Crews Letter #2004 22
THE
Conrad went up the road early to
the bakery (pekula) for a fresh, warm loaf which Fred, Conrad and I ate sliced
with butter and jam for breakfast. Then
he and I walked back along the waterfront to the bus ticket kiosk for the
bus/boat tour of the national park which comprises
most of the
We
were the only passengers on the minivan up the narrow twisting road through
heavy pine and oak woods and down to a stop at the park entrance. Down stone steps to the still
water of the wide saltwater lake and the small wooden sightseeing boat. Across the lake you
could see the
Only the chapel of the monastery was open to the public. The cloisters and central courtyard full of loaded orange trees we glimpsed through tall green-painted doors, slightly ajar, before they were quickly and brusquely closed by the girl mopping the floor. The small chapel was set up for a wedding, as was the restaurant on the dockside. We circled the monastery on the pathway, a tiny chapel and tomb on the path at one side of the little island faced a glorious long vista of the lake, and another tiny chapel on the other side of the island faced the park entrance we had come across from and the bulk of the island.
Back at the boatdock, after a brief wait, the small tour boat took us to another stop, evidently a beach, where we picked up a full load of beachgoers, and then returned to the park entrance. Again we were the only passengers in the minivan back to Polače. We stopped at the bakery for a quick apple strudel, then back to Perception and off, sailing in 10 knot breeze back past Korčula, around the east end of the island this time, and back north to the east end of Hvar island, the opposite end from Hvar town, across from the mountainous coast of the mainland.
We
anchored in grassy, sandy bottom in a shallow cove facing east, a place called
Smarska, with a short breakwater and a clutch of abandoned-looking buildings,
stone, of course, with red-tiled roofs.
No other boats anchored in the cove and none visible at the dock.
I took the dinghy and paddled to
the stone and concrete dock, walked the path up the slope behind the cluster of
houses and tiny chapel, past loaded olive trees and terraces for vines or
vegetables, under a lush tree dropping long twisted brown bean pods and back to
the quayside. I said hello to a blond,
bikinied woman who spoke almost no English but called her husband, a tall man
who said he was a merchant seaman who was in
I paddled back to the boat to a fine dinner of salad, green bean salad, octapus salad, leftover stir-fry and lamb under the bell. A beautiful dark and silent, windless night, only boat in the tiny cove, and brilliant stars. Shower and to bed.