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!"
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