The birthday season

It was Emily's birthday yesterday and will be Rachel's on Saturday, but first I must finish my stories of Sipan.

Tuesday 17th August

Breakfast overlooks the bay and on to the Adriatic sea. The guidebook say that from outer space, the brightest blue spot on the planet is the Adriatic sea around Dubrovnik. I can believe it. These Elafite, or Deer Islands, have 'relied on the city of Dubrovnik, in whose possession they had supposedly been from the 11th century' the poorly translated tourist board information tells us. The nearby island of Lokrum is where, legend has it, Richard the Lion Heart of England, was ship wrecked on his way to third crusade in 1192. He was so grateful that he gave the city of Dubrovnik sufficient money to begin the building of it's cathedral.

After breakfast we went for a walk around the village where we are staying. Sipanska Luka, or just Luka, is faded in it's glory. It was once the capital of these islands, but now the buildings remain erect only because of the sturdiness of their original design. There is an old colonial looking government house, which is reputedly up for sale for five million euros. It looks like it would take ten times that to renovate it.

Back at the hotel we have a coffee. A little girl is being patched up by her parents having trodden on some glass. I suppose I better go over and see if she's alright. 'Is everything OK?' I ask tentatively. 'Yes' is the rather terse reply. 'Only I'm a doctor, in case you need one' I say hesitantly. 'Ya ya, so em I' answered dad, abruptly and looking up from the child's foot. 'Oooh Kaay then' I turned and slipped away crest fallen at the rejection of my offer of help. Never mind.

We spent the rest of the day by the sea, lying in the shade and dozing between reading. I woke to the sound of Italians talking animatedly about what, I'm not sure, but it had something to do with Armando and a restaurant. I couldn't tell if they were complaining about his cooking or looking forward to seeing that evening. Either way they all had an opinion, each of which differed violently from the others.

I got up and walked over to sit on the wall nearby. As the voices died down, so the crickets seem to get louder, the sun was falling a little and it was beginning to get cooler again. A couple of boats hummed up the channel. A dog came sauntering past looking for something. He stopped at my towel as if he'd found what he was looking for, gave it a sniff, cocked a leg and peed on it.

***

That night we ate at the restaurant just next to the old colonial building. The meal was good. We found out that the former government building was owned by a Canadian family who lived across the village square. In fact they were eating there tonight. They got their money, we're told in hushed tones, after the war, when the grandfather went to Chile. They have recently returned and are now looking to sell.

Wednesday (I think) 18th August.

On second thoughts it's probably not a good idea to hold my Darlek birthday card out of the window where German and Croatian people are having breakfast. I don't suppose they react well to being told they will be 'exterminated'. I have a vision of them suddenly getting up in unison, forming a single file and marching off, Sibermanlike, to receive orders from Darvros.

It's 9.15am and we've got up a bit earlier than on previous days, so a more leisurely breakfast and we can watch others getting ready for the day. At the entrance to the hotel, which we go through to reach the open air breakfast area, are gathered hundreds, well twenty or so, German children, excitedly jumping up and down around their carers for the day. The Kindergarten are, it seems, going to be pirates. The main teacher is a man with long hair and a beard, just the part. For today he has a patch over one eye and a bandanna.

I said I wanted to walk to Sudarud, so off I set. I'll come back by bus a little later. By now it's about 11.15 and the sun is high. Up a steep incline to begin with and then across the top of the island. It's about a five kilometer walk and getting hotter by the minute. The land is dry but still green. There are several olive trees and vineyards in various degrees of cultivation and care. Many are neglected completely. The houses are scattered across the countryside and also in varying degrees of repair. Along the way there is a monastery. Apparently there are thirty three scattered around this tiny island. It seems hardly a hardship to live here though. Inside the church some workers are lazily trying to renovate the ornate walls and alter.

The road to Sudarud is single track and unmarked, but wide enough for overtaking. I walk on the left of the road to see on coming traffic. The only conventional transport that crossed me twice was the bus. On one occasion a chugging sound started behind me. I looked to see what appeared to be a motorised vehicle of some sort, like a large petrol driven lawn mower, pulling a cart upon which were sitting two men in their sixties. As they gradually passed me the driver gesticulated to the back of the truck. I wave 'no' to indicate that I didn't need a lift, but thanks.

The road is lined by a variety of wild flowers, many familiar looking, like the ones in England, but other more exotic ones too. I pick the dozen or so different varieties and pledge to look them up when I get home. I didn't of course. There are three finds of butterfly I came across too. One is a large brown winged type with white stripes. Another, smaller brown with black or purple spots, and thirdly a pale yellow one.

I suddenly feel like I'm in some sort of film with the road stretching ahead and behind, but not a sole to be seen in either direction. The crickets are as loud as even, but apart from that it's perfectly still. There's not a breath of a breeze. It's surprising how mush cooler it is in the shade, but I can't dally. Fortunately I brought a bottle of water. I love it.

In the distance a church bell chimes midday, and a mad dog crosses me and the road from one field to the next.

Before too long the road starts to run down hill, and I enter Sudarud. As the main ferry port it is the destination for many day trippers from Dubrovnik who want to see the islands. My first priority is a beer. This little fishing port, turned tourist attraction, is bigger than Luka. There's a small bay and a few resting fishing boats. As I approach the harbour I can see that the pirate ship we crossed on our trip to Dubrovnik, has moored up and the trippers are disembarking. It soon became apparent that this boat full are English holiday makers.

There are a couple of bars, which I get to just before the rush. It is on a platform overhanging the harbour. Here there is a gentle breeze and I order a beer. The table next to me has four middle aged women, talking in an accent I don't recognise, but looking identical. They could be Israeli or Palestinian, I can't tell. There's an Aussie couple and another couple who aren't speaking. After a little stroll around it's time for lunch. I sit at the next restaurant and order some food. Fried fish, boiled potatoes and overcooked runner beans. It's all floating in a heavily garlicked olive oil. Washed down with a glass of white wine it's just what I wanted. Time to go back to the hotel and meet up with Sarah. The bus must be here, as the main passenger ferry is just pulling in. Round the corner and the bus has unloaded. Running towards me is the Kindergarten making a loud noise as it rushes past.

Before long I'm back at the hotel. We head to the North side of the sleeve of water that leads to Luka. I lay down on the grass under an olive tree, avoiding the spot where the dog had dishonoured my towel the previous day. We have a dip in the water and then I return to reacquaint myself with Adrian Mole. He is now in is mid forties, in a dysfunctional marriage, and has a spoilt young daughter. The book begins with Gordon Brown becoming Prime Minister. I do like the way Sue Townsend, reflects pretty much my own thoughts politically through her dialogue. I have, after all,grown up with Adrian and his author.

It is peaceful, if not quiet. Occasionally a motorboat or car breaks up the constant chatter of the crickets. Something keeps biting my legs but I can't see what. I doze off in the heat but wake with a strange feeling on my leg. There walking in a neat line across my thigh is a row of ants, biting their way to their next meal. I jump up and brush them away. Right it's G & T time.

That evening we had dinner at the best restaurant on the island. It is on the water a little way along the south side of the channel. It's a set menu, you get what you're given, but it is excellent. We start with octopus burger, then a light risotto, followed by the main course of fried fish, and lastly a pudding and schnapps. All to the sight of the sun setting and boats coming and going. Another perfect day. We must eat here again.