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The Island of Hvar- First attempt 2016, Part one
If you don't want to read, skip the text and see the images of this journey here.
You can see the map of the first day of the journey here.
You can see the map of the second day of the journey here.
You can see the map of the third day of the journey here.
And this morning started so well…
It was the third day of this journey. At the very east end of the island of Hvar, in the Sućuraj place, it looked like a fairy tale.
The sun was behind us, illuminating our road as the most powerful headlamp. Peace, silence, without a whiff of a wind. A few minutes before seven we were already on our bikes. Mediterranean scents, those from the last night, worn by the morning freshness, teased our nostrils. Just before the uphill, and after the last houses, in the meadow beside us, we spotted a rabbit. A real wild rabbit. As it was timid, because it had the attitude that there is danger in everything and everything, for some reason known only to him, the two of us on a packed bicycle were not given this status...
For only for its well-known reason, my camera's automation did not share our enthusiasm for the creature with long ears, and completely ignored it, focusing instead of it on the rusty fence.
And then the uphill started ...
Initially, the euphoria of a beautiful morning kept us strong, aided by the still long shade on the road.
But little by little, it was getting warmer and warmer, even though those shades were sometimes lavishly abundant. At first, it appeared as a foreboding, sinister albeit hazy, from the subconscious, ignored by conscious thinking, but gradually it becomes the realization which became more and more clear: "It was going hard, harder and harder!"
Unlike me, who rode the first day of this trip, the day before yesterday, with the subjective feeling of nausea and exhaustion, it seems that this time my companion gained that impression. Breathless, she paused more and more often, and she must had wondered why the riding on this island was different from the riding of last days on the mainland, when those, even harder, hills easily overcame.
These pauses, initially shorter, gradually increased over time, eventually gaining the status of true, longer rest.
I used the time on those vacations to take pictures of the environment, with my eyes and with my camera too.
That's how I saw the campsite.
The campsite is 4 km away from the Sućuraj place, where we ha accommodation last night. Because of these kilometres, we decided last night to stay at the Sućuraj place. We were tired of driving yesterday, so we didn't want to ride those kilometres, which we rightly assumed were not horizontal. Now, resting in this one of a series of resting, we had accepted the possibility of some other overnight stay in some another journey.
The road, on which we were resting more and more and on which we were riding less and less, was on the northern slope of the island, so to our right was a view of the Hvar Channel and the mainland across from it.
While I was looking at the map, I could not determine with certainty which the place was. Whether it is Zivogosce or Igrane or someone else, I don't know, so if anyone in this image recognizes what it's about, let me know.
It was getting warmer and warmer. The shade was diminishing, humbly retreating before the heat of the sun. I was surprised by the heat itself, although it was only 8 am! But the total calmness of the morning, with the complete absence of any breeze, showed us the reason why this island has the epitome of the sunniest and the warmest.
My companion had hardly breathed more and more often. She was stopping the same more and more often, to catch her breath. The road along which we (less) move and (more) stop, had gradually become the worst road in the world for her. Nowhere was the room for a rest, no benches, no nothing! So we had to do it on the edge of the asphalt, with the constant concern that any truck will forcibly push us into the underbrush along the road. And the sun was shining as if it were a day of doom, that at least was a little something to blowing…
I refrained from commenting, although all of this was mostly exaggerated, if not inaccurate. Even with yesterday's, or a day before yesterday, riding there were stocks that could use the same description as for this one, but we didn't experience that as negative as this one now. So obviously this morning's experience of difficulty is different from previous days.
I hoped that our empty stomachs did a cause for this. Namely, in order to move as early as possible, we gave up our morning breakfast, so this uphill, with the drinking of fluid, caused the appearance of nothing in the digestive tract. So I suggested a longer breakfast break.
"But where !?", with a strange blend of sarcasm and discouragement, a tired companion answered me. And really, as much as I tried to maintain a positive and optimistic attitude, the environment didn't give me much concrete reason to do so. But there was no room for delaying because of my companion becomes more and more tired.
I found a rescue of some part of the road in a shade. The edge of the road was on a stone wall, only half a meter high, so it could be used as a bench or as a sitting area..
"What if someone appears!?" she said at my suggestion. I realized that her fatigue did not allow her to continue on the road, and her fear of some vehicle that could appear do not allow her to accept my suggestion. With one more word of persuasion, in which I endeavoured to disguise the unfoundedness of what I was saying, she agreed, apparently overcome by fatigue and hunger.
We spread the meal and we started eating. The beauty of enjoying the morning shade with Mediterranean scents was interrupted by one truck. It stopped in front of us because it had to miss the same one in the opposite direction. As we watched him from a frog's perspective, he somehow grew to gigantic proportions, and for a moment it looked like it was about to cross over us, two mosquitoes without noticing us. Instead, with restraining reproach, the driver mimically tried to explain to us that what we were doing was not very nice. I replied to his mimicry, and with a shrug of his shoulders, with a repentant expression on his face, confessed his sin (I will never again, really!). I supposed that he had been satisfied with our mute communication because he bypassed us in a great arch and left us in the said peace to continue where we left off.
In the continuation of the trip, I had to confess, unfortunately, that breakfast did not help much. My companion was still blowing, puffing, and more and more stalling. Little by little in my mind a constantly suppressed cognition had appeared that we will not get this far!
After 7 kilometres of climbing and after an hour and a half of hiking, pushing, resting, we arrived at a kind of a summit of a pass.
We were completely surprised to find even a large extension which was with modest, but still, shade. My companion, with only one remaining atom of power, sat down, wrapped her arms around her legs, placed her head on her knees, and - fell asleep. At least it seemed to me that was while I listened to her quiet, monotonous breathing.
So, we can't go further like this!
And what now!?
I cycled across the island of Hvar back in 1985 (see Tara and the bridge on it). Unfortunately, memory in the head, as a place to store impressions, is quite unreliable. Because of the very, very high heat, little remained in my memory. For the same reason, there are no photographs that can inspire that memory for me. What I have left in my mind is the vague realization that it would be good to ride across this island by bike, but with a little less heat.
During all these years, the idea of riding on the island was coming up often, but for various reasons, the realization always was postponing.
Until this year, 2016.
We were stationed by car and by bike at my relatives not far from Imotski. So we left the car there, and my wife and I set off by bike to the island of Hvar. The original intention was to return here in 4 days from where we started.
And so one fine morning (everything seems to start "one fine morning") from the hill called the Perić hill, we descended by the freshly paved local road some 700 meters to the Imotski field..
Across the field, the main sights of this area, Red and Blue Lake could be seen. We didn't visit them this year, again.
Today we planned to visit the Kravica waterfall, at the Trežibat river. To do this, we rode toward the east through the Imotsko field. After we will entering to Herzegovina and jumping over the hill, we will descend to the Ljubuški town and after about 15 km, finally, feel the water of Trebižat falling from the waterfall.
After we rode by downhill into the Imotski field, the situation was monotonously flat, which didn't bother us at all - on the contrary. Later, there will be uphill (less) and downhill (much more) to Ljubuski, and thereafter too.
We have crossed the border crossing between the European Union and the Republic of Bosnia and Herzegovina in the Vinjani Donji place. That border crossing is in the eastern part of the Imotski field. Becauase of the freshness of the morning still present, the gentle shaking of my soul because of the final, long-awaited journey, the crossing the border with my bike was more comfortable and more impressive to my soul. It seem to me that I get a smile from the border staff drawn from much greater depths of soul than when I make that transition by car. When I add to this that I am not alone but the two of us, it seemed to me that they impressed even more about that ( "Only alone man is wanderer, the pair always go somewhere").
Beyond the border the situation was just as it was in front of it. Namely, the strange paths of the historical events of the borders between the then Venetian Republic and the Turkish Empire went along the eastern part of the Imotski field, so that this field, which endeavours to show its appearance and prove that it is a whole, is divided by some ancient people into two unequal parts. And that division has remained until the present day, though it seems to me that the inhabitants of the field share the attitude of communion with the field. And as before, and sadly still today, the natives have not to be asked about their attitudes, social, economic, and, as it may sound proud, geostrategic. It is up to them to remain silent and to work, and "somewhere out there" someone decides their fate.
We made the first long stop at the end of that field in the Grude town.
In front of the city itself, on the hill above it, I shot a church. The church is dedicated to St. Catherine, which has been celebrated in Grude since 1895 when this parish was founded. The church dates back to the 1930s when Fr. Gabro Grubisic began the construction of this magnificent building, which many today rightly call "The Grudska Beauty".
The fact that they located her on the hill was an excuse for us that we didn't visit it.
We stopped in front of one of the banks in Grude to get the currency of the country we are driving through. While my companion stayed out with my bikes, I walked into a bank where was surprisingly crowded. "So where are you so far!" It was the comment of my companion, which tells you enough how a simple exchange of money can, if a man is imaginative enough (these at this bank were just like that beyond all expectations), can be complicated and stretched to unobservable proportions.
I refrained from commenting, happy that I was able to finish the said money transaction, and more by mimic than words said to my companion "Let's go!"
Immediately upon leaving the city, a long climb follows, which we have mastered without much difficulty, thanks mainly to morning freshness and our freshness, too. A slight up and down followed. For a little while, we stopped at something that has recently become a feature of economic entrepreneurship in this region - the immortelle!
I learned from Google that, according to Homer's Odyssey, the hero Odysseus had wrecked on the island and met the divinely beautiful Nausikaya. The secret of her beauty is in everlasting oil, from a flower that never fades, even when harvested. Although it is just a legend, it is known that there are flowers that do not vein, even when they have been harvested. It is an immortelle, Latin Helichrysum italicum, native plant growing in the Mediterranean, on sunny rocks. It grows to a height of 60 cm, has narrow leaves and yellow flowers. It is traditionally used to treat asthma, migraines, liver problems and skin diseases. But what he is most famous for and why he is endangered today is his anti-ageing effects.
To grow it, the soil needs to be completely cleared of everything else. Because of this, looking from far away and at this time, while the stems of the plant are still small, these fields look strange and sinister in comparison to the surrounding, mostly wild but still green flora.
The Ljubuški town, together with the field in which it is located, is at a significantly lower altitude than the Imotski field (100 compared to 260 meters), and descending into it is much longer than climbing from the Grude town.
We entered Ljubuski after eleven. The sun was already hot and we were first looking for shade, convenient place for a long rest. Buzzing around town, we ran into the town market. Super! The best place to feel the city breathe.
Across the street from the market, thick shade with benches. Great again, it can't get any better. Although by mid-day we had half an hour to decide in this idyllic setting and had lunch, It was a little early, but since we had breakfast this morning at six, before the trip, a liquid of various colours and contents washed our stomachs by the way. In a word, we were hungry.
As we slowly, with gusto, prepared our rich table, the lady in the late years on the bench across the street started talking to us. She did not hide her admiration for our appearance as well as our goal of travelling, today's, and overall. We learned later that she was the teacher in retired, which explains the talkativeness and unbridled, sincere enthusiasm. We eventually used her as a technician when taking our group lunch photo.
After eating, resting, and getting ready, and before continuing our journey, we took a leisurely tour of the city. The city is not big, so this tour took a short time.
According to Google, the city has a population of about 5,000 and is 100 meters above sea level. In addition to its natural beauties, Ljubuški is also known for its great cultural and historical heritage. Remains from almost every period of human history can be found at various sites throughout the municipality, of which the following are worth mentioning: the ancient Roman camp in Gračine, the Humac plate, the fort at the top of Buturovica, and the stećak tombstones in Studenci, Bijača and Zvirići.
In the past, Ljubuski was also the administrative centre of western Herzegovina, but this status was lost by the municipality by the withdrawal of new county borders in the mid-1990s. Within the present-day county of West Herzegovina, Ljubuški is located at its southern end, while the role of the centre the county was taken over by the Široki Brijeg town.
According to the internet, before the fall of Herzegovina under the Turks, there was a monastery and church of st. Kate. According to the earliest mention, the monastery was built in 1435. It was demolished by the Turks in 1563. After liberation from the Turks, out of reverence for the early Christian martyr, Catholic believers who worked in the civil services in Ljubuski decided on March 25, 1888, "on the walls of the old church of St. Kate to build a new church. "
For unknown reasons, church construction began in 1906. Due to the lack of material resources, church construction has progressed poorly. In addition to the many problems that the builders had, the church was covered in 1912. Construction was completed until 1928, and since then, Holy Masses have been celebrated on Sundays and holidays. The church bell tower was completed in 1940.
Now, as I write these lines, I have found on the Internet an interesting resume of the friar Lovro Šitović . He is originally from a Muslim family. His father was captured in Dalmatia during the Austrian-Turkish War (1690), leaving him as a surety as a boy until he collected the money for ransom. The boy spent that time with the Franciscans. After his father brought him back to his birthplace, he soon fled back to the Franciscans. He was baptized in the monastery Zaostrog at the age of 17 and replaced his earlier name with the name Stjepan, and later took the monk name Lovro. He finished monastery school in Zaostrog and started his novitiate in Našice. He studied in Italy. He worked as a professor in Makarska, Sibenik and Split. He published a work in the verses "Written From Hell" (1727), which, he said, he composed in "Croatian language and singing." He is also the author of a Latin-Croatian grammar.
By the way, I admit that the composition of the photo above is a bit strange to me. Not guilty or obliged, friar Lovro, nearly three centuries after his death, he finds himself sandwiched between a church tower and a huge construction crane. Maybe Lovro is the link between the spiritual (the church) and the modern-advanced (the crane), I don't know. All I know is that I didn't see the crane like this that working in my town long ago. And he is many times bigger than Ljubuski!
We left Ljubuski toward the east with a road that goes uphill, with very, very, very heavy traffic. The sun was shining so hot. Both of this was the embodiment of cycling hell which lasted about a mile and a half when we turned right at the intersection. Left was turn for Medjugorje, and that road was much more interesting to the traffic than this road of ours. The hill was lost too, leaving only the bright sun on our, now mostly horizontal, the road from the above-mentioned epithets. All in all, as it was, this is nonetheless bearable.
"The immortelle again!" My companion exclaimed enthusiastically, and she stopped in a shade of a few square feet. A closer look at the mentioned culture she unexpectedly delayed because of a text message on her mobile phone. We live in an age where the cellphone is Number One. Whatever they do, think, do, talk about, everything strops off instantly, and reaches for the famous device to quench for the thirst for curiosity about what it is and who wrote or said it. (Really, now it comes to my mind, here's an example of psychological training, a kind of spiritual exercise - let's just leave it (cellphone) alone when it tells us we got a message, just to see how much they can endure. I tried it, so often the other extreme happened to me, after successfully refraining for the first minute or two, and later, occupied by my current interest, I completely forget about the message and my cellphone).
As soon as we stopped in front of that mini shade, even that little breeze disappeared and the sun ruthlessly and fiercely pressed its rays. When looking at the above shot it is hard to get the impression, but the crumb of this shade made the surrounding heat more than bearable.
It will take me a while to get used to this immortelle , because when I see a bare field from far away, I get the impression of some fatal disaster rather than a cultivated plantation.
We first came across a parking lot, huge, with a mass of cars and there were buses, too. Then we came across the ramp on the road and next to it a small cottage and a long row in front of the cottage. Entrance fees, obviously. We stopped in that row (together with bikes) and when paying for tickets (5 KM/person) I asked if we could go with the bikes. The stone fell from my heart when I got a positive answer.
And so we went, with bikes, into some kind of a nature park.
At first glance at the Kravice waterfall, impressed, I stayed speechless. And also my companion did.
We had to zigzag downhill till the waterfalls. Because of trembling with excitement I stopped, not only talking but thinking. Not any voice came from my companion too, so it seems to me that she had a similar state of mind.
Contrary to expectations, the road headed opposite the waterfalls. It didn't bother me because I knew it was just searching for space, so with the bend of 180 degrees, it would continue in the opposite direction. That road, or just a path, if I judge by its width, was only initially clad with asphalt, and later it cobbled together with stone slabs. A little, just for a moment, this disappointed me, because now all things on my bicycle were shaking while driving, but soon I accepted it calmly because my sensors had smarter work than watching that shaking on cobblestones.
For hundreds of thousands of years, the Trebižat River was making its way to the sea in the karst, making a canyon, a valley or something in between. Much, but much faster, in his work, was the man who brought the symbol of modern times of these days - the highway. Perhaps because it is considered the supreme symbol of today 's civilization, this highway gets a sense of importance and grandeur, which again causes the appearance of spoilage, so it does not tolerate any major uphill gradients, descents or curves, like true superstars. The rational ones, with a scornful, would reject these claims of mine, and they would say that this is from a practical reason because of the need for high speeds of traffic. In that case, there no room for excessive twisting or steep climbing or descending.
Whatever the reason, the aforementioned highway crosses this river and its canyon with an elegant bridge
Those extreme environmentalists would immediately call this bridge ecocide, but to me, I admit it is admirable. It will be even nicer if I come back to this place in a couple of years when the ground around the bridge will turn green. Besides that the scattered soil around it reveals the recent construction of the bridge, for me, it spoiling harmony between the bridge and the environment.
Not yet born that would satisfy everyone!
My confusion with myself inside me is interrupted by my companion who wants to perpetuate me here in this place. Although I don't like to be in front of the lens because I consider myself to be completely non-photogenic, I did it for love to her this time. Now you decide if I was right or she!
Speaking of photogenicity, the following situation was much more favourable to me. Between the top and bottom photos our bicycles had a hard shaking for a long time on cobblestones. After one serpentine, we started to approach the waterfalls. We didn't see them because of the greenery, but we heard it and felt it (probably because we knew what we were going towards). There were still pedestrians moving in both directions, to whom we had to pay some attention to our tours. All in all, we got a little bit sense of confusion when the downhill stopped (already !?). Those last 2-3 meters of elevation difference to the water of Trebižat we had to cross - by the stairs!
Now one of the many benefits of this journey has come to light. I, as a gentleman, simply took her bicycle under my hands and carried them down the stairs. After that, I did it the same with my bike.
Just a few meters away from the stairs, a bridge had been placed, the pedestrian bridge, across the calm water.
It was new, according to the boards of which it was made. Walking on it gave the impression of firmness and stability, though at first glance it seemed the opposite. Clearly, we were pushing our bikes over it, the challenge was immense, so it was hard to resist. In addition, on the other side of the bridge there was a larger flat surface with some "catering facilities", so we designated them as the base from which to visit the waterfalls.
Happy and contented, with ice cream in hand, I set my companion in the shade of the parasol, and I set off on a tour of the waterfalls.
Ah, finally!
I first heard about the Kravica waterfall back in 1983 while I was in military service in Pula. Then I met a local from the Studenci place, a village only a mile or two from here, who told me what was in his area. This realization has been lurking in my soul for years, coming back from time to time. So that over the last few years, aided by pictures from the internet, it become louder and more persistent, pointing to the growing and increasing need to coming to the Kravica Waterfall .
According to the all-knowing Google, the Trebižat River is 50 km long from its source in Pejë-Mlini to its confluence with the Neretva in Struga. It is a continuation of the stream from Posušje (Tribistovo 903 m above sea level), so we meet it de facto under nine names: Culuša - Ricina - Brina - Suvaja (Posusje) - Nation - Vrlika (Imotski) - Tihaljina - Mlade - Trebizat / Ljubuski). Kravica is a waterfall in Bosnia and Herzegovina, located 10 km from Medjugorje, in the village Studenci near Ljubuski. It is located on the river Trebižat and has a width of 120 meters and a height of about 28 meters. Once upon a time, many mills and rolling mills for woollen cloth were active along the waterfall.
So now I found out that this morning, at the beginning of this trip, when we were crossing the Vrlika river in Imotsko field, we could go by that river to reach these waterfalls. But, then we would go down through hill with a tunnel, both natural and water.
However, I prefer this cycling mode of dry travel!
I have seen similar waterfalls before - the Krka River and Plitvice Lakes. And yet again, this one caused me enthusiasm and excitement as if it were the first time. The noise of the waterfall, the smell of fresh, clean water, the haze of the sun ... whether viewed from close range or afar.
Unlike the mentioned Plitvice Lakes or Krka waterfalls, here is legal and completely free to swim, walk around, behind and below the waterfalls. A special and unforgettable experience. I admit I have an irrational fear of cold water. Maybe that is the reason for my age and maybe my health. Anyway, as far as bathing is concerned, it was enough for me to dip my finger in water, which does not diminish the aforementioned enthusiasm. Instead, I shot some kind of stuntman who, although he is not aware of it, will replace me in "dangerous" scenes.
Although it seems that the age of the child is still too small to remember later, that child has been rewarded by his father with a memorable element of a happy childhood in the form of kayaking on the calm waters of a small lake formed after waterfalls.
The fact that Bosnia and Herzegovina is a multicultural environment sometimes appears in a completely unexpected form.
The beauty, the charms and the pleasures of this place can be enjoyed in countless ways, so why it not take the form of an afternoon sleeping
The typical sense of improvisation here, on the verge of frivolous, seemed to me in the form of a footbridge.
When I finished the tour, I came to my companion. There where she was enjoyed ice cream, I did it with a beer. With the cool beer!
In doing so, I had a conversation with a catering worker and found out that it is not as idyllic here as it is during a summer. In the spring, when the snow starts to melt from the mountains, the water in Trebizat is significantly more than today and the water level increases significantly.
This means that in the early spring all this have been flooded here, and often some of it was carried away with torrents. That's why the bridge we used to cross the river with seems to be fresh - because it is renewed every year.
I read somewhere that childhood ends when a puddle of water on the trail becomes an obstacle instead of an opportunity.
I remembered myself from half a century ago by watching a boy play with two sticks vividly, spraying a kind of ultra-dirty water. I remembered, I said, because it was a special enjoyment after the summer's heavy rain to run outside and to step onto puddles with bare feet warmed by the still-warm asphalt. And, if there was a company, then we were spraying each other with water from these puddles. There was no end to (children's) happiness!
As I was planning this journey, looking at maps or Google Earth, I didn't see a road, at least a path, a few kilometres in length, to reach the Ljubuški - Prud - Vid road, so that we would reach Metković as soon as possible. To put it simply, it would be some kind of shortcut. When the waiter, from whom I got that beer, explained how to execute my plan, I was very satisfied that I found the way, because it was shortcut indeed.
First, we had a hundred meters to pushing the bikes by a narrow, very narrow and steep, very steep track.
When we were already tired of pushing our equipment bike, the trail disappeared, and instead, we found ourselves in a wider, flat parking lot. There was a road from that parking lot, a narrow road, but still paved.
I was happy that we found the road, so I accepted the uphill ride with calmness, though it was quite steep. The surrounding greenery was about 2-3 meters tall, so I couldn't even see where we were going or orient by anything.
Suddenly, a completely unexpected, greenery withdrew and we saw a road, a real road, with a line in the middle. Although it looked lavishly broad to us, it was not very long, because it simply - disappeared.
On the other side, where we turned, we immediately found ourselves on a bridge, more specifically an overpass that crossed the highway.
I couldn’t resist the temptation so I filmed the notion of the most modern of all modern roads found here in this Herzegovina's wasteland.
That this was true, it was enough to turn aside a view from that modern motorway sideways and a little into the distance.
That what looks like ominously naked field yellowish brownish colour in the picture above is a plantation of the immortelle, previously mentioned. I think you now understand why growing these plants, from a distance, seems more like a monster, a disaster than modern cultivation of that medicinal plant.
That gorgeously wide road over the highway, as long as it was before, it was so long after the overpass. The wide road splits into two narrow but still paved roads. Where now, left or right!? Left, so the waiter said, at least I think it is.
And we turned left. That tall greenery hugged our road again, so we didn't see whether we were taking the right road or not.
Up, down - up, down… This uncertainty became of long-standing, and with it, a strong, albeit warm, wind started blowing. And I don't like the wind. Not only does it bother and brake when it blows in my face, but it somehow sucks out my energy, strength, so I quickly grow feeble feeling the heat on my face.
I already felt the heat, not so much because of the wind, but because of the uncertainty if we were or we were not on the right road !?
Finally some kind of settlement. The houses are gorgeous, with the also gorgeous garden, but nowhere a people. We finally came across a woman arranging a flower garden around the house. When she realized where we were heading for my general astonishment, she told us that we were stray and that we should go back 2-3 km.
Disaster!!
I was sick of that, though I didn't show it to my companion by any sign.
So is that up and down again!?
You gotta do what you gotta do, so we turned back!
It will be that I did not listen well or remember what that waiter was saying to me.
But the anguish is not the end!
After about 3 kilometres again some intersections without any signposts and signs. Twice time we had to search for locals so they would not go astray again. It confused me to the extreme that I had no more idea of turning left or right and how we would finally leave the requested thoroughfare.
So many times we went left-right, that way - this way, that there was a doubt whether we had already entered some of the local roads in Croatia or we still in Bosnia and Herzegovina (We were in a border area).
As a true man who respects the system, anxiety has arisen, a fear that I am an illegally crossing the state border! The scene of scanning ID cards came to my mind when we were at the border crossing this morning. So they have recorded when we left Croatia and they didn't when we re-entered. So the frantic pursuit of dangerous illegal immigrants follows (my irrational fear worked in full steam).
Therefore, while healthy logic dictated to turning left, I said turn right. Nowhere homes, neighbourhoods, nowhere vehicles to ask where we are. I drive and look left to right in search of any sign that will tell me where we are (God, give me a sign, whatever!). I'm already a little sick of the uncertainty, my face is burning, my mind is upset, the wind is still blowing.
As I experience the storm in my head, my companion, is riding, breezy and relaxed . At one point, she wants a break and we stop. We stopped in front of some jumbo poster. Still with the storm in my head I look more than I can see what's on that poster.
And then I really see clearly!
I got what I wanted!
A sign that tells me where I am.
It is now clear to me that we are still in Bosnia and Herzegovina. So, we have to go back to the Vid border crossing and continue towards Metković.
But something else was on my mind at that moment. How did we just stand in front of this poster !?
Those extremely rational would say coincidence, luck. But it doesn't seem to me to be just that. I don't believe much, especially when the (mathematical) probability of this event was miserably small, almost zero.
It'll be something else!
On their own, without conscious movement, my eyes rose to the still blue sky and I silently said: "Thank you!" Hardly anyone will be able to convince me that this sign is not came from Him.
Particularly reassured, enlightened to the extreme, calm and unburdened by uncertainty and sinister assumptions, I took my bike around and headed for that famous border crossing with my companion.
And the crossing in the middle of nowhere - just a widened road with two buildings, one is "their" and the other one is "ours", with one officer at each. Both the former and the latter just waved their hand while we were showing our ID cards as if they were angry that we were interrupting their meditation.
But wait a minute!
Good that "their" did it, but why "our" !? Well, didn't he have to scan our IDs so that it was recorded somewhere in the central computer that, after they left Croatia this morning, Mr and Mrs Biker were came back in it !? This is how we know we came out, and God asks you when, or more importantly, HOW did they come back? Maybe illegal, huh!
This inner anger of mine, I was slowly beginning to realize, was the last attempt to save the last grain of dignity in myself. I have to admit finally - I've made an elephant out of nothing! No matter what, I was poisoned by my fears, in which for a moment I felt like the main character in Kafka's Process.
The border crossing was followed by a slope, where the first outlines of the Neretva valley appeared.
Until we get down to it, we need to go through a place called Vid.
According to the internet, Vid is a settlement in Croatia, three kilometres away from Metkovic, and is its largest suburban settlement. Built along the bank of the Norin River, the right tributary of the Neretva River at the site of the former Roman city of Narona. The ancient Forum today houses the Narona Archaeological Museum, built on the very remains of the temple.
Some remnants of the building and I noticed and filmed them. Now, whether it was the remains of a Roman temple or something else remain unclear.
That annoying, persistent breeze didn't even take a break. He kept blowing, and with the help of fatigue and, eventually, hunger dispelled that swaying lightness of mine after that "Celestial Sign". It was replaced by an anxious, exhausted sense of tiredness in the style of "I've had enough!"
We only realized that we were hungry when we stopped and took out our leftover food reserves. We shared it as were partisans shared the last cigarette, to the last crumb. We already perceived the Metković town in front of us, we will endure till it.
On the bridge, I turned back and took a picture of the church of St. Vid by which the place was named.
To get to Metkovic, we still had to cross the road which was straight like an arrow. A stone embankment squeezed along the road. At first, it looked like an embankment of an old narrow-gauge railroad, but I was so tired, so that it was not explored. I'd rather got to Metkovic as soon as possible.
But, why the Metković town? What is so important in it?
In matter of fact, nothing!
The original plan was to camp around Kravica Waterfall tonight and spend the night there, but as we ended his tour shortly before 3 in the afternoon, we decided to continue to that famous Metković. There they would find some private accommodation and spend the night for a little money.
Beautifully thought out, but hard to accomplish.
Most of the town is on the other side of the railway and the Neretva. So, first, we crossed the railroad.
Although there is an overpass that skips that railway, I refused to climb on another one ascent because I was tired and exhausted.
Instead, I found another solution. It was a small, car-only passage, and because of its claustrophobic, it was especially interesting to me to get through.
After we resolved the crossing over, or under, the railway, the crossing over the Neretva followed. There is no excessive number of bridges across that river in Metkovic, only one, so there is no difficulty in choosing.
Because it was a single bridge, therefore, the traffic congestion on it was pretty large, so for our crossing, we chose a part of the bridge for pedestrians. This is the skill of a bicycle transforming - when is need it would be a vehicle, but in the second case, it (almost) drowns among pedestrians.
And in town - jungle on the asphalt. So many vehicles, so many people, the trumpets, the yelling, the noise ... After that wasteland from Kravica waterfalls and after riding on an empty road to Vid, this was a real shock to me.
I tried to hide it from my companion, but I was tired of it! I was wondering to myself why there was such a lack of strength in me and so a lot indifference. Am I so old that the first day of my trip ends like this? How is it going to be tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, when I'm crushed like this today !? Is it because of lack of fitness, or because of heat, or because of the wind? Or all together?
While I was practically running in myself from hollow to empty, my cheerful, and enthusiastic (how can she still be so?) companion inquired about the tourist office. And we found it, but it was closed. She paused for only a moment, but a second later, equally cheerful, full of faith and desire, she went in search of the hotel. Pulling like a beaten cat, I followed her.
We found it! The happiness that we found it lasted just as long as it took time to realize the price of the accommodation - 490 kunas (65€) in total!
My companion did not disappoint yet, but with equal cheerfulness, came to the information that on the way out of town, according to Opuzen, have another hotel.
Now on the bikes in the big traffic jam (we are on the main road north-south), we rode toward Opuzen.
Which is because of heavy traffic and fatigue, it seemed to me that the search for another hotel has been stretched like a hungry year. In the rare moments of favourable circumstances, when I did not have to look out for vehicles that were overtaking me (and the others from the other direction were coming at the same time), I threw a moment's longing look at the local road on the other side of the Neretva river. Instead of hustling here with this traffic chaos, we should have sent Metkovic to hell, and set off on that local road south, and erect a tent somewhere in a beautiful meadow.
As I said before, this search for another hotel has stretched to its limit. When we found him, he looked like he was still living in January - no one, no staff, no guests, no dogs, no cats. As I settled into the shade, my companion set out in search of any form of life in it. That searching stretched a lot, so I had the opportunity to observe the combination of the two contrasts. This one which was quiet, empty desert around the hotel, and about fifty yards away, the one which was living on the main road, where all the traffic in both directions made every effort to display the vibrancy.
From that observation, my companion suddenly returned me to reality with one resolute “Let's go!” At my insistence, she told me that the luxury for spending the night in this Joe-is-alone-in-the-world-center would cost us 440 kunas(58€).
We wasted our time and energy in vain, I thought, but I didn't say. It was enough for us to solve one dilemma, and now we go to another.
On my way back I caught a moment of a blank road and filmed a row of oleander on the opposite side of the road.
After a short stop at one of the shops in the city to supply food and drinks (who knows where and how we will spend the night tonight?), we crossed the Neretva again, slipped under the railway, and continued toeward south along with it.
Peace, silence, every hundred years some car came across. Lest the end of the day was dangerously approached, lest l was not so exhausted, lest ... we could go straight to the sea. But, we should return from the exhilarated delight of the landscape to the cruel reality and think of something clever.
And what is it?
Theoretically, it looks simple. To search a good place in the meadow next to the house, to come to the host, to ask in a very friendly voice for allow to pitch the tents, on what he will agree, and that's it. Theoretically, I say, but it's practically a little different ("Theoretically speaking there is no difference between theory and practice, but in practical terms this difference is huge.")
Quite a lot of things are complicated by irrational fears, even what is insignificant at once takes on the contours of insurmountable obstacles.
My companion flatly rejected my suggestion that we spend the night in the wild, far from the houses on the Neretva coast, without even she allowed to me to make that suggestion until the end.
The first settlement after Metkovic was the Kula Norinska place, on our coast of the Neretva river selected as a serious candidate for finding that place to the overnight stay.
Either we were too picky, or the houses in the town were squeezed side by side, mainly we passed the place board with the name of the place which was diagonally crossed by a red line, without finding that meadow for overnight staying. The confusion that we passed through the Kula Norinska place and did not find a place to stay, lasted for a short time, only to reach the next place, a few hundred meters away - the Krvavac place.
So we go into this place, we cheering each other, creating various combinations of how to find what we are looking for, and one thought suddenly flashes by itself - why not try to reach the church. I did not have time to figure out how it came to my mind, I was in busy in searching for the church tower.
The place was squeezed on a hillside, so when viewed from the road from afar, it was clear that it would be difficult to find a few horizontal square feet of meadow in the place itself. Instead of a meadow, I saw a man and a woman sitting in front of a church. Blinking with my already old eyes trying to see the clarity of the environment through plus 3.25 diopter glasses, it seemed to me that I saw a man, or a young man which was dressed in white - therefore a altar server or a priest.
We must somehow to drag ourselves till the church. In the end, it was just as literal because the narrow streets were so narrow that they were reduced to footpaths (the enlarged version is shown below). And not only were they narrow, but they were also steep, very, very steep.
And now something amazing is coming!
We parked our bikes and while my companion was resting, I approached those pair in front of the church. I waited patiently for them to finish their cheerful conversation. When they noticed me, they silenced, so I recited my monologue - we are who we are, travelling here and there, and we are begging for a little flat ground for pitching up the tent in which we would spend the night.
The man in white (it turned out to be a priest) told me that there is no flat ground here around the church, but there is a lot "up there" at the other church. Because I was tired and exhausted, the same moment as I heard "up there" I felt desperate (oh Lord, another one uphill).
A spark of light in my blackness was given by a woman who had been quietly listening to our dialogue by then.
"Well, they could come to me," said the woman, obviously herself astonished by her proposal. That she was astonished, she showed with cautious questioning, "if we (my companion and I) had no objection, and if the Reverend would not be angry!" The two of us, confused by her sudden intrusion into the conversation, looked at her in wonder! A moment later, with great effort, I acted indifferently, while the two of them discussed whether we or not go to her. I say with great effort because, after a sudden enthusiasm, I was afraid that the woman would change her mind so that my enthusiasm would be extinguished before it flared up indeed.
Fortunately, she did not change her mind, so, with feeling like I saved the World, I returned to my companion to tell her that this "little thing" about the staying overnight had been solved. It remained to us to stay at the Mass because the woman came for her sake.
I was calming down a storm in my soul, a gradually and slowly, calm and happy with the solution I had reached. With this calmness, some facts gradually became clearer to me. It was ten to seven, Mass begins at seven. The woman, our hostess, arrived much earlier, so she and her pastor sat on a bench in front of the church, and they were chatting. In that situation, I saw them while we approached the place.
Then I noticed that people were coming, obviously to the mass, so I suggested to my companion that we mark this mass with our presence too. After all, it is our turn to thank the One above us for helping us unexpectedly.
Second time today!
By what we deserved it?
I do not know if the euphoria in my soul was due to this call to stay, or because of the special intimacy with which few people in the church radiated. I know that the mass in that humble church, along with these few people in it, was especially soft, warm, with a sense of connection to the community and with the Him above stronger than in some spectacular cathedral.
Just before Mass began, while we were still outside, I took a picture of the place and its surroundings, observing the church. A place, a village that unexpectedly got a special place in my lifelong memory.
Following the Mass, we followed the woman as the beloved master’s dog do. After meeting her husband of our hostess, we came to the house. Dinner followed with relaxed chatting, going to the room, showering, and going to bed. The bed was fine, soft, warm.
Even today, I do not understand how I managed to fall asleep with so much storm in my head. A storm that came by all of today's events and experiences. And there were too many for ten days, let alone for a single day.
You can view the continuation of this travelogue here.
Post je objavljen 07.02.2020. u 20:48 sati.