northampton, ma

You'd think that the letters Y and Z aren't really used that much in our language, so if their positions on the keyboard were switched for each others then it wouldn't be that big a deal, right? Actuallz .. er .. actually, it is.

So now that I revealed the Big Secret that I am in Croatia, I suppose I should mention how I got here. By boat. Ok there's more... About a week ago I got off my complacent ass and decided it was time to move about a bit faster. So I went to Milan, Trento, Madonna di Campiglio, Trento, Bologna, and then ferried across from Ancona to Split, Croatia. 6 days of travel in 6 days. Normally that isn't my style, at all, but honestly I rather enjoyed it. Aiding my decision to move on were a couple English girls, Hannah and Beth, that I met in my hostel in Certaldo who happened to be going that way. Fast travel does have its benefits, it keeps you on your toes. And it was just what I needed, getting out of the rolling hills of central Italy and up to the mountains in the north. Italy can surprise you when you get your mental picture of the country pidgeon-holed into villas and cypress trees and rolling golden hills. Up in the Trentino it's huge mountain ridges, deep green valleys, and lederhosen. And yes, I am serious about the latter, you can go see the lovely ladies in M. di Campiglio's tourist office for proof.

We stayed one night in a rifugio (mountain refuge) up on a ridge above Campiglio. This was one of the oddest experiences in my life. First was the thunderstorm that passed directly on top of us (we were at around 7000 feet), with lightning right out our window. The power got turned out, we started talking about The Shining, and it was good proper scary fun. I also think it was the first time in about 7 weeks of my trip that I was actually proper cold. We had dinner and then the sun set and things got dark. I wanted to take a shower, and went to the bathroom and tried to turn on the tap. No luck. So I go downstairs and ask them how the shower works. They tell me I need a token to turn it on. A fucking token to turn on a shower?! Well I go back up, notice a red box that tells you to insert tokens for shower, then ask the girls I was with if we had received tokens, was told no, and went back down to ask reception for tokens. So I ask the lady if I can get some, and she replies, "oh, no sorry, it is too late to take a shower." Huh? It was about 9:30pm, and apparently that is really quite late in mountain refuge time. And if 9:30pm is late, 10pm must be really, really late since they cut off the power and the entire place turns into a black hole. I believe this is the first place in my life where a residence voluntarily cut off its own power. Why they do this, I have no idea. So we shake our heads and go to sleep, only to be woken up the next morning at 7:55am by a beareded Italian man shouting at us that we had 5 minutes to vacate the room. 8am checkout time. What the fuck.

Now maybe these are customary regulations and practices for a refuge (one of the girls called it "Nazi Camp," and while normally I don't appreciate Nazi hyperbole, this situation warranted it), and some of you reading are thinking "duh, this is how these places work" and thinking that I'm just being whiney, which I probably am. But this wasn't some remote rustic refuge in the middle of nowhere. You take a cable car to it. It has a bar and a restaurant. It has a terrace with deck chairs. It was basically a your average hotel, but run by prison guards. Aiding the surprise element was the fact that none of these regulations were told to us upon checking in. Maybe the lady was blind, but we hardly looked like your average salty German hiking guru who didn't need to be informed of how the Gonzo World of mountain refuges worked. We were a few kids in t shirts and sneakers, looking entirely out of place amongst the other guests.

So anyway, we escaped our internment camp the next morning, hoping to take a good hike down the mountain and back to town. Well that plan didn't pan out, as it refused to stop raining. So we hiked down to the cable car and ducked into the restaurant-bar there to get something to drink and warm up. I had the great idea of sipping on some sort of alcoholic warming agent like brandy or jagermeister. So we got a round and sat down at the table and toasted ourselves up. Well about 10 minutes later here comes the waitress with another round of shots. Apparently the boss liked our style, drinking at 9:30am, and wanted to show his appreciation. We look at these new shots in a mix of horror and appreciation, wondering how we would stomach it. Beth couldn't, and discreetly ducked her shot into an empty water bottle. Me and Hannah soldiered on into the second shot, although at times grimacing in pain. 15 minutes passed, and the boss came over to sit with us, bringing another round of shots with him. I thought, oh god, I am going to be fucked. At this point the situation was so surreal, starting last night with refuge and continuing to the free shots, that we could do nothing but laugh and shake our heads in wonder. Basically we went from Nazi Camp to Free Alcohol Camp. It was an interesting transition. So he sat down with us and chatted us up. He was from Pozzuoli (hometown of Sophia Loren) and looked like a sushi chef. Another quarter hour passed, now about 45 minutes or so into our stay at Booze Camp. A lightbulb then went off in the bosses head, and he shouted for grappa. I reacted in horror: "No! We really can't drink anymore, and especially not grappa!" It was barely past 10 am and we had already gone through 3 shots apiece. The guy laughed at me and got the bottle anyway and poured us shots. He told us we must drink, so we all gulped nervously, very nervously, and took tiny sips. I expected firewater, but instead got a delicious liqueur. Of all things, it was prune infused grappa. We all loved it. Apparently a specialty of the region.

So time came to leave, and I went up and paid the bill: 9 euro. We had 12 shots and paid 9 euro. This is the hospitality and warmth that Italy is famous for, absolutely absent from the place we had stayed the night before. The difference between the people at these two places couldn't have been any different. Like yin to yang.

So anyway, I suppose I still haven't answered the question of why I am in Croatia. The simple answer is that it's one of those places I have always wanted to go, but for some reason or another I put it off or found reasons to go somewhere else instead. This summer I have met so many people who were going to or coming from Croatia, and so that idea implanted itself into my subconcious. After so many weeks in Italy and dealing with the heat, I decided it was simply time to hit the water. The last time I had sat on a beach was late June, so about 5 weeks ago. Ideas floated around my head of beach towns in Italy to hit up, but really I wanted something more exotic and different. So finally I pulled the trigger and popped onto a ferry and ended up here in Split. Italy is so comfortable for me knowing the language and food and rhythms, so Croatia provides its own challenges. I definitely haven't eaten as well these last two days, but damn the water here makes up for it.

My first day had its quirks: a Croatian asshole nearly knocked me down the staircase on the ferry, then I get into Split and wait for my hostel to open admist a tropical storm-like downpour of rain the like I have never seen before, then I get a coffee with a couple guys from the hostel and a pigeon shits on my Cubs hat, and then later that night some shady guy warns me not to take a left because he "lost a lot of money down there," whatever the hell that means. Split is quite beautiful however, surprisingly so since it doesn't get much publicity on the tourist track.

My second day, today, has had its quirks as well: I think people in general like Californians. Or they like the idea of California, so that goodwill gets imparted onto you, the tourist from California. Being from Cali is like its own currency. It usually brings a smile to people's faces. It's good. But people definitely have varied ideas of Cali. Usually it's beach and Hollywood, but other times, like today, you get surprised. Today I hitchhiked back from the beach, and when I told the driver that I'm from California he had a very interesting reply: "My friend he is a navigator. He goes to California and he says there that man gets with man, and woman gets with woman. San Francisco. It's just not right to do. George Michael, he got women so easily that now he goes after men. George Michael is crazy. Man shouldn't be with man." So, like I said, the conversation can vary! I can't remember the last time I had heard the name George Michael mentioned. I laughed my ass off with the sheer randomness of his name getting dropped in a car in Croatia. George Michael. Good times.