not a shower but more like a light, boring raining. I gave off from the ritual joy of raising of the tent now, I quickly ended up with that, and I put everything inside the tent all things which must not be wet.
We got into the tent.
But, that is what we step into was only for the cold, rational way of thinking, "the interior of the tent". For us, it was a sumptuous room of a six-star hotel, and the sleeping bags, under which was a sleeping bag pad and an air mattress, were a huge, sumptuous canopy bed. We were lounging beneath that canopy (the inside of the tent above looked just like that) listening to the raindrops tapping on the outside of the tent. So, dry and warm on our bed, we felt a sense of immense happiness that we had gone through this controversial day, managed to overcome the storm, that we, at the end, would enjoying in the smell of the ozone with the rhythm of the raindrops, which perceive our tent as a kind of drum. A true Earthly Paradise!
This light raining took a long time, though, happy and satisfied in the tent, we were not even aware of it. Only when we went out into the (again) sun did we see that 7 pm had already passed, so we postponed the tour of that water spring until tomorrow.
We toured the camp and its surroundings. The camp is a small, private, obviously family-owned business, but it had everything we, at least, needed. There were clean and tidy toilets, and we had a hot water shower too.
It was left to us to take supper in the form of the hot soup at the dining room. This time it was non-greasy "Vegetable Soup". Quite the opposite of my expectation, it was extremely delicious to me. In doing so, the company to us were made by three kittens in a next chair, cheerfully preoccupied with their game.
You can view the continuation of this travelogue here.
Post je objavljen 21.12.2019. u 14:23 sati.