Did I tell you about my introduction to Croatia? I don't think I did. I crossed the border from Slovenia and badly needed water. There was a house on the side of the road with a small open air cafe attached. Perfect. I took four half liter bottles of water from a fridge and asked how much. The middle aged owner looked me up and down, saw the sweat, the sunburn and the number of bottles and held up seven fingers. He knew he was onto a winner here. I gave him a ten euro note and he went into his house to get the change. I never saw him or my three euros again. I knocked on the door but no response. Welcome to Croatia.
Before I came away I read Brian Hall's "The impossible country" to get a sense of the Balkans. It was a harrowing account of the various atrocities carried out by the Croats, Serbs and Bosnians on each other post 1991 but not always in equal measure. The politics were mind bendingly complex with more border changes than a failing Tory constituency. It coloured my view of the Balkan states.
The combination of Brian Hall's description of mass murder and genocide and my loss of three euros made me a bit wary as I rode into Croatia. There's the eastern european disinclination to smile that always feels odd. Most conversations sound like a either a set of commands or the sort of exchange that finishes with "hold my beer". The influence of meaning confered by accent can be captured by imagining the phrase "I'll see you later" being spoken in a Northern Irish accent. Try it. You'll see.
So, full of prejudice and tapwater I left Umag, after being held up by three days of storms, and set out for Rovinj. It's been pretty flat up to now but because of the rocky coastline there are now rolling hills and then some big climbs. Lots of cyclists about on local trips and some long distance riders as well. I always nod, smile and say "hello" but unlike almost anywhere else nobody reciprocates. I know it's a cultural difference and there is no animosity but it still feels very odd.
There was a bit of this in Italy with lycra clad speedsters. Stick thin in matching shirts and shorts, shaved legs and multi-coloured glasses they always ignored a wave or a nod. I think they were not keen to be associated with an old bloke in a baggy, fading shirt that had seen better days and a poundshop sunhat. Also, I'm clearly built for comfort rather than speed these days. It's not my fault. It's caused by a problem with my feet. I can't keep them out of the chip shop.*
Big climb at the end of they day. More of these to come.
* The chip shop line was delivered by Johnny Vegas to Anne Widdicombe who inexplicably turned up to a battle of wits unarmed.
Day 9: Rovinj to Pula.
Croatian cuisine is, errrmm, uniform. Every menu looks the same. Fish and chips, meat and chips, pizza (a nod to Italian heritage in Istria). Here's a sample menu.
So, three sizes of toast in the food section. The portions of various grilled meat and chips are huge. I try to balance this by eating only fruit for breakfast and lunch. By doing this I'm down to about half a sheep and a chicken a day. In Croatia I think that's borderline vegan.
Lots of off-road today which is a bit worrying for the bike. It's mountain bike territory really. After the rain there is a bit of flooding that meant paddling knee deep through some murky water. It was either that or turn back. Some of the paths are made up of slippery, sticky red clay. Lovely for the vineyards but it sticks to everything including me. Riding into Pula I seek out puddles to splash through to clean the clay off. The adults look at me as if I am mad. The children don't.
Nice evening in Pula. I think I'll go for a middle toast tonight.
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