Croats must be very sad. Their music is somber. Every one of them is a torture to hear.
And I’ve heard way too much of U2 while on tour.
And the sun is coming out again.
And although it is rural the campsites is as nature intended, if you can cope with many flying things, I feel more relaxed than in the big cities.
I went out for a scout about after a shower to recompose me from the overnight journey. I got some nice bread and cream cheese, sat down on the sea front waiting for the sun to finally force the clouds away: No such luck. Flirted in a cafe on the front, but the grey colours won and it’s been raining since 1230. I got back to the tent just prior to the mainevent and went to sleep with the increasing frequency of the rainfall drops on the tent. It has slowed now to a steady regular beat by 3pm. Or maybe if is ceasing? Need to venture to the local shops for more cheese and additional meat.
All along the front water is gushing from outlets that bring water off the kvarner heavy rain on top and ominous clouds west of here towards the
Peninsula but I can here the birds calling each other so maybe it is passed?
I waited for two hours for a bus, none existent to be told by a driver the next one for me was in another 2 hours! 4 flaming hours.
And I can hear thunder…
But I decided to walk as galeb call around me like screaming babies tossed to the sea.
It’s very difficult to differentiate the horizon from the sea. The colour is only a couple of swatches different.
I am walking into the thin band.
Got back, via Komzum picking up some cream cheese, and the heavens have opened; truly. I am wet to the skin. I am hoping my tent will protect me just enough or it is still there. And that I don’t get washed away over night. It feels like the lightning is getting closer too.
I was terrified that it was going to hit me. The lightning was behind my eyes. I felt warmed by it’s nearness. I could smell the tension. A primal fear. I had no defence against it if it struck. I accepted the reality that this was it. To end my days frazzled in a burnt out tent in a remote part of Istra. My willingness to accept it as the final summation of my existence. The planet was to take me. A brief candesance of burning flesh then the rain would petter out my remnant. I was terrified and then at peace. Perhaps my acceptance of it provided enough reason for it to move on to less appeasing individuals down the coast.
It has moved on now. Maybe the rain will lessen and I’ll have some reasonable days before heave hoe.
I woke twice in the night convinced that I had a leech like creature on my face. I stared in to the night blackness in the tent and could make out a smudge on the lining. I put a light on and that mark became the screw top on the bottle wine.
By the morning I had a 4 dozen flies and an assortment of other flying insects between the inner and outer lining. And one solitary snail dragging itself towards the toppermost of the poppermost. A large escargot snail.
I had loads of fears in that tent last night, irrational and uncomprehending. Now I can collect myself and gallop towards the eastern part of Opatija.
I know I don’t speak any Croatian, but some of the locals have the expression of the grave. Especially those in service industries. On buses, ships, in bars. Restaurants or in tourist info. I don’t like them for that expression.
I miss Piran more than I care to admit.