Crews Letter #2004 20
THE
After breakfast of Vitalis (Croatian granola) with bananas and milk and o.j. (Cappy brand), we set sail for Korčula in a brisk southerly breeze, 15 - 20 knots, light chop, mostly overcast, 72F.
I took the helm on the first long tack for ten miles, then Conrad sailed for twenty miles, and we motor-sailed the last ten miles into a headwind down a narrow channel between two long, hilly islands - rocky and barren to the west, wooded to the east, Korčula, with patches of narrowly spaced horizontal rock-walled terraces, apparently abandoned, on the steep hills, and the occasional neat stone red-tile roofed village at the waterline.
Arrived at the
Fred walked into town to get electrical ties, and was greeted on return with news that the aft head (Conrad’s and mine) was plugged. I confessed to having flushed some toilet paper (though only tiny pieces) - strictly forbidden on the printed operating instructions mounted on the inside of the head lid which I hadn’t bothered to read, considering myself a seasoned head-user - and was promptly, summarily convicted and kicked off the boat. Conrad’s parting shot, “. . . and find a new boyfriend.”
I made a pilgrimage of penance around the marina to the (yet another) medieval walled town of red-tile roofed stone buildings centered by a cathedral tower and guarded by battlemented circular stone parapets. Korčula was entered by a wide, balustraded stone staircase under which bustled a flea market of souvenir stalls and fronted by a circular open-air farmer’s market.
Since I had been evicted without even one kuna, I walked the long cobbled alley that bisects the town north to south, centered by the cathedral plaza. I mounted the several cathedral steps to the ajar cathedral doors and peeked into the dim interior. A tiny crone in nun garb appeared in the gloom and shrieked at me, arms waving, and I quickly retreated from her freshly mopped floor, properly and ultimately chastened for my sins.
I walked to the fort tower, now
housing a restaurant/bar, the end point of the town, and back to the boat by
Despite the herr’s help, little or no progress was made fixing the head. Complete reassembly of the pump mechanism didn’t do the trick. Finally they pulled the tank and found it clogged with three years of accumulated uric acid crystals - not my fault at all. On the dock they filled the clogged pipe with vinegar, and, while it did its nasty, brown bubbly work, we went to dinner - pizza alfresco across from the bus station. Afterward, showers - this time warm enough to shave and shampoo - and to bed, south wind blowing a gale.
For Fred's perspective CLICK HERE.
The broken head, possibly like nothing else could have done, broke the ice. From being practical strangers, cautiously getting acquainted, Conrad and I and Fred and Phyllis were now friends.