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.