Bang bang made the captains virtual dream presence materialise at my cabin. Put some clothes on i hissed aghast at his now day time nudity. His ding dong swayed like a floor clock pendulum together, with his body, and the boat not too far away from the head of one one of the innocently slumbering passengers.. Everything was swaying. My head felt like a bottle of wool, and as i for the second time gave up the struggle and withered into my bedsheet body turban, an explosion sputtered trough the air and made me jump back up again and out of the cabin window.
What in god's.. Ah of course. We are in the place the time stopped. A gun from the wars against napoleon here is still used to tell the time to the fishermen. Well there was no point of trying to sleep, i mounted into my costume and pushed out of the window.
Splash is a insufficient word for the sound /feeling you feel jumping in to the sea right out of bed. Isn't it the most thrilling sensation not having to wash ones face nor to shower but just plopping right in to the sea. The captain confirmed my thoughts. we where flying in pure melted turquoise colour together with seagulls and fish.
Bang. The deranged clock method shot antoher pound of gun powder. Bang. And with the sounds several other heads popped out of the boat. What the hell is that? The newcomers moaned insulted at the wakening. And oh where are we? I was pleased my braincells had re activated in the cool of the water and it was merely enjoying watching the crew going trough the self doubt, i had tasted moments ago. This is not where we where anchored last night. What is this place? just than the brass band struck up a new communist number. Jump in it will all be better i swear. In manner of fat penguins they slid in to the watter than as excited as if they had caught a fish in their beak they emerged out of the water squaking the name of the town they finally placed.
Komiza. Komiza!
Once we had all climbed aboard we where struck in unison at the sight of the cock pit. Candle wax had melted everywhere. There where cups and bottles of gin and chivas and plates and tomatoes and underwear hanging indecently from winches. What had happened.There was a dinner. And jazz. Night swimming.Some sort of teenage game was played.
In silent and shameful unison everyone decided to make no remarks what so ever about he previous night. In tune to the bras band we marched one at a time into the boat to re baptise ourselves and dunk the body into clean clothes which smell of washing powder and goodnes. Than stepped into the dingy. Whizzed to the good old safe and predictable normality of the shore. Bought food which no one was able to eat, and sat down for coffe no one was able to drink amongst local families who had just emerged from church.
This is the bar in which your bother proposed to the waitress the night of the regatta. Remember ,he introduced her to your mother and father . The captain smiled smugly.
What happens on the islands stays on ths islands is the general rule and what ever happens is invalid outside the island.
But it was quite obvious that more than time was warped in this town.I mean it is the only place in the whole country where the favourite local sport is cricket.
The town had for decades been out of reach to anyone not borne on the island because its many cave riddled hills where used as secret communist army bases, keeping this town isolated from fashions and developments thus preserving it intact with houses built in the very sea with gardens which consisted of water and garden plants consisting of sea weed.
The sun rose up and high and hoter than desired,having exhausted all good holliday humour previous evening, there was no more speakin to do. The captain announced that the boat will stay anchored where it is for the rest of the day after which the crew like antisocial lizzards each found a seperate bit of shade to hide in ...
to be continued
Saturday 30 June 2012
Wednesday 27 June 2012
At sea. From the island Vis to Hvar
I
There is something about being on boats out at sea which puts one in a frame of mind as if they personally are ruling the world, or even that there exist no rules of behavior to which the sailors must adhere to.
Coach drivers have a similar mind rush when they drive the coach. They like a giant snail drive a microcosm on wheels behind them, in which they are responsible for all that happens, which makes them feel like the very king, on top of the world, Gingus Khan, a man who believes that he rightfully there for can have any woman he chooses in his bus for his pleasure if the where just to try.
The difference between a coach driver and a captain at sea is that the captain knows he can, get any woman on board to do as he desires , and not just a woman, not just one, and there for in his advances is not vulgar, and crass like the coach driver , he is subtle, gauging his conquests like a silent predator. Every bodies lives, depend on his mood and his whims and I can say safety that the captain is not as much a person who delivers the boat and passengers from one spot to another, but rather is an orchestrator of all that happens on board.
The boat my dear is an island. It stands in the sea quite independent of the country it has come from and the country it is in. It is surrounded by the sea. No one near. Anything can go on, on a boat, my dear.
II
We started, i think it was Friday, yet it feels longer, like a world trip longer, there was a catamaran from one island to the mainland,a trip to the jungles and waterfalls, than a ferry from he mainland south of the sun set, a whole DJ set of Marlyn Monroe skirts lifting on top deck in the wind to the sunshade hidden sneaks of film directors, pop stars and paparazzi, heading to an adorable secret little fishing town where no one knows them , they cant wait to get there as they pose on the fence for the glamor magazines, a town where they will just be normal. We had vine. and cake. and sunscreen.
The captain met us on the island and took us to a port side hole where freshly baked red behind the ears, salty skinned awaited the last members of our crew. We had more vine as tradition calls and than kilo watts and light years of stars fell up us.
The town was located in the north of the most southern and middle island of this sea. all phone batteries died. Life = perfection, or something like that. The boys lead us on a tiny rubber dingy and buzzed into the tar colored sea full of sharks and squid and mermaids where in the middle of the blackness a white yacht awaited us. Our very own island. Our very own little island.
We made a barbie, cut fresh island tomatoes, put candles on deck and made little cup wind defenders or them, the oldest and best radio DJ tuned into our world and played the perfect jazz, for our perfect holiday cliche, we opened a bottle of Bombay sapphire, had it with some warm tonic,id did not matter much,somehow soon where in the sea, naked, swimming in the blackness of the furthest island, in the deepest blackest seas full of sharks and sharp tooth mermaids.
III
I heard rumbling in my sleep i thought that captain was re anchoring the boat. I was almost reluctant to open my eyes. A strange noise made me curious. The noise of a brass band. I pulled the body into the window above the cabin and indeed saw a brass band compleate wih eormous trombones. Proper communist stye brass band with uniforms and all, it looked just like the brass bands which where so popular during the reign of general Tito. Oh wait. There is a painted wall.
" LONG LIVE GENERAL TITO.
hm. I stared trough the salt crystals on my eyelashes at the reflections of the graffiti and decided that i must be dreaming my self in a Yugoslavian film, or maybe am time traveling or am dreaming a past life and just as i had re coiled back into the bed nest to dream this out, a flicker of a thought, a thought of a Rapunzel type fortress made me spring up and jack out of the box pop out of the window.
Damn it was real. What the hell is that fortress doing there behind the communist band? A huge and real fortress stood in the port, which was not there yesterday. A fear that i been struck with madness froze me for seconds. The bras band than stopped and some sort of mayor give speeches and applause as they so well do. The swaying of a blurry familiar looking object between self and band appeared in between i and band. A penis.
The captain was naked on the deck. I grumbled something out of my window box and bent my knees to make the window conceal me.. He responded in the same language. Where the hell are we? I hoped he would confirm my vision. How did we get here? I couldn't sleep he replied. You couldn't sleep?. Yes i got pissed off at the boa beating against the side of the boat so i lifted anchor and set sail. How far are we from last night? I asked still confuesd. Five hours. Time or distance? Both.
The mayor started honouring old fihhermen,Ah. this is the town all the celebrities ran away to i realised. Litle ancient boats lifted hundred year old sails and flutered in the breaze.
Than came the knock on the door. Bang bang.
.Bang bang made the captains virtual dream presence materialise at my cabin. Put some clothes on i hissed aghast at his now day time nudity. His ding dong swayed like a floor clock pendulum together, with his body, and the boat ,not too far away from the head of one one of the innocently slumbering passengers.. Everything was swaying. My head felt like a bottle of wool, and as i for the second time gave up the struggle and withered into my bedsheet body turban, an explosion sputtered trough the air and made me jump back up again and out of the cabin window.
What in god's.. Ah of course. We are in the place the time stopped. A gun from the wars against napoleon here is still used to tell the time to the fishermen. Well there was no point of trying to sleep, i mounted into my costume and pushed out of the window.
Splash is a insufficient word for the sound /feeling you of jumping in to the sea right out of bed. Isn't it the most thrilling sensation not having to wash one's face nor to shower but just plopping right in to the sea. The captain confirmed my thoughts. we where flying in pure melted turquoise colour together with seagulls and fish.
Bang. The deranged clock method shot another pound of gun powder. Bang. And with the sounds several other heads popped out of the boat. What the hell is that? The newcomers moaned insulted at the wakening. And oh where are we? I was pleased my braincells had re activated in the cool of the water and it was merely enjoying watching the crew going trough the self doubt, i had tasted moments ago. This is not where we where anchored last night. What is this place? just than the brass band struck up a new communist number. Jump in ,it will all be better i swear.I sugggested. In manner of fat penguins they slid in to the water, and as excited as if they had caught a fish in their beak they emerged out of the water squaking the name of the town they finally placed.
Komiza. Komiza!
Once we had all climbed aboard we where struck in unison at the sight of the cock pit. Candle wax had melted everywhere. There where cups and bottles of gin and chivas and plates and tomatoes and underwear hanging indecently from winches. What had happened.There was a dinner. And jazz. Night swimming.Some sort of teenage game was played.
In silent and shameful unison everyone decided to make no remarks what so ever about he previous night. In tune to the bras band we marched one at a time into the boat to re baptise ourselves and dunk the body into clean clothes which smell of washing powder and goodnes. Than stepped into the dingy. Whizzed to the good old safe and predictable normality of the shore. Bought food which no one was able to eat, and sat down for coffe no one was able to drink amongst local families who had just emerged from church.
This is the bar in which your bother proposed to the waitress the night of the regatta, i reminded. Remember ,he introduced her to your mother and father . The captain smiled smugly.
What happens on the islands, stays on ths islands, is the general rule and what ever happens, is invalid outside the island.
But it was quite obvious that more than time was warped in this town.I mean it is the only place in the whole country where the favourite local sport is cricket.
The town had for decades been out of reach to anyone not borne on the island because its many cave riddled hills where used as secret communist army bases, keeping this town isolated from fashions and developments thus preserving it intact with houses built in the very sea with gardens which consisted of water and garden plants consisting of sea weed.
The sun rose up and high and hoter than desired,having exhausted all good holliday humour previous evening, there was no more speakin to do. The captain announced that the boat will stay anchored where it is for the rest of the day after which the crew like antisocial lizzards each found a seperate bit of shade to hide in ...
IV
Looking back on the calendar of all the mystic and magical moments of the year I noted that it was on the very eve of midsummer that we stated our sailing trip on the island of Vis. A female part of our crew was lost due to intoxication and Wave crest the third day of the cruise and the smaller but still merry band continued our affair across the south Adriatic. To an island called Biševo at the south of Vis. Biševo is a proud owner of the most astounding azure cave formed by sun entering a black cave trough a hole beneath sea water and being filtered trough the water.
A Guard of the earthen temple bobs like a duck attached to a line in front of the cave entrance to prevent anyone swimming into the cave and to charge a fee. I used the mermaid stare .We swam in. Cave was a myriad of electric hues of blue, green , turquoise and black, and obviously inhabited by real mermaids and sea gods of old as well as dragons. It was the most magnificent experience. Swimming in pure liquid dream . We swam out trough hole in sea bottom miles beneath sea surface whiteout air almost drowning, emerging re borne.
The captain than sailed us across many hours of blue north to the bay of Palmižana where i once lived like Robinson Crusoe for months on end painting. Had a mochito sitting upon a cushion upon an olive tree , i watching sun set, captain watching boat, northerner prowling new yorker girls on their hens night vacation .
The popular jet set bay was stacked with yachts and a mixture of people wanting to be seen.
The most eager to be seen was a German grandma who let loose her hanggy belly, frontal and back bottoms, back and chins and thus paraded on sailing boat nude so,and as precise as a compass turned her bottom as an invitation towards each dingy who neared her boats anchor- whilst a thin husband who she must have drained of life, stood by her side, in swim suit and bad humour, obviously having been persuaded for a game of swap and play as she tried to draw every drunk English tourist falling out of dingy into her swinger lure.
The whole scene was carefully monitored by a like wise endowed in blubber German grandpa on the other side of our boat, who too was the only one naked among his crew of pensioners and whose ratty phallic bobbed up and down in synchrony to naked grandmas performance.
There is no proper rule as to what may or may not do on a boat you see, and despite children swimming in between these boats no one felt obligation to be decent. In fact as northerner went in hunt of further mochitos and captain and i where left alone on deck i noticed a couple on the next door boat,decent boat, young couple, girl topless, watching us, kissing , still watching us, kissing an invitation.
But it was too much. Too many raw naked red swingers at sea for me. As a contrast i wanted proper ness. And not a word more oabout what happened nights before. I cooked , we ate, and sleapt until the nexd dawn, the captain sailed me back to hvar, kissed me off the deck and the boys pushed alone on.
There is something about being on boats out at sea which puts one in a frame of mind as if they personally are ruling the world, or even that there exist no rules of behavior to which the sailors must adhere to.
Coach drivers have a similar mind rush when they drive the coach. They like a giant snail drive a microcosm on wheels behind them, in which they are responsible for all that happens, which makes them feel like the very king, on top of the world, Gingus Khan, a man who believes that he rightfully there for can have any woman he chooses in his bus for his pleasure if the where just to try.
The difference between a coach driver and a captain at sea is that the captain knows he can, get any woman on board to do as he desires , and not just a woman, not just one, and there for in his advances is not vulgar, and crass like the coach driver , he is subtle, gauging his conquests like a silent predator. Every bodies lives, depend on his mood and his whims and I can say safety that the captain is not as much a person who delivers the boat and passengers from one spot to another, but rather is an orchestrator of all that happens on board.
The boat my dear is an island. It stands in the sea quite independent of the country it has come from and the country it is in. It is surrounded by the sea. No one near. Anything can go on, on a boat, my dear.
II
We started, i think it was Friday, yet it feels longer, like a world trip longer, there was a catamaran from one island to the mainland,a trip to the jungles and waterfalls, than a ferry from he mainland south of the sun set, a whole DJ set of Marlyn Monroe skirts lifting on top deck in the wind to the sunshade hidden sneaks of film directors, pop stars and paparazzi, heading to an adorable secret little fishing town where no one knows them , they cant wait to get there as they pose on the fence for the glamor magazines, a town where they will just be normal. We had vine. and cake. and sunscreen.
The captain met us on the island and took us to a port side hole where freshly baked red behind the ears, salty skinned awaited the last members of our crew. We had more vine as tradition calls and than kilo watts and light years of stars fell up us.
The town was located in the north of the most southern and middle island of this sea. all phone batteries died. Life = perfection, or something like that. The boys lead us on a tiny rubber dingy and buzzed into the tar colored sea full of sharks and squid and mermaids where in the middle of the blackness a white yacht awaited us. Our very own island. Our very own little island.
We made a barbie, cut fresh island tomatoes, put candles on deck and made little cup wind defenders or them, the oldest and best radio DJ tuned into our world and played the perfect jazz, for our perfect holiday cliche, we opened a bottle of Bombay sapphire, had it with some warm tonic,id did not matter much,somehow soon where in the sea, naked, swimming in the blackness of the furthest island, in the deepest blackest seas full of sharks and sharp tooth mermaids.
III
I heard rumbling in my sleep i thought that captain was re anchoring the boat. I was almost reluctant to open my eyes. A strange noise made me curious. The noise of a brass band. I pulled the body into the window above the cabin and indeed saw a brass band compleate wih eormous trombones. Proper communist stye brass band with uniforms and all, it looked just like the brass bands which where so popular during the reign of general Tito. Oh wait. There is a painted wall.
" LONG LIVE GENERAL TITO.
hm. I stared trough the salt crystals on my eyelashes at the reflections of the graffiti and decided that i must be dreaming my self in a Yugoslavian film, or maybe am time traveling or am dreaming a past life and just as i had re coiled back into the bed nest to dream this out, a flicker of a thought, a thought of a Rapunzel type fortress made me spring up and jack out of the box pop out of the window.
Damn it was real. What the hell is that fortress doing there behind the communist band? A huge and real fortress stood in the port, which was not there yesterday. A fear that i been struck with madness froze me for seconds. The bras band than stopped and some sort of mayor give speeches and applause as they so well do. The swaying of a blurry familiar looking object between self and band appeared in between i and band. A penis.
The captain was naked on the deck. I grumbled something out of my window box and bent my knees to make the window conceal me.. He responded in the same language. Where the hell are we? I hoped he would confirm my vision. How did we get here? I couldn't sleep he replied. You couldn't sleep?. Yes i got pissed off at the boa beating against the side of the boat so i lifted anchor and set sail. How far are we from last night? I asked still confuesd. Five hours. Time or distance? Both.
The mayor started honouring old fihhermen,Ah. this is the town all the celebrities ran away to i realised. Litle ancient boats lifted hundred year old sails and flutered in the breaze.
Than came the knock on the door. Bang bang.
.Bang bang made the captains virtual dream presence materialise at my cabin. Put some clothes on i hissed aghast at his now day time nudity. His ding dong swayed like a floor clock pendulum together, with his body, and the boat ,not too far away from the head of one one of the innocently slumbering passengers.. Everything was swaying. My head felt like a bottle of wool, and as i for the second time gave up the struggle and withered into my bedsheet body turban, an explosion sputtered trough the air and made me jump back up again and out of the cabin window.
What in god's.. Ah of course. We are in the place the time stopped. A gun from the wars against napoleon here is still used to tell the time to the fishermen. Well there was no point of trying to sleep, i mounted into my costume and pushed out of the window.
Splash is a insufficient word for the sound /feeling you of jumping in to the sea right out of bed. Isn't it the most thrilling sensation not having to wash one's face nor to shower but just plopping right in to the sea. The captain confirmed my thoughts. we where flying in pure melted turquoise colour together with seagulls and fish.
Bang. The deranged clock method shot another pound of gun powder. Bang. And with the sounds several other heads popped out of the boat. What the hell is that? The newcomers moaned insulted at the wakening. And oh where are we? I was pleased my braincells had re activated in the cool of the water and it was merely enjoying watching the crew going trough the self doubt, i had tasted moments ago. This is not where we where anchored last night. What is this place? just than the brass band struck up a new communist number. Jump in ,it will all be better i swear.I sugggested. In manner of fat penguins they slid in to the water, and as excited as if they had caught a fish in their beak they emerged out of the water squaking the name of the town they finally placed.
Komiza. Komiza!
Once we had all climbed aboard we where struck in unison at the sight of the cock pit. Candle wax had melted everywhere. There where cups and bottles of gin and chivas and plates and tomatoes and underwear hanging indecently from winches. What had happened.There was a dinner. And jazz. Night swimming.Some sort of teenage game was played.
In silent and shameful unison everyone decided to make no remarks what so ever about he previous night. In tune to the bras band we marched one at a time into the boat to re baptise ourselves and dunk the body into clean clothes which smell of washing powder and goodnes. Than stepped into the dingy. Whizzed to the good old safe and predictable normality of the shore. Bought food which no one was able to eat, and sat down for coffe no one was able to drink amongst local families who had just emerged from church.
This is the bar in which your bother proposed to the waitress the night of the regatta, i reminded. Remember ,he introduced her to your mother and father . The captain smiled smugly.
What happens on the islands, stays on ths islands, is the general rule and what ever happens, is invalid outside the island.
But it was quite obvious that more than time was warped in this town.I mean it is the only place in the whole country where the favourite local sport is cricket.
The town had for decades been out of reach to anyone not borne on the island because its many cave riddled hills where used as secret communist army bases, keeping this town isolated from fashions and developments thus preserving it intact with houses built in the very sea with gardens which consisted of water and garden plants consisting of sea weed.
The sun rose up and high and hoter than desired,having exhausted all good holliday humour previous evening, there was no more speakin to do. The captain announced that the boat will stay anchored where it is for the rest of the day after which the crew like antisocial lizzards each found a seperate bit of shade to hide in ...
IV
Looking back on the calendar of all the mystic and magical moments of the year I noted that it was on the very eve of midsummer that we stated our sailing trip on the island of Vis. A female part of our crew was lost due to intoxication and Wave crest the third day of the cruise and the smaller but still merry band continued our affair across the south Adriatic. To an island called Biševo at the south of Vis. Biševo is a proud owner of the most astounding azure cave formed by sun entering a black cave trough a hole beneath sea water and being filtered trough the water.
A Guard of the earthen temple bobs like a duck attached to a line in front of the cave entrance to prevent anyone swimming into the cave and to charge a fee. I used the mermaid stare .We swam in. Cave was a myriad of electric hues of blue, green , turquoise and black, and obviously inhabited by real mermaids and sea gods of old as well as dragons. It was the most magnificent experience. Swimming in pure liquid dream . We swam out trough hole in sea bottom miles beneath sea surface whiteout air almost drowning, emerging re borne.
The captain than sailed us across many hours of blue north to the bay of Palmižana where i once lived like Robinson Crusoe for months on end painting. Had a mochito sitting upon a cushion upon an olive tree , i watching sun set, captain watching boat, northerner prowling new yorker girls on their hens night vacation .
The popular jet set bay was stacked with yachts and a mixture of people wanting to be seen.
The most eager to be seen was a German grandma who let loose her hanggy belly, frontal and back bottoms, back and chins and thus paraded on sailing boat nude so,and as precise as a compass turned her bottom as an invitation towards each dingy who neared her boats anchor- whilst a thin husband who she must have drained of life, stood by her side, in swim suit and bad humour, obviously having been persuaded for a game of swap and play as she tried to draw every drunk English tourist falling out of dingy into her swinger lure.
The whole scene was carefully monitored by a like wise endowed in blubber German grandpa on the other side of our boat, who too was the only one naked among his crew of pensioners and whose ratty phallic bobbed up and down in synchrony to naked grandmas performance.
There is no proper rule as to what may or may not do on a boat you see, and despite children swimming in between these boats no one felt obligation to be decent. In fact as northerner went in hunt of further mochitos and captain and i where left alone on deck i noticed a couple on the next door boat,decent boat, young couple, girl topless, watching us, kissing , still watching us, kissing an invitation.
But it was too much. Too many raw naked red swingers at sea for me. As a contrast i wanted proper ness. And not a word more oabout what happened nights before. I cooked , we ate, and sleapt until the nexd dawn, the captain sailed me back to hvar, kissed me off the deck and the boys pushed alone on.
The encounter wih pong wiffy
I got away from thirty Australian pensioners, its a break.To them its a break from walking, to me a break from them. I sit in a cafe, order a liter of water to quench the thirst that this summer is, and which is forming sandstorms on my skin, and just as the first swallow of the lush cool enters my mouth, a man sits right next to me, and such a mans as can only be described as pong wiffy..
The sudden abruption of the long awaited hydration moment, forces me to smash ice cubes with teeth. He smells of alcohol, and is not leaving.
I slide the chair a little to the left and away from him, whilst he slides to the left and into me.
"Heeey" goes he.
He is familiar as a sort of a stencil for a type of a million similar unknown seaside bar poltergheists, and the only name that seems to be surfacing up in my mind is " Whiskey" . He defiantly smells of the beverage. What is his name for god's sakes," Golden Grouse" "Bell's" is the most I can squeeze out of the brain post having recounted the entire history of StariGrad from palaeolithic to barley mobile grandmas making the city tour twice as long alas the need of facts needed to fill it being double.
" You are familiar,"I simile and apologize, "but I can not at all remember as of where I know you from". I had hoped that was going to defend me from the uninvited, and allow for a quick gossip with a colleague.
Mr Pong stinking wiffy,however, continues to sway his alcoholic corpse towards at me forcing my to pursue guessing where do I know him from, further more his vaguely familiar face seems to be vaguely suggesting that i buy him a drink, but I am not giving in.
"Where were you last Friday" he asks half winking as if he where about to reveal a great secret of ours. " On the Island" I reply. " Yea" He nods me on, " But where on the island?" " I was working. Do you work in a restaurant? I make an attempt . " No i don't work in a restaurant" He sniggers whilst a cloud of alcohol evaporates from his body killing all he flies which had until than buzzed around him.
"Where else had you been that day?". " In town. Do you per chance work on the ferry? " No" He replies waving a grimace of deep offense at the suggestion." And where else have you been" He continues to strum at my patience .
" Just tell me where do i know you from i really can remember" I offer my last offer of politeness." The stinker is not giving up, he is mimicking my movements as a bush does the wind. I decide to give him treatment worthy of a boring dog, i turn my back to him, as rudely as i can.
" On Friday. You where driving around with me." The words he's been very obviously dyig to say splutter out" In the bus"
"Oooh." I answer. " And you are, the, bus driver?" " Yes " He proudly squeezes out the last gush of whiskey stained steam. " I am a bus driver ".
The sudden abruption of the long awaited hydration moment, forces me to smash ice cubes with teeth. He smells of alcohol, and is not leaving.
I slide the chair a little to the left and away from him, whilst he slides to the left and into me.
"Heeey" goes he.
He is familiar as a sort of a stencil for a type of a million similar unknown seaside bar poltergheists, and the only name that seems to be surfacing up in my mind is " Whiskey" . He defiantly smells of the beverage. What is his name for god's sakes," Golden Grouse" "Bell's" is the most I can squeeze out of the brain post having recounted the entire history of StariGrad from palaeolithic to barley mobile grandmas making the city tour twice as long alas the need of facts needed to fill it being double.
" You are familiar,"I simile and apologize, "but I can not at all remember as of where I know you from". I had hoped that was going to defend me from the uninvited, and allow for a quick gossip with a colleague.
Mr Pong stinking wiffy,however, continues to sway his alcoholic corpse towards at me forcing my to pursue guessing where do I know him from, further more his vaguely familiar face seems to be vaguely suggesting that i buy him a drink, but I am not giving in.
"Where were you last Friday" he asks half winking as if he where about to reveal a great secret of ours. " On the Island" I reply. " Yea" He nods me on, " But where on the island?" " I was working. Do you work in a restaurant? I make an attempt . " No i don't work in a restaurant" He sniggers whilst a cloud of alcohol evaporates from his body killing all he flies which had until than buzzed around him.
"Where else had you been that day?". " In town. Do you per chance work on the ferry? " No" He replies waving a grimace of deep offense at the suggestion." And where else have you been" He continues to strum at my patience .
" Just tell me where do i know you from i really can remember" I offer my last offer of politeness." The stinker is not giving up, he is mimicking my movements as a bush does the wind. I decide to give him treatment worthy of a boring dog, i turn my back to him, as rudely as i can.
" On Friday. You where driving around with me." The words he's been very obviously dyig to say splutter out" In the bus"
"Oooh." I answer. " And you are, the, bus driver?" " Yes " He proudly squeezes out the last gush of whiskey stained steam. " I am a bus driver ".
Friday 22 June 2012
Smrdeljko
Micem se od tridest penzica iz australije, odmor. Odmor njima od setanja, odmor meni od njih. Sjedam u kafic, narucivam litru vode da ugasi ovu zed zvanu lito koja mi na samoj kozi stvara pjescane oluje i taman uljevam onaj prvi guc socno hladnog eliksira, kad do mene sjedne tip po opisu, smrdeljko.
Neocikvani prekid dugo sacekanog momenta hidracije natjera me da zubima smrskam led. On smrdi na alkohol, i ne odlazi. Ja se pomaknem stolicom u livo i dalje od njega, on se zanjise u livo i k meni. "Eeeej". Eto njega.
Poznat mi je onako sablonski, mogao bi bit bilo tko od milijardu polu nepoznatih ljudi, a jednino ime koje mi pada napamet, je Rakija. Definitivno mirise na taj alokolni proizvod a kako se zove majku mu, "travarica" " "Zutuja " je naj vise sto moj mozak moze izcjediti nakon sto sam ispricala cijelu povijest Stari Grada od pra covjeka do danas babama koje jedvice hodaju, cineci turu grada duplo duzu i tim broj podataka potreban da vrijeme ispunim veci.
"Poznati mi jeste ,ali ispricavam se nemogu se nikako sjetit, odakle vas poznajem. " Izgovorim svoju obranu i nadam se da to nepozvanog zadovolji dovoljno da uspijem popricat s kolegom.
Smrdeljko i dalje njise svoje alkoholicno truplo prema meni i prisiljava me da nastavljam nagadat odakle ga znam, cini mi se cak da ocekiva da mu ponudim pice, ali nedam se. Zasto bi netko toga smrada mene prisilio da mu kupujem rakiju.
" Di si bila prosli petak?" pita onako kao da ce mi otkrit neku nasu tajnu. " Na Hvaru "odgovorim . "E" kaze on, a di na Hvaru?" " A radila sam. Jeli vi radite u restoranu? " pitam. " Ne radim u restoranu" Nakesi se on, a oblak rakije ispari mu iz glave i ubije sve muhe koje su do tada letile oko nj. " Di si jos bila" pila. " U gradu, ma jeli vi radite na trajektu? " Ne" Odgovori on mahnuci grimasom uvrijeden, kako se samo usudujem tako nesto predpostaviti. " A di si jos bila" Moj kolega s druge strane stola ceka da nametnik nestane da mozemo iskorisiti deset minuta odmora od baba koje takoder stalno nesto korisno moraju znati.
" Ma recite mi odakle Vas znam nemogu se sjetit" Ponudim mu moju zadnju ponudu pristojnosti. Ali smrdeljko se neda, prati moje pokrete ko grm brnistre kad prati vitar. Odlucim mu dat tretman kao dosadnom pasu, okrenem leda, bas onako nepristojno.
" Ma u petak si se ti vozila samnom " iskoce rijeci koje je cijelo vrijeme suzdrzavao da kaze " u autobusu".
" Aaah." Da odgovorim ja." A vi ste vozac autobusa? "Da" ponosno izdusi ciko u pari rakije" Ja vozim!
Neocikvani prekid dugo sacekanog momenta hidracije natjera me da zubima smrskam led. On smrdi na alkohol, i ne odlazi. Ja se pomaknem stolicom u livo i dalje od njega, on se zanjise u livo i k meni. "Eeeej". Eto njega.
Poznat mi je onako sablonski, mogao bi bit bilo tko od milijardu polu nepoznatih ljudi, a jednino ime koje mi pada napamet, je Rakija. Definitivno mirise na taj alokolni proizvod a kako se zove majku mu, "travarica" " "Zutuja " je naj vise sto moj mozak moze izcjediti nakon sto sam ispricala cijelu povijest Stari Grada od pra covjeka do danas babama koje jedvice hodaju, cineci turu grada duplo duzu i tim broj podataka potreban da vrijeme ispunim veci.
"Poznati mi jeste ,ali ispricavam se nemogu se nikako sjetit, odakle vas poznajem. " Izgovorim svoju obranu i nadam se da to nepozvanog zadovolji dovoljno da uspijem popricat s kolegom.
Smrdeljko i dalje njise svoje alkoholicno truplo prema meni i prisiljava me da nastavljam nagadat odakle ga znam, cini mi se cak da ocekiva da mu ponudim pice, ali nedam se. Zasto bi netko toga smrada mene prisilio da mu kupujem rakiju.
" Di si bila prosli petak?" pita onako kao da ce mi otkrit neku nasu tajnu. " Na Hvaru "odgovorim . "E" kaze on, a di na Hvaru?" " A radila sam. Jeli vi radite u restoranu? " pitam. " Ne radim u restoranu" Nakesi se on, a oblak rakije ispari mu iz glave i ubije sve muhe koje su do tada letile oko nj. " Di si jos bila" pila. " U gradu, ma jeli vi radite na trajektu? " Ne" Odgovori on mahnuci grimasom uvrijeden, kako se samo usudujem tako nesto predpostaviti. " A di si jos bila" Moj kolega s druge strane stola ceka da nametnik nestane da mozemo iskorisiti deset minuta odmora od baba koje takoder stalno nesto korisno moraju znati.
" Ma recite mi odakle Vas znam nemogu se sjetit" Ponudim mu moju zadnju ponudu pristojnosti. Ali smrdeljko se neda, prati moje pokrete ko grm brnistre kad prati vitar. Odlucim mu dat tretman kao dosadnom pasu, okrenem leda, bas onako nepristojno.
" Ma u petak si se ti vozila samnom " iskoce rijeci koje je cijelo vrijeme suzdrzavao da kaze " u autobusu".
" Aaah." Da odgovorim ja." A vi ste vozac autobusa? "Da" ponosno izdusi ciko u pari rakije" Ja vozim!
Thursday 14 June 2012
The treasure map to all the best summer secrets in Croatia.
Summer time is ripe and fat and moist and squishy and hot. Just walking trough town we are turing in to jam, just like the last of the really fat super-sweet cherries are Turing into jam still hanging off the tree.
My toes are red, my finger nails are red, and the dress is green, sun block factor is 50 , the sun shades are huge, i am armed for a walk in the white reflective stone town like a medieval Knight. The church bells are ringing the midday, different sounds of bells from different sides of the small town.
I have noticed lots of English students about, lots of Norwegians, Swedish, french, Italian, Spanish, Chinese, Taiwanese, Japanese,German, Chinese, Mexican and yesterday i showed some braslilisans frmo the biggest yacht in town around. Yes the season has started, the yacht season has started, the party season is full on, and its time for following scents with your nose down streets of unfamiliar towns and into kitchens which offer unusual local recipes..
Having a weaknes for pleasure and all the good and beautiful things, I have investigated all the best spots for all sorts of activities and have decided to start writing a guide for friends and friends of friends who are going to visit the Croatian shore for the first or the untie-nth time this year.. Keep an eye on this blog for tresure maps which I will post up in the days to come.And if you are not in a sunny spot of the world right now i suggest do a sun dance!
Friday 1 June 2012
Raditi u skveru.
Raditit u skveru, nije lako. Prvo nema nista za radit. Proracun za koji sam odgovorna mogu napraviti u dva dana, "jadala se prijateljica sveranka", ali imam mjesec dana da to napravim. Glavno je da stjedim tamo. To je prokletstvo kapitalizma. Nemam sta radit ali glavno je da ja sjedim u uredu 8 sati i gubim zivot.
onda moja kolegica. Jesam li ti ispricala o mojoj Martini? Nisam? Moja Martina ima 61 godinu. Svako malo zaspe. Ona ima manje posla od mene, jos manje nego ja, tako da iskoristi posal da malo odspava. Dode uvijek niti sekund prije 8. Onda joj moram pocesljat kosu. Ti joj cesljas kosu? Ti babi cesljas kosu? Jesam jer ona nemoze dobavit jedan dio zada pa joj nastane rupa. Svako jutro cilu godinu ti joj cesljas kosu? Da ali nije koda ju itko ima vidit, sidi sa zidom kraj leda cili dan zatvorena za kompjuterom. Ima onu tanku kosicu pa joj to ja svako jutro pocesljam.
A onda kako dode trceci u zadnji sekund, dode ti na posal sva mokra. Skroz znojna. Onda ti otvori kesicu vec koristenog vece papira i pocme se brisat. Briese pasuhe. Pa digne majcu i brise leda. Sve pokaze. Stomak, sve. Gadljivo je,ali to nije sve. Raskopca ti i gace i cila se tako brise deset minuta pa opet spremi papir u kesu .
I to radi u uredu pred tobom? Odvratno je nas ako mi se gadi. I sta je najbolje nekad onda zaboravi zakopcat gace pa onda sidi tako cili dan s gacama odkopcanim na poslu. Samo joj je u zadnje vrime pocelo smetet svitlo. Zalipila je oko laserom ili nesto i sad ti ona meni gasi svitlo. Do sad bi ugasila svitlo samo u svojoj polovici ureda ali danas molim te, dode i ugasi meni svitlo na deset minuta tako da nevidim radit jer u tom djelu zgrade je mracno. A onda ti pocme trljat lice, trlja ti ga trlja, i melja lice deset minuta, govoreci kako je bode. Sprica ti neku vodu s mineralima na lice i tako ga pred menom melja. Vanja joj inace kaze da nismo mi dom zdravlja da prestane jer joj je gadljivo ali ja nemogu a Vanja je na bolovanju.
Prefrigana je vidis. Stalno govori kako ona zeli svima dobro na svitu , i sazaljuje sama sebe uzme tu bocu pa se poprska pa o licu pa melja tako mokro sjajno lice po ure i dode mi da povratim. A zasto joj ti nestavis nesto u tu vodu, kvasinu, stavi joj kvasinu?.
Ma nije to nista, tek da cujes o klimi. Stalno mi je vruce na poslu.A tek prije par tjedna kad su pukle vrucine. Ona ti je to govorila cijelu godinu proslu ,ona je bila ta koja je ugovarala da svi uredi dobiju klimu, umirala je od vrucine. Onda kad je stigla klima. To ti je nju prokinilo u noge. Molim te u noge. Ja sidim ispod klime direktno ali to ti nju tuce u noge na drugum stranu sobe. Pa smo promjenili puhanje klime prema gore, a onda joj je palilo oko. E klima joj je palila oko. I onda jednostavno mi nismo mogli imat klimu jer je nasoj Martini upaljeno oko.
A u zadnje vrime digne se martina i gleda u prozor izad mog stola. Zalipi se uz moj stol i zurki kroz mene. Tako i samo prica nemogu se koncentrirat.Odgovaram daaa, nee, na sve sto kaze.
A tek da cujes o njenom Toncu. Njen ti sin ima 26 godina, ali ja sam ga jucer morala nazvat da provjerim dali se on probudio kad je ona otisla u zubara. Ona ti njemu napravi sendvic tako da ga ceka svako jutro kad se probudi. A kad mlade kolegice pricaju o tome sto im bebe jedu, ona ti prica o tome sta njen Tonci jede. Njen ti Tonci jede picetu svaki dan. Popije cedevitu. Sve znam. Ma sprema ona tebe da se ti udas za njega meni se cini.
Pa zasto ti njoj nebi stavila u kosu nesto. Recimo onaj prasak za svbez onaj djecji? Ili recimo usenak. Ubaci koj par usenaka u kosu dok ju cesljas ujutro tako da te prestane pitat da ju ceslajs, i obavesno stavi nesto u vodu kojom prska lice.
Gle ovo, kaze moja prija sveranka i izvadi mobitel na kojem snimak ceka da ga se ozivi, ma samo ti pogledaj ovo. Ona pritisne play, a snimak babe u 60 godinama sa pogrbljenom glavom povise testature od kompjutera, pocme svoj neobican ritam, baba zahrce glava joj se pusti prema testaturi, zatim se prene, i povuce glavu, njihajuci ju tako gode dolje povise testature sanajuci tko zna sto. Vidis kaze, ponudila sam ja njoj moj stol da joj ne puse klima u noge i u oko, ali onda bi joj stol bio na vidiku kada se ovore vrata od ureda, odma bi se vidilo kada spava za radnim stolom, a ovako iza vrata uvijek ima moment od kada netko ude u sobu da se probudi i odglumi kao da radi.
onda moja kolegica. Jesam li ti ispricala o mojoj Martini? Nisam? Moja Martina ima 61 godinu. Svako malo zaspe. Ona ima manje posla od mene, jos manje nego ja, tako da iskoristi posal da malo odspava. Dode uvijek niti sekund prije 8. Onda joj moram pocesljat kosu. Ti joj cesljas kosu? Ti babi cesljas kosu? Jesam jer ona nemoze dobavit jedan dio zada pa joj nastane rupa. Svako jutro cilu godinu ti joj cesljas kosu? Da ali nije koda ju itko ima vidit, sidi sa zidom kraj leda cili dan zatvorena za kompjuterom. Ima onu tanku kosicu pa joj to ja svako jutro pocesljam.
A onda kako dode trceci u zadnji sekund, dode ti na posal sva mokra. Skroz znojna. Onda ti otvori kesicu vec koristenog vece papira i pocme se brisat. Briese pasuhe. Pa digne majcu i brise leda. Sve pokaze. Stomak, sve. Gadljivo je,ali to nije sve. Raskopca ti i gace i cila se tako brise deset minuta pa opet spremi papir u kesu .
I to radi u uredu pred tobom? Odvratno je nas ako mi se gadi. I sta je najbolje nekad onda zaboravi zakopcat gace pa onda sidi tako cili dan s gacama odkopcanim na poslu. Samo joj je u zadnje vrime pocelo smetet svitlo. Zalipila je oko laserom ili nesto i sad ti ona meni gasi svitlo. Do sad bi ugasila svitlo samo u svojoj polovici ureda ali danas molim te, dode i ugasi meni svitlo na deset minuta tako da nevidim radit jer u tom djelu zgrade je mracno. A onda ti pocme trljat lice, trlja ti ga trlja, i melja lice deset minuta, govoreci kako je bode. Sprica ti neku vodu s mineralima na lice i tako ga pred menom melja. Vanja joj inace kaze da nismo mi dom zdravlja da prestane jer joj je gadljivo ali ja nemogu a Vanja je na bolovanju.
Prefrigana je vidis. Stalno govori kako ona zeli svima dobro na svitu , i sazaljuje sama sebe uzme tu bocu pa se poprska pa o licu pa melja tako mokro sjajno lice po ure i dode mi da povratim. A zasto joj ti nestavis nesto u tu vodu, kvasinu, stavi joj kvasinu?.
Ma nije to nista, tek da cujes o klimi. Stalno mi je vruce na poslu.A tek prije par tjedna kad su pukle vrucine. Ona ti je to govorila cijelu godinu proslu ,ona je bila ta koja je ugovarala da svi uredi dobiju klimu, umirala je od vrucine. Onda kad je stigla klima. To ti je nju prokinilo u noge. Molim te u noge. Ja sidim ispod klime direktno ali to ti nju tuce u noge na drugum stranu sobe. Pa smo promjenili puhanje klime prema gore, a onda joj je palilo oko. E klima joj je palila oko. I onda jednostavno mi nismo mogli imat klimu jer je nasoj Martini upaljeno oko.
A u zadnje vrime digne se martina i gleda u prozor izad mog stola. Zalipi se uz moj stol i zurki kroz mene. Tako i samo prica nemogu se koncentrirat.Odgovaram daaa, nee, na sve sto kaze.
A tek da cujes o njenom Toncu. Njen ti sin ima 26 godina, ali ja sam ga jucer morala nazvat da provjerim dali se on probudio kad je ona otisla u zubara. Ona ti njemu napravi sendvic tako da ga ceka svako jutro kad se probudi. A kad mlade kolegice pricaju o tome sto im bebe jedu, ona ti prica o tome sta njen Tonci jede. Njen ti Tonci jede picetu svaki dan. Popije cedevitu. Sve znam. Ma sprema ona tebe da se ti udas za njega meni se cini.
Pa zasto ti njoj nebi stavila u kosu nesto. Recimo onaj prasak za svbez onaj djecji? Ili recimo usenak. Ubaci koj par usenaka u kosu dok ju cesljas ujutro tako da te prestane pitat da ju ceslajs, i obavesno stavi nesto u vodu kojom prska lice.
Gle ovo, kaze moja prija sveranka i izvadi mobitel na kojem snimak ceka da ga se ozivi, ma samo ti pogledaj ovo. Ona pritisne play, a snimak babe u 60 godinama sa pogrbljenom glavom povise testature od kompjutera, pocme svoj neobican ritam, baba zahrce glava joj se pusti prema testaturi, zatim se prene, i povuce glavu, njihajuci ju tako gode dolje povise testature sanajuci tko zna sto. Vidis kaze, ponudila sam ja njoj moj stol da joj ne puse klima u noge i u oko, ali onda bi joj stol bio na vidiku kada se ovore vrata od ureda, odma bi se vidilo kada spava za radnim stolom, a ovako iza vrata uvijek ima moment od kada netko ude u sobu da se probudi i odglumi kao da radi.
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