I've been here only a day, and already I'm completely enamored by the Croatian coast. As the Autumn sun kisses the ancient Roman ruins within which my lodge is nestled, a premonition of joyous optimism seizes my spirit. Croatia is so beautiful, in fact, that I can't help but spew prolix, amateurish prose to describe it (see previous sentence). I'll try and keep it to a minimum.
The hostel was a tad breezy. Great views, though.Today, I visit not one but TWO beaches: the first, a typical, sandy affair close to the ruins, where I meet a couple of girls after brazenly interjecting upon their conversation, which had something to do with Chicago.
One is an artsy-fartsy American from "the Cleve" who, much like myself, has decided to commemorate her travels by giving up shaving. This doesn't come up in conversation, but judging from the tumbleweeds this chick is smuggling under her arms, one can only assume it's some sort of art project/social statement. Obviously, tending to one's prolific body hair is plebeian, oppressive and patriarchal, and she's going to let Croatia know about it. I still think it looks better on me, though.
Enchantée, ma chère! Might I buy you a drink? Or perhaps a Lady Remington?The other lass is a well-kempt, unremarkable Aussie; she doesn't say much. We make plans to meet later for a few pints; I pray that Chewbacca wears long sleeves.
Beach number two, appropriately named Bene (Italian for "Fuckin' A"), is big, rocky and magnificent. As a boorish American whose beach experience mostly comprises summers in Wildwood, New Jersey, I'm stricken by the awesome, aromatic, heady beauty of a rocky shore saturated with conifers and bathed in seemingly constant sunlight.
All this natural majesty possesses me, of course, to play tough guy. I find a secluded and especially rocky corner of the coast that is clearly not intended for swimming, and I decide to take a swim. The water is cold. The ground beneath the water is littered with either sea urchins or broken glass. I cut my feet up something fierce.
This looks like a safe place for a dive, no?I snap this photo:
Joe Ciotti: Man.I head for dry land, trying to feel tough while tip-toeing all the way back.
I watch the following sunset, which immediately heals my wounded feet and eradicates any remaining Hungarian AIDS cells. I hope you'll feel a similar effect. Sorry about the crappy editing.
After chasing down a bus in soggy plastic flip flops to make it back to town, I meet Chewie and Aussie-face, and we explore the tiny Dalmatian streets in search of a pub. Having little luck on our own, we soon hook up with some Croatian sailors in an alleyway (that doesn't sound right at all).
These scurvy seadogs escort us to a little pub (they're all little), shamelessly dance with the girls, complain about how Americans don't know anything, and boast that Split is home to the world's oldest cathedral.
I'd love to argue, but I have no idea whether this is true. I am, after all, only American.
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