Wednesday, April 11, 2007
A lazy day in Trogir, Croatia
Watched fit looking specimens in blue and white striped t-shirts hopping on and off of sailboats.
Bought Milo a ball instead of a hotly desired pair of red, white and blue boxing gloves that were stamped "USA" across the wrists.
Inky bought a pair of dangling earrings from the naughty-underwear lady in the market.
There is a lot of pizza in Croatia. It is nearly single handedly keeping the children from starving, though they do pretty well with the chocolate filled buns from Konzum, the ubiquitous supermarket chain.
We've been staying in apartments, a much better value than our one nasty hotel room in Sezana, Slovenia (though Milo was thrilled to take a crack at the old wooden crib the management provided on his behalf.)
The one in Ptuj had an espresso machine, vaulted ceilings, and terry cloth sheets. It was who knows how many zillions of years old and overlooked the river.
The three bears would have loved the one in Stanjel. I know we did. One tiny window overlooked the rocketship spire of St Daniel's, the other the shell of a limestone house bombed in WW II. It had a stovetop espresso maker and a wooden loft where the kids slept.
The one in Lobran had a terrace with a view of the Adriatic, and no dish rack. I washed our filthy laundry in the sink and festooned that terrace like a gypsy caravan. Our cousins joined us, the boys in particular whooping it up, to the suspected dismay of the childless Austrian outdoorsman whose misfortune it was to be staying in the apartment next door.
Now we're in the old medieval town section of Trogir. We have one steak knife and no dish towel, pretty orange coverlets, and friendly workman installing a red tile roof right outside our window. Lots of sidewalk cafes. Narrow, cobbled streets worthy of Romeo and Juliet (which Inky seems to think is a comedy, albeit a very dark one.) A jaw-dropping view from the bell tower of the old cathedral in the town square, and a hair raising descent on backless metal steps with one shaky wooden rail the only thing between us and an unthinkable, permanent splat. (Hi, Granny!)
Time to apply the steak knife to some chicken from Konzum. Greg and I exacted a promise from the kids that we're eating elsewhere than a pizzeria tonight. Not wanting to waste our hard-won kuna on untouched entrees, we'll feed them at home, then tank them up on chocolate crepes and comic books while we dine on something wonderful. (Bought some "wine" from a pleasant old lady in the market. She'd bottled it herself in a re-purposed seltzer bottle. It's a bit corrosive, but might be better on a full stomach and a bottle of something with notes less automotive in nature.
Thank you all for your comments! Internet connection is a bit of a challenge here, complicated by kids, funky flash drives, my lack of interest in hanging out in Internet cafes, and y's in the place of American keyboards' z's.
Tomorrow, we're off to Dubrovnik, and from thence, to Mostar, Bosnia.