Random Thoughts -- Pag, Croatia

 Pag Town 

(Photo Swiped from Wiki)

The pile of stone that one might mistake for Old Pag Town is, in fact, New Pag.  Construction of New Pag began about 1443.  Five hundred and seventy-four years ago.  Prior to that, the people of Pag had been thoroughly defeated by the Zadarians, against whom they had revolted.   Then came the threat of the Ottoman Turks.  The new town was built three kilometers north of the older town of Pag, and construction was based on the "new" Venetian ideas of town planning.  Old, New, it is all relative.

Pag Town feels like a ghost town for good reason.  The population has been declining for more than a century.  There are less than 3,000 souls living in the town.  At the turn of the 19th-20th century, there were almost 5,000 folks here.  Then came the vineyard blight, two world wars, and the Croatian War for Independence.  Many of the former inhabitants of Pag emigrated to Canada and the United States.  As an aside, such is also the case in some of the towns in southern Italy and Sicily.  With nothing to do, the younger people are emigrating, leaving behind enclaves of aging villagers.

Paška čipka, the Famous Lace of Pag

In the stone center of Zadar, an hour to the south of Pag, you will see old women camped out along the shady side of the basilica.  They will be tatting lace.  How they do it without going completely crazy, as well as blind, I cannot tell you.  Regardless, those pesky Zadarian women have stolen the lace making from the Pag folks.  The famous lace is said to have originated in Pag Town. 

 Brekkie at the Hotel

This morning, the two other guests in the Frane Guesthouse rode away on their German motos.  We were the only guests remaining in the hotel.  Our very congenial host saw to our breakfast.  Tended to a slow conversation as he trundled plates to our table, he told us of the battles with the salt winds.  He spoke of trying to keep the roses and jasmine alive.  He told us the Croatian names for the different winds, winds of the east and the south, but mostly the salt winds of the north. 

We wandered around the dining room under his direction as he showed us his treasures.  There were delicate examples of lace framed in shadow boxes, old maps, and faded photos.  As we left, he and his family began setting up the room for yet another christening party.  Or maybe a wedding.  These private parties keep his business alive until the stream of tourists begins in June.

Looking into the Face of the North Winds 

Truth be told, there really isn't much to do in Pag Town.  One could walk every street and passage in the Old Town before lunch.  During the high season, the walk would be a busy one.  Now, in early May, the stones are quiet.  You can almost feel the ghosts flitting about.  

Sure, there are things to do, if one desires to do things.  During the season there are fishing excursions, diving trips, tours of the cheese factories, and tours of the salt harvesting fields.  There are the non-stop party meccas on the far north of the island.  Or there is the quiet and complete repose of doing nothing in a very slow way.  Pag came along at the end of our trip, our last days in Croatia.  We couldn't have planned it better, especially considering that we did not plan it at all.  Coming here was a fluke, a random finger on an electronic map. 

 No more Voyages

A coffee, a morning cigar, and no further desire.

Quiet Ghosts Walk Here

I did not take many photos in Pag.  There were, I suppose, many things to take photos of.  I simply forgot, immersed as I was in the sense of stillness.  There was the ever changing sky, clouds to sun to rain to stars.  But a photograph would not suffice.  Four old men on a bench, the same old men that were on the same bench yesterday.  You don't need a weather forecast in Pag.  When the old men leave the bench, it is probably going to rain.

Quiet, so quiet that I swear one can hear the stones breathing.  I do not believe I could stand it here during the high season.  I don't mean to sound like a travel snob, but now that I have experienced Pag as a sleeping town, I could not bear it to see that quiet broken.  Bless the summer tourist for coming here and keeping this place alive.  And bless them for leaving, and leaving money behind, so that I can experience this magical pause before the storm.

Pag: Ghost Town on the Adriatic

The Road to Pag

As much as we loved Zadar, the time had come to move on.  We spent a leisurely morning of coffee consumed overlooking the water.  Our very long breakfast concluded, we shouldered the trusty packs and walked the narrow streets leading to the bus station.  

Pag Island, or Otok Pag, lies to the northwest of Zadar.  It is situated on another of the long thin karst islands that mimic the shape of the mainland coast.  Otok Pag is know for several things.  The first is that the winds slipping down from the coastal mountains come to Pag bearing salt.  The boral wind scoops the salt out of the Adriatic and deposits it on the rocky island, creating a landscape consisting of dramaticaly exposed stone and not much else.  There are a few scrubby shrubs, sparse grasses, and that is about it.  The second thing that Pag is famous for is cheese.  Sheep and goats are the only livestock that can live on the salty grass.  The combination of sheep, goats, and abundant salt results in the cheese that bears Pag's name.  The last thing Pag is famous for is the hedonistic party resorts at Novalja, which is located on the far northern end of the island.  While I am all for hedonism, we were heading for the more sedate destination of Pag Town.

From Pag Town looking north

It is an hour by bus from Zadar to Pag Town.  Near the town of Ražanac, the trees fail abruptly.  This marks the line of the salt winds.  From here north, the landscape takes on the look of the far-flung Scottish Isles, save that it is much warmer.  Crossing the bridge from the mainland to Otok Pag, our bus was suspended far above the waters of the Adriatic.  The forlorn ruins of a stone tower stood on a barren stony point, watching over nothing.  Rolling past the vast watery flats where sea-salt is harvested, we dropped over a small hill and into Pag Town.  

Disembarking from the bus we found, well, nothing.  We were the only non-Croatian folks getting off the bus.  The bus "station" was a large paved area along the water.  There was nothing else except the sound of the wind and a few voices from a cafe' behind us.  We stood there, watching the bus pull away.  There was the pile of stone that makes up the town, the rocky hill across the water, and a single road leading north out of town.  This lane was supposed to lead in the direction of our guesthouse.  We shouldered the packs and walked north. 

Jasmine Along the Way

The roadway was bordered by salt water on one side and empty hotels on the other.  The hotels and vacation houses climbed the steep hill on our right, each seeming more empty than the last.  It was a little eerie.  Even with the salt winds, the townsfolk seem to manage to keep the roses and jasmine alive.  The air was heavy with the smell of salt and sweet scent of the jasmine.  

A Room with a View

Frane Guesthouse was the last spot on the road before it turned to scale the hill.  We were made very welcome amidst the festivities of a christening party.  A large group of locals were in the main dining room, belting out tunes to the accompaniment of several guitars.  The young Padre in full cassock and collar was there as well, singing and swaying in his seat.  It was a festive gathering, but I could not help but wonder if the folks in the room constituted the entire populations of Pag Town.  

Rush Hour in Downtown Pag Town

We settled in and made full use of the lovely balcony.  The room seemed luxurious for the price.  It turns out there was only one other party of overnight guests, so we were treated to a great room.  I smoked a fine cigar and watched the wind salt the earth.  As hunger finally got the best of us, we headed back along the shore to explore the tiny town of Pag.  The town itself is composed of ancient stone stacked up very close together.  It is s a very small place.  Judging from the quantity of vacation apartments and hotels scattered up the hills on either side of the bay, Pag must be a hive of tourists in the high season.  In May, however, we were the major part of a handful of travellers.  We saw a few folks wandering around the stone passageways, but only a few.  We had the town to ourselves.  

 

Tuna Steak Dinner and...

  The Local Seafood Safety Inspector

A sudden rain squall swept the town, but we were snug and dry under the awning of our outdoor restaurant.  We watched the rain pelt the flagstones while fending off the advances of the local cats.  As quickly as it had come, the rain was gone.  We poked around the centuries-old monastery, which glowers over the town like the fortress that it is.   The skies cleared, the moon shown, and the wet flagstones glowed.  

We spent the last of the evening on our balcony watching the moon twinkle on the water.  There is not much to do here in Pag Town except walking and thinking, or sitting and thinking.  A lovely place.

Remember to be kind and travel well.  From Otok Pag, it is time to say "Ciao for Now!"

Random Notes, Zadar

Another Bright Day on the Adriatic

Another bright morning on the Adriatic sea.  The days blend into a stream of walking, talking, sitting, laughing, and eating good food.  There are times when travel is not movement, but rather a falling into time, a sense of settling more deeply into a place than movement alone could accomplish.  The charitable act of giving oneself time.

A Day to Ponder

Stone and sea and sun, following the water to the old piers south of the city.  Men working on their boats, scraping, painting.  Working men with working boats.  The thrumming of the big auto-ferries sliding across the glassy harbor.

 The Dreaded Zadarosaur

A found object guards the harbor from a stub of an abandoned pier.  It was just there, placed exactly where I photographed it. 

New Town Viewed from the Old Walls

Glancing off of the busy Old Town, sliding along through the shade atop the battlements.  Peering down at tourists from the vantage of hidden perches.  We have begun to learn the back passages and the untraveled pathways.  

It is a game created with an friend, the City Game.  The parameters are thus and so.  One will be provided with money sufficient for a month's worth of expenses and a modest studio apartment.  Without luxury, or the luxury of retreat, this little apartment will be one's home for a month.  The game is simple:  Which city do you chose?  My friend and I agree on some cities, disagree on others:  Napoli was his first choice.  I have since come to see his reasons.  Barcelona is a mutual favorite. Lisboa is my choice and he will have to do his own research.  Now I would propose to add either Zadar or Zagreb to the list, depending on personal taste.

A Healthy Alt-Meal

Wok stir-fry, Octopus Rissoto, Tuna in Tumeric.  An Alt-Cafe tucked onto the edge of the forum in the Old City.  Surprise, surprise.  I can only see it if my eyes are open.

The New Dead

The Yugoslav Wars were not imagined, nor was the cemetery across the train lines.  These are the newly dead, or so I think of them.  Here lie some of the people who perished in the horrific struggle between the Croats and the Serbs in the 1990's.  During those dark times, Zadar was a city that was hotly contested.

The Old Dead

And the Old Dead.  There are a great many graves here in this immense cemetery.  Italian families buried their loved ones here, laying the bones in Croatian soil.

The Farthest Steps of the Day

Our farthest point away from the Old City brought us to a cafe' along a sparkling harbor.  The cafe' was dotted with folks in scrubs, talking a break from the clinic next door.

 

The Gloaming

There is that magic time when sea and sun meld, when light dances.  Our eyes are dazzled but we cannot look away.  We pause, even the busiest of we poor humans, to mark the passing.

Shiksa for the Hunger

To be welcomed back to that same restaurant, recognized after just a single visit.  An ephemeral bit of familiarity.  

Geckos for Luck

Nightfall, the last nightfall in Zadar.  Where did the time go?  It was days stretching into days, it was an instant.  Gecko for luck, Gecko for safe travel.  We gather the omens and icons about us, sort them like seashells, then dump them all into the same basket.

Dugi Otok

Wiggling Through the Adriatic Islands

Zadar, Croatia, was our base of operations, a place from which to make day trips and general whatnot.  Despite our best intentions, for two days we sank into the rhythm of slow coffee at our beach-side cafe' before strolling the narrow streets.  Today, however, was the day we would strike out across the water.  After we had coffee.  And strolled a bit.

We boarded the ferry Anamarija at her berth in the inner harbor.  Our destination was Dugi Otok, the outer island of the plethora of karst islands barricading Zadar from the open Adriatic (see the cool map insert, above!)   Onboard, the passengers were a mix of local folks, a few tourists, and a bicycle group.  Before even a single hawser was cast off, the below-decks cafe' was churning out espresso and dispensing some sort of local Grappa firewater.  This was obviously not the first rodeo for the men crowded around the bar.

The Anamarija's aged engines throbbed to life and we were off.  There are myriad islands between the mainland and the open Adriatic.  This labyrinth of limestone islands extends up and down the Dalmatia Coast and supplies the loveliness required for the picture postcards.  There are three (depending on how one counts them) rows of islands off the shores of Zadar.  These long craggy barrier islands are shaped like thin bits of the coast, sliced off and left to drift. 

We threaded the incredibly narrow passage of Pašman Otok, where I could have thrown a rock to the shore on either side of the boat.  Back out in the open water, the engines pulsed as we headed towards Sali, a small village on the southern end of Dugi Otok.  From Sali we planned to bicycle up and over the spine of the island to end up at the Telašćica Nature Park.  We did not know quite how tall the spine actually was.

The Tiny Port of Sali

The village of Sali pushes up to the edge of the snug harbor, a ring of cut stone and red-tiled roofs.  The passengers unloaded themselves whilst the crew unloaded all of the various goods being delivered to the island.  There were boxes and bales, sets of car tires, furniture and bulk food.  The crew got things onto the flagstones of the quay and the locals took it from there, sorting out what belonged to whom.  The whole of the thing was so damn picturesque I felt as if I had been dropped onto the set of Giuseppe Tornatore's "Cinema Paradiso."

The Tourist Throng, just enough for a volleyball team.

The dozen or so tourists, including ourselves, wandered into the village.  Outside the tourist office, we met the shuttle driver, who was hoping for a full load of souls to haul over to the Nature Park.  When I told him that we intended to bicycle, he transformed himself cheerfully into the bicycle rental agent.  We were soon aboard some fairly decent Scott mountain bikes, grinding up the steep hills out of Sali.

 

Well, it looked pretty flat on the map...

Yes, grinding the bicycles up, and up, then a bit more up.  All of the islands seem to have one basic feature:  a high spiny ridge of limestone down the center.  The nature park lay on the other side of the ridge.  

What goes up must come down, and so it was with us.  Sweaty climbing was replaced by the exhilaration of whooshing downhill, finding the small one-lane road to the park, and more downhill whooshing.  Of course, all of that downhill whooshing would be uphill grinding on the return.  

The road leveled out as we coasted along the corrugated shores of one of the bays that make up the dragon mouth shape at the south end of the island.  Rolling past wildflowers and the dull green of olive trees, we passed a wild donkey sanctuary and continued onward.  

Here is a link to a video of the bicycling in action:

Bicycling Dugoi Otak

Blue and Green, Green and Blue

An Upgrade from the Mao-Bike Trusty-Rusties of SE Asia

A bit more climbing over the next ridge and we dropped down to the salt pond, a long narrow lake that is fed with seawater via underground channels in the karst limestone.  Avoiding a noisy little pod of tourists at the nearest end of the lake (how did they get here?) we bumped along the shrinking trail until it was time to park the bikes and continue on foot.  At the far southern end of the lake is an almost barren rocky ridge.  The eerie pile of limestone separates the salt lake from the sea.  This was Lands End for the barrier islands.  From this spot we were gazing out across the open Adriatic, from whence the Venetian fleets had come to burn Zadar.

Lands End

The ridge of limestone was a strange place.  Between the lake and the sea, thousands of rock cairns had been built.  Some were simple stacks of stone while others were more like primitive sculptures of rocks, flotsam, and bits of driftwood.  There was a placard describing various theories on how the cairns came to be, but the theories were all crap.  People piled up the stones.  The question is why?  The rock field between the two waters covered several acres.  Almost every square foot of this space was occupied by a rock cairn.  A great deal of human effort had gone into the ant-like work of piling rocks into towers. 

Here is a link to a video of the field of rock cairns at Lands End:
Lands End at the Adriatic

 

The Result of Human Obsession with Building Piles

Turning away from the Adriatic, we continued our circumnavigation of the lake.  We walked amongst olive trees, the tumbled remains of stone huts, and the rustling of skittering lizards.  The lake is the home to eels, probably not Shrieking Eels, but still unique in their own right.  Although there is no visible passage from the salt lake to the open sea, the eels manage to commute through the underground water passages in the limestone.  They leave the lake to spend several years in the open sea, then return to the lake to breed.

Returning was on our mind as well, for our options were either a mid-afternoon ferry back to Zadar or a late evening boat ride.  Opting for the former, we left the lake behind and began grinding back up the lovely hills we had whizzed down.  Along the rough bay we saw the small tour boat that explained the knot of noisy tourists who had been assaulting the quiet of the lake when we first arrived.  It was heading out of the bay, taking its noisy cargo with it.  We started up the long grade back to the main road.  It was hot and sweaty work, but we managed to climb each ridge until all that was left was a glorious sweeping roll back down into Sali. 

Tired and happy, we left the bikes, unlocked, next to the little tourist office.  When I had asked the agent if we should lock them upon our return, he had laughed.  Where would the bikes go?  It was an island where everyone knew everyone else.

And so it was back across the water, back through the narrow passages, and hence back into the inner harbor at Zadar.  We walked our tired selves to our digs and cleaned up.  Soon it was time to set out for that magic food that restores all to vigor.

Pizza!

Another fine day wandering the environs of Zadar had come to an end as darkness engulfed our little terrace.  We kept a sharp eye out for our friend the hedgehog, but it seems he had other tasks on this fine evening.  The heavy scents of roses and jasmine hung in the air as the moon traversed the sky.  All was well.  

From Zadar, Croatia, as always, Ciao for Now!

Zadar Walkabout

Christianity sits atop Roman Walls and a Roman Forum

Zadar, Croatia, is an old place.  Understatement, that.  It was old when it was first named Zadar, but its history flows back into the Neolithic, or New Stone Age.  The Neolithic Era, as I'm sure you remember from Ancient History class, ranges from around 10,000 BC (or BCE for you revisionists) until the coming of the Bronze Age.  It's all about the tools, Baby!

Zadar as Ladar and the march of sandal-shod feet:  Liburnians, Illyrians, Romans, Oh My!  This region of the Adriatic was peopled with folks of Pre-Indo-European culture.  With the Liburnians it became know as Ladar.  Then Romans conquered the area and the settlement became Ladera, a Roman city and later a Roman Municipium.  As we know, empires come and empires go.  The Romans faded under the weight of their own divisions and strife, aided by the Goths and Visigoths.  For Zadar, there was an almost regular rhythm to the rise and fall of empire.  The Byzantium empire ruled, then the Franks (the barbarians that would become Charlemagne, Holy Roman Empire, France), and, for a bit, Zadar was ruled by Croats.  But tides come in and tides go out.  In 1202 Zadar was conquered and burned by the pesky Venetians who were aided by those God-fearing marauders and murders, the Crusaders.  Then came the Hungarian Kingdom, who ended up selling Zadar back to the Venetians.  Are you dizzy yet?

The flow of merchants and marauders, along with zealots and religions, continued to wash over Zadar.  Turks came banging up the Balkans from the Bosphorus, then the Venetians took over again.  After the fall of Venice due to the opening of Atlantic trade routes by the Portuguese (cause and effect, cause and effect) the Austro-Hungarian Empire took over and stayed more or less in power until the end of World War One.  When one treads upon the stones of Zadar, one is literally walking in, and on, time itself.

New Town from the Wall of Old Town

History does not negate the need for caffeine.  Imagine this:  There was no coffee in Europe before Christopher Columbus brought it back from the New World at the closing of the15th Century.  No coffee!!  And no hot chocolate either.  Bummer for those guys.  

We breakfasted in our cool little studio near the water, a repast of fruit and bread and cheese, washed down with tea.  This was all fine and well for a start, but there would be no walkabout without the proper chemical boost, and that would only come from a cafe' along the water.  I admit that it was somewhat later in the morning before the magic Kava had given me the will to explore that which needed to be explored.  Bodily needs properly attended to, it was time for a walkabout.

Who stacked those stones?

And so we wandered.  The Old City sits atop a small peninsula that is about two kilometers long and one kilometer wide.  There are a few narrow lanes that run the long axis of the town with even smaller passageways crossing the narrow width of the place.  Wander where you will without regard for the map, for you will only strike water or wall.  One of the things that I really like about the Old City is that it is not simply a Tourist Ghetto.  Scattered amongst the monuments and monasteries are modern apartments and even a University.  Local folks actually live and work inside the walls built by Venice.  

The tour groups were already out, oozing across the old forum like disjointed amoebae.  They grouped and regrouped around their leader, following the beacon of the tour guide's hoisted flag.  My Heart thought up the idea for an evil game, one that we will have to put in practice on our next trip.  The idea is simple and mischievous.   We will equip ourselves with small flags of various colors.  When we see a large tour group. we will hoist our own flag, a flag of the same color as theirs, and with it we will see how many of the tour group we can cull from the herd.  Then we will lead them a merry chase through the small passageways, only to furl our flag and scuttle into the shadows, leaving them leaderless and adrift.  Perfect, yes?

The Pillar of Shame, topped by the Lion of Saint Mark

During the Venetian rule, there was a simple method for dealing with folks who were naughty.  They malefactors were chained up to the pillar of shame and left to bake in the sun.  Like everything else in this town, it's one culture atop another, in this case literally.  The Lion of Saint Mark, very faded now, sits atop a surviving Roman column.  

My Zadarian Doppleganger

Stones and streets, lanes and passages, tour groups to dodge, and all was well.  A simple left or right turn down a tiny walkway was enough to secure peace and quiet.  There were crumbling piles of stone to discover, waterfront promenades to stroll, and the fun of the Sea Organ at the tip of the peninsula.  A clever architect built the Sea Organ along the stone walkway at the northwest tip of the city.  Pipes and chambers under the walkway are filled by the pulsing waves.  The force of the waves actually "plays" a giant pipe organ, the sounds of which are transmitted through ports in the walkway.  The resulting music is a cross between a very drunk organist and whales having an orgy.  Mesmerizing, as I am sure it was meant to be. 

There was another organ, the Bee Organ.  Zadar is a city of gardens and flowers.  The folks that live here are nuts for gardens.  Anywhere that people have a small plot of land, be it a walled backyard or a vacant lot, there are tilled gardens surmounted by olive and fig trees.  Verdant doesn't come close, but it's the best word I can call up.  Besides the tilled vegetable plots, the city is awash in roses, jasmine bushes, and flowering trees.  The fragrance of the jasmine is pervasive.  With the flowers come honey bees, droves of them.  We stood under one flowering tree in the old city and were serenaded by the sonorous hum of thousands of honey bees feeding on the overhead flowers.  Magic!

Old Town from New Town

Even a great walkabout requires sustenance from time to time.  We crossed the city harbor from Old Town to New Town via the walking bridge.  A trip to the bakery and a sunny bench was all we needed.  The early afternoon took care of itself as we sat and ate.  A good cigar, more sun, and all was well with the world.

The Tiny Old Harbor beneath the frowning Lion of Saint Mark

Every walkabout must come to an end, and this one did.  Hungry and tired, we ventured along the water under the outer walls, returning to the snug outer harbor and the main gate.  From here our feet turned homeward and our thoughts to real food.

Little Dead Fishes, Giving One the Strength to Carry On

Back at the wee apartment, we cleaned up and turned our tired feet towards dinner.  Our choice was a local place near our digs, a small restaurant outside the Old City.  It turned out to be a super friendly family run joint with great food.  Platters of little grilled sardines, wonderful appetizers, and shiksa were soon burdening the table as we did our best to unburden same.  A wonderful meal to cap off a wonderful day.  But we weren't done yet.

The late evening was spent on the flagstones of our miniature terrace, overlooking the grassy vacant lot next door.  My sharp-eyed Sweetie spotted a hedgehog rooting about in a pile of old vegetation near our wall.  We spent a good bit of time peering over the wall at our new friend, who was oblivious to our presence as it hunted for tasty grubs and slugs amongst the rotting verdure.  

It had been a fine first full day in Zadar, and happy we were to have chosen this for our Dalmatia base of operations.  For tonight we were done.  As always, be strong, be kind, and I bid you Ciao for Now!

Sources:

Wikipedia

and...

My many history teachers.  (wouldn't they be proud?)

From "Z" to "Z"

 Two Cities that begin with "Z" in one day!  How often is that going to happen?

From "Z" to shining "Z", that was our travel plan.  We had purchased bus tickets for our route from the city of Zagreb, Croatia, to the coastal town of Zadar.  Shouldering the backpacks, we walked the wide boulevards from the homey Hotel Fala to the main bus station in Zagreb.

Zadar is situated roughly in the middle of the Dalmatia Coast.  This coastline makes up the eastern side of the Adriatic Sea, and is famous for its dramatic karst islands and azure waters.  Zadar is the oldest inhabited city on the Dalmatia Coast, dating to pre-Roman times.  Throughout the centuries, many ruling powers have lorded it over the city.  Their legacies are marked by the ruins, ancient walls, and stone buildings that make up the old town center.  This tradition of repeated changes of power has continued into recent times.

Consider the difference between "Nation" and "Country".  A nation could be defined as a group of people united by a similar culture, religion, ethnic background, or a combination of these.  A country, on the other hand, is a geographic area ruled by a single government.  The two words may have very different meanings depending on what region of the world one is from.  For a citizen of the United States, for example, Nation and Country may very well be synonymous.  For well over two centuries, the USA has been a single country, continuously ruled by a single governmental system.  Contrast this with a Croatian person born in Zadar in 1900.  By the time this person had lived to be fifty-five years of age, he would have been ruled by five different "Countries" depending on how you slice it.  While he or she would consider themselves a Croat, our friend would have been under the governmental control of the Habsburgs (The Austro-Hungarian Empire), the first Republic of Yugoslavia, the Kingdom of Yugoslavia, the Italian Fascists (during WWII) and, finally, the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia under Tito.  "Busy, busy, busy!" whispers the good Bokononist.

Our bus rolled through river valleys and tilled fields, then began edging along the coastal mountains that separate the northern Adriatic Coast from the interior lands of Croatia.  The hills became steeper and the tunnels along the autobahn became longer.  Small patches of snow were visible on the upper crags of the mountains to our right.  After several hours of watching the countryside, our route veered west.  We began climbing and tunneling over and through the mountains.  The Adriatic Sea came into view as we swept down a series of twisting switchbacks protected by avalanche fences.  Winters bring serious snow to these mountains.  Three and a half hours of travel brought us into the city of Zadar.

The Main Gate to the Old City, Guarded by the Venetian Lion of St. Mark

With a bit of help from our electronic devices and saved screenshot maps (traveler's tip there, Mate!) we managed to navigate the twisty labyrinth of tiny lanes to our diminutive studio apartment south of the old city.  Stowing the bags, it was time to find a cafe', recharge the caffeine levels, and head out to explore the walled city. 

As long as one stays along the waterfront promenade, or inside the Old City, Zadar is an easy place to navigate.  Wander away from the water outside the center, however, and the twisting lanes and passageways are bewildering.  We found the first set of Venetian fortifications and let them guide us to the main entrance of the old city.

Love amongst the ruins

The Old Town is a walking paradise.  There are Roman ruins, Venetian fortifications, churches, monuments, and monasteries, all chockablock on top of one another.  The pile of stone is ringed by water on three sides and by walls on the fourth.  One may wander in circles, and very much enjoy the experience, but one cannot get lost.

Church of St. Donatus and the Tower

Walking northwest on any of the narrow streets will bring you to the forum, the ancient plaza of the Romans.  This is the center of the walled city.  Here there are ruins of Roman shop buildings, almost directly alongside modern kiosks that sell souvenirs to the tourists.  Some things never change.  I'm sure the Roman merchants of the day sold the equivalent of refrigerator magnets to the travelers of the time. 

A word of caution about Zadar:  it is the new darling of the Dalmatia Coast.  It has become A Destination.  A recent shining star in many travel journals, Zadar is a busy little place on the tour bus route.  We are here during the shoulder season, as is our wont.  High Season, in whatever locale you care to mention, is not our cup of tea.  At this time of year, the tour buses deposit their load of camera-toting tour members, each frantically following the flag of their guide.  They run about in the confines of the walled city, snapping pictures of all the important sites.  Four hours later, in the late afternoon, they are back on the bus and rolling away from the city.  The lesson is that evenings are much more peaceful here, and the shoulder and off-season are lovely.  If, however, you come to Zadar during the high season, don't say I didn't warn you.

Old.  Really Old.

Exploring is all fine and well, but we were really after a fish dinner.  We found the place we were looking for and had a lovely repast.  This despite My Heart being slightly irked by the "pesky" host, a very (overly?) effusive host who kept up a steady patter of smarmy cheeriness.  For me, I counted it better than surly.  Besides, the fish was a lovely change from the meaty platters of Zagreb.

The Gloaming of the Day

The miles of the day began to take their toll as we topped off the fish dinner with huge ice creams.  While Zagreb and Zadar are not the gelato paradise of Napoli, they are not too far off.  We were fading with the day and began the return walk to our new home.  

Nightfall on the Adriatic

Night on the Promenade

Another great day in Croatia had run its course.  Zadar was going to be our base of operations for the next five days.  We were very excited with what we had seen so far.  There would be day trips to the nearby islands, ferries to ride, and more exploring in Zadar itself.  For this evening, however, we were done.

There will be much more about Zadar to come, including inflicting a bit more history upon you, my long-suffering readers.  It is truly a fascinating place and I hope you will bear with me.  Remember to travel well, be happy, and be kind.  From Zadar, Croatia, Ciao for Now!