The day began with packing, collecting my passport from reception, and saying farewell to Mario. I thanked him for his company and kind hospitality, and then headed to the town centre. It was a very wet and windy morning. I bought 5 postcards and sat in a cafe to write them.
I ventured to the famous caves but there were so many people queuing to get in that I gave it a swerve. I was not going to cave in to popular demand. I returned to the cafe to catch up with writing my travel notes, the source for all these wonderful posts!
While so many memories of the Big Trip have stayed with me throughout the years, a lot of the details have been eroded by time. Reading my notes have reawakened a lot of memories, such that at times it seems as though I am reading the memoirs of someone else. I suppose, on one level, that skinny and shy teenager was a different person to who I am now. Not skinny, not a teenager, not quite so shy – but these are surface issues. I am referencing those deeper changes that life’s experiences etch into our hearts, minds and souls, like a river shaping the landscape, or the wind and rain sculpting a rock face.
Oh, bit of a philosophical diversion there. Where was I? Sitting in a warm and dry cafe, delaying hitting the road. A cup of tea with a slice of procrastination pie. I was actually feeling a bit despondent when I set off, walking along a narrow road which eventually widened to become a slip road to the motorway. Despite the strong wind and rain (probably trying hard to sculpt my youthful face into something more rugged and manly), I soon picked up my first lift with…
…a kind of Yugoslav rocker, quite old (late 20’s or early 30’s [! -sic] with swept back hair, not too long! and side-burns.
After about 10 minutes, we stopped for a coffee and brandy. We drove a little further and stopped for another coffee and brandy. The cafe had a juke box that did not always agree with what you selected – I opted for Harry Nilsson’s Without You (oh, so redolent of my teenage unrequited love), but I don’t remember what was played instead. [Audience engagement opportunity – why not suggest a song in the comments section?!]
We returned to the road, and it seemed that the driver’s disc had skipped a track…
…now driving like a racing driver, spitting on his hands, rubbing them and gripping the steering wheel; he must have driven on the left around corners to make me feel at home…
Somehow, we arrived safely in his home town, probably 20 to 30km from where we set off. Unsurprisingly, we went straight into a bar for another brandy, and, perhaps more surprisingly, 2 hard-boiled eggs. Apparently, they are left on the bar in the same way nuts and crisps used to be found in bowls on English bars.
We said our farewells – we shell probably never meet again. Sorry, couldn’t resist that one. I picked up my next lift after just a couple of minutes, which took me as far as Rejika. Another lift soon followed, this time as far as Nova. I experienced a rare moment of assertiveness when I did not get the correct change for a cup of tea in a cafe. The matter was resolved by the manager giving me a shot of spirits – I noted it was not vodka or whisky, but my more worldly self guesses that it was probably Rakija, the Yugoslavian version of Rakia. But in any event and in any language, by this time I was feeling quite light-headed.
I quickly picked up another lift, this time to Senj, but not before (and I hesitate to include this gem of an extract from my travelogue with aspirations to rival those of Paul Theroux and Bill Bryson), I …
…had a shit on a hill just out of town…
It was a beautiful drive along the coast to Senj, islands dotted in the Adriatic Sea. I found a cheap hotel and dined on omelette, beer, grilled kidneys, buttered peas and chips. And on my table – a red carnation in a tiny green vase. The details are important – I am sure Paul and Bill would agree.
And where will I end up tomorrow?
Clues: A town on the Adriatic coast, occupying a natural harbour between the peninsulas of Osejava and Sv. Petra.
Psychologist on the Move 