Today’s been a warm, calm, lonely day. I think I’m ready to go back home, back to work. I hiked for a couple hours earlier today and found that an experience I’d wanted to have – a period of time and a place to walk where I could discern no sign of human activity – had been achieved, and that it was extraordinarily lonely. I had anticipated this and still wanted it but it’s helped me decide I’m not ready to leave humanity behind just yet.
sept 7 11.20am,
On the ferry now, saying goodbye to Mljet. The taxi I’d ordered for 9.30 came at 10, the 10.45 ferry left at 11. After a week and a half in this country I haven’t managed to get used to how relaxed they are about time. That’s a bit of a cliche about the Mediterranean, isn’t it?
My host gave me a lovely cup of coffee and a bag of bread and cookies – which I’ve already devoured – before I left. I had mentioned at the beginning I wanted to do some drawing (not just prose sketches) when I was here and my host really ran with that, even though I’m a complete amateur. But I suppose it’s good because it’s meant I’ve felt obligated to do some sketching, and I think I’ve improved that little bit. I left a drawing for my host in the room I stayed in, but after all the coffee and food and snacks is that enough?
My host also said I should come back, and I’m thinking seriously about it. Is the purpose of travel purely to see new places? This trip wasn’t. I think the next time I need to wind down and get away from people, maybe I’ll come back to Polace. At the very least I’ll recommend Pave’s place to my friends who decide to visit.
[I’m giving up on trying to number these entries, it doesn’t really add anything other than organisaton]
2 Sept, 11.32am.
Up early again this morning, had a good breakfast. I owe the bakery one kuna (approx. .12 GBP) because I didn’t have exact change.
I’m going to write until 1 and then go for a swim at the beach. It’s windy, clouds are scudding overhead, and there’s a restive quality to the town. It’s very quiet and most of the yachts have moved elsewhere. I look at the weather prediction and I think I can guess why. We’re supposed to have thunderstorms this afternoon and tomorrow. I’ve always loved thunderstorms, probably beause (like rain, which I also loved until I moved to Edinburgh) they don’t happen often in California. And really, anything outside the norm is exciting and romantic to an extent. I’m pleased because I’ve got a good view over the little inlet and further east, out to sea, which is where I hope the storm will come from. It’s still intermittently sunny, but I can see the water getting choppier.
31 August, 9.50am.
In Polače now. A couple hours to kill before check-in so I’ve found a little pebble beach further along the inlet, at the end of the street that makes up the bulk of the town. Polače is slower and more peaceful than Dubrovnik, I can already tell I’m going to like it here. I’m lying on pebbles, trying to favor my pulled serratus muscles, my feet in the water. The tides in this spot are so invariable that, when I lie back and shut my eyes, it feels like nothing more than a playful nymph, a sprite, splashing me with seawater. First softly, now harder. Perhaps she is trying to wake me up.
I’ve just noticed the cicadas. They’re a constant low buzzing chirrup, coming from the pine trees all around us which run in places right down to the shore. It’s a sound that says ‘summer’ to me though I’ve never lived in a place with cicadas. It fades from my consciousness without concentration. It’s almost subliminal and I wonder if it’s putting me in a sunny frame of mind, because all I want right now is to immerse myself in the cool blue water lapping at my feet.
1 Sept, 5.31pm.
Today has been a lazy day. I went for a wander in the national park, got to see the lake. I spent about an hour sketching an abandoned boat sitting broken under a tree. There was no one waiting on me and no one to worry about entertaining, so I got to finish.
Mljet has this kind of haze, I don’t know if it’s dust in the air or a light mist or what, but it creates a very evocative kind of layering, you can look out at successions of islands or hills, each one a little less defined. I think this is called a landskein.
Don’t know what I want to do with myself this evening. Perhaps a walk. A man on a passing yacht walks from bow to stern, and appears to be walking in place.