City walls, city roofs and the sea

For you, Deanne. Is this anything like your Dubrovnik? Thanks for inspiring my visit!

 

I began the day drinking Turkish coffee with my eighty-year-old host, Ina. She has lived in Dubrovnik all her life, and seen it grow from a village to the tourist destination it is today. Her husband died ten years ago, and letting rooms in her house is a way to supplement her meagre pension. We talked about family and age and Dubrovnik winters and Australian bush fires and her niece in Sydney.

Even with Ina's directions supplementing my map, I ended up heading in the wrong direction. When I was corrected by a series of dead ends, I was surprised that I was almost on top of the city wall before it was visible, after catching a brief glimpse of its immense solidity through the haze of arrival late last night.

I bought a ticket to walk the wall, and was ashamed of my fumbling knee-favouring when I watched a woman with two sticks and a bent old man gamely tackling the incredibly steep stairs. RestlessJo had a story about Giraldo Tower in Seville which has ramps, because the muezzin insisted on riding his horse up to do the prayer call. By the end of the day I was ready for both ramps and horse.

But what a view! Out to the Adriatic over terra cotta roofs and spires and cupolas and chimneys and bells, with me at the same level instead of craning up. No fear of falling with the protection of these thick walls, although the drop to the sea was sheer. Views into people's backyards – a flourishing vegetable garden, a barbecue area, clothes lines with a Spider-Man towel and infant jump suits. And always the wall, with its turrets and keeps and gun emplacements. As I walked higher, I could see mountains and islands stretching beyond the immediate coast. As rain began spotting, crowds thinned out. Somehow I managed, mostly, to avoid populating the wall as I snapped and snapped.

I paused mid-circuit to visit the maritime museum, and geography and its effect on history in this region suddenly made sense: between east and west, and close to Venice.The museum was housed in wonderful vast curved rooms, part of the structure of the city wall. It contained models and paintings of ships; amphora; rolls of copper wire; pottery jugs; fragmented glass; photos of the 1991 attack taken by a young man killed as he photographed; sea chests with paintings on the inside of the lid.

Towards the end of my city wall ramble, I spent a lot of time sitting, watching dark clouds gather, and drawing in the wonderful prospect over the contained town. I told myself I was under no obligation to rise to the heights in a cable car, having risen pretty high with my feet, and went home and slept soundly for three hours.

I took myself out for dinner – beef soup and vego lasagne, half of which I brought home for breakfast. I sipped white wine, read emails and caught up with blogs, and watched a lightning-storm build up over the fading Adriatic.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Zagreb interlude

At last, I'm in Zagreb and it's not a Monday. However, although I have enough time to visit the Museum of Naive Art and the crafts museum, I don't have the energy. So I settle for a short wander in the Botanical Gardens (which are open on Mondays, but only till 2 ish). It's raining a bit and muddy underfoot, which of course means raindrops on the flowers. So I try to hone my flower-snapping skills. Near the water lily pond I become a major attraction to some very large mosquitoes. But they are more sluggish than Australian ones, and I murder every one I slap at. As I leave I notice a sign. I wonder why on earth tortoises are not allowed. And then I see the fingers attempting to pick them up. I decide to head for the airport while I'm still slightly functional. I'm writing this waiting for my 9pm flight to Dubrovnik, savouring a few reasonable flower photos.

At which point DELAYED appeared beside my flight number.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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My Apartment in Mukinje village

I arrived from Zagreb by bus, five minutes early. As I was wondering whether to head down to the village, or wait for my lift, I realised I had no address for the apartment, just Mukinje village. So I sat on a damp log seat and waited. When Anita arrived, she was accompanied by her father, who took over my suitcase and reminded me of J, my daughter's father-in-law. He showed me a balcony bright with flowers and indicated the chairs with a snoozing gesture; he pointed out a tiny bottle of very potent local liquor to welcome me; and he took over dealing with a water problem from a burst pipe. Anita and I chatted about her work managing a restaurant on a cruise ship, and cabbages and kings. I headed down to the lake and left them to solve the plumbing problem. When I returned, there was a steady flow of water, and two slices of cake on the table.

This was an apartment of charming touches. Bowls of dried seed pods. Walls painted diagonal yellow and white. Paintings by my host – a moody beach one my favourite. A small garden just outside the door. And a UNESCO world heritage site just down the hill.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

https://www.airbnb.com.au/rooms/1241214

 

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More waterfalls

An instinct to get going early gave me walking solitude for an hour or so. A jogger splashed past in the mud, and two workmen hauled a varnished boat out of the water. But soon the swarming began, and swarming it was. Crowds, chest to back; an occasional pile up when a photo opportunity was too vociferous; jostling for the temporary walkways over watery patches; looks of dutiful intentness on keeping up; no pauses to stand and stare. In the midst of all this, three stolid men pushed wheelbarrows full of dirt to soggy places: I stayed close to them and let them batter my way through. Occasionally someone would stand lost in the beauty of water or flower, but not very often. When people sat down it was usually for respite, not contemplation. Because I'd had my solitude, I could be amused (or perhaps bemused).

By 2 o'clock, I was heading back up for a snooze in my Mukinje pad. I passed an amusing stencil of a brown bear, the symbol of Plitvička, on a bike, and then I spotted an unmistakable orchid. I captured its splendour, crouched down as a three year old and her father went by, him saying the perennial “It's not far now!”

When I finally managed to make sense of my ticket-map at 7pm, I realised I hadn't visited the big one, and by then it was too late. Niggling disappointment vies with satisfaction that I've seen so much. What exactly is that pull of the biggest?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

http://whc.unesco.org/en/list/98

 

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A first taste of waterfalls

Soon after I arrived at Mukinje, I set off down a track through the forest towards the lake, where I couldn't quite figure out what to do next or how to go about it. Finally I bought a two-day ticket and hopped on a shuttle bus which took me, squeaky-braked, up the “top”, wherever that was. I set off along a random track for want of better information, and entered a green waterworld. At home, one waterfall is an event. Here, they appear in congregations and choirs, a half circle of companion falls, tumbling out of greenery into aquamarine water. Always there was the sound of water, so different from the sound of the ocean at home, which arrives and departs. Always I was walking on a rough boardwalk, eyes focused on not tripping. Whenever I stopped (often) there was a vista worth stopping for. Occasionally it was a placid reed-fringed lake, but usually it was a ring of white water, streaming or curling, from a sheer rock face or over and around mossy rocks. I had to turn back because part of the track was flooded, and of course everything looked different. My blogging commitment to only show 15 photos per post is going to be severely challenged.

I took myself to an early dinner at Poljana Restoran – vegetable soup, followed by grilled trout – for a total of 82 kuna (about $16AUD). I was triumphant and exhilarated at the delights of the day, until I realised I didn't know how to find the track back up to Mukinje. I had to plead fatigue and stupidity, until someone virtually led me to rocky stairs less than a hundred metres away. I was so exhausted in fact that I had a rotten night's sleep.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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My Zagreb apartment

Each of my apartments so far has provided different pleasures. Tomislav and Suzana's place in Mokrička ulica featured a large shallow wall niche of unevenly arranged grey stones as the display background for a graceful bonsai. A tall yellow rose bush flourished near the front door. Trams and a market were close by and the neighbourhood was quiet. One morning I ate breakfast outside in a small enclosed courtyard, watching heads passing by. I was sorry my Bled sickness deprived me of another day here.

 

 

 

 

https://www.airbnb.com.au/rooms/852490

 

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Mary’s chapel at the old stone gate

Heading back downtown on my early morning walk, I found the Stone Gate, built in the Middle Ages and rebuilt in the 18th century. A lion guards it on the left, a statue of a serene woman with a key and a small chest on the right. An old patchwork iron door is battered and barred.

Under the arch was a surprise: a chapel dedicated to the Virgin Mary, and a place of pilgrimage since the painting inside was saved from fire in 1731. Standing in front of the shrine, unmoving, was a middle-aged woman in jeans and a loose short coat. I slipped into a pew. A young woman approached and reverently laid a bunch of flowers on the kneeling stone. Then an elderly nun arrived. She officiously moved the flowers, insinuated herself in front of the middle aged woman, and knelt, the soles of her shoes angled oddly as she prayed – for humility and non-officiousness I hope.

I sat there for twenty minutes watching passers through. Nearly all of them made some sign of reverence, although there were of course the chatterers on mobile phones, and a few gave the chapel a wide berth. One young woman made obeisance and kept walking still chewing gum; another stood, palms together for five minutes. Men mostly paid respect briefly and hurried on, although one young man in shorts and a red T shirt stood to one side in lengthy devotion. It was mostly women who paused and prayed.

The walls around the shrine were a mosaic of panels, each one saying thanks for a special blessing received from the holy place.

When I returned through the stone gate half an hour later, flowers had proliferated – poked between the bars of the iron gate, or arranged on the praying step.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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An early morning walk in Zagreb

At 6.30, I hopped on a tram and went walking in an almost deserted upper town. My first call was on the woman who expressed strong views on rainy market days, to catch her in sunshine. There were no tourists around, just locals heading off to work or to shop at the markets. I found the shortest funicular in the world, and took the stairs, which certainly weren't the shortest staircase in the world. Views down over the city. Cobbled squares. Tiled churches. Curving roads. Mossy walls. Timber pavers. Dragon slayers amongst the geraniums. Ravaged old buildings. And signs for places I won't see, because they're closed on Mondays.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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A photo walk around Zagreb cathedral

I spent an unexpectedly lovely hour wandering round Zagreb's Cathedral of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. One of its spires is being repaired, and from the front the scaffolding is hidden by a trompe-l'oeil image. Two small spires stand to the side of the church, one decayed into blurred shapelessness, the other restored: since 1990, eroded stone bits have been removed and replaced by new ones carved to match the originals. The wear and tear has all happened since 1901, when renovations were completed after the 1880 earthquake. Signs of stone rot are everywhere, blamed on neglect during the communist era.

The cathedral is still contained on three sides by walls built between 1512 and 1521, when Zagreb was in the sights of the Ottoman Empire: I slipped through a gate to circumambulate the cathedral, crossing paths with a number of bustling priests, and the inevitable workmen, and being drawn to doors of many shapes. The carving around the cathedral door is incredibly intricate. I was particularly taken with the six statues, which each had one foot, sometimes two, stepping off the edge of their plinth.

The square was full of tour groups and pigeons, but dominated by the golden statue of Mary. A small park with plenty of benches and trees invited you to sit and stare, an increasingly important part of my photo-tourism.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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An espresso in Zagreb

Drinking an espresso in Zagreb proved to be a splendid affair. After my breakfast of pretzel, strawberries and walnuts, I needed coffee. So I sat in a pavement cafe with a view up the hill to the tracery of the twin spires of the cathedral, the golden statue of Mary and a renaissance tower, past a wooden stall selling strawberries. I sipped my coffee and took in the view and eased the tension in my shoulders and began to like where I was. When it was time to pay the bill (12 kuna – about $2AUD) I went inside the building and was astonished to find a vastly high ceiling, a sweeping curved staircase, a chandelier dripping sparkle and crisp white tablecloths. Makes my usual coffee haunts look a bit plebeian!

 

 

 

 

 

 

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