The Journey to Dubrovnik

"You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness; For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable."

There was lightning in the distant hills on the ride home from Mostar. I arrived in Split to darkening skies and made my may home for sleep. The Super Bowl was scheduled to kick off at 1am local time, and I had to catch the 7am bus to Dubrovnik.

So, I figured, sleep now, and stay up through everything else!

There was a casino on the outskirts of town showing the Big Game, a party hosted by a local "American Football" team called the Split Seawolves. What a hoot. I figured I'd do it and maybe come away with a Seawolves jersey.

The invite read:
"Come around 23:30 - await you promotional price of drinks, voucher of £ 35 for a game in Wettpunkt-in and a super team and a huge video wall on which we are transferring! #Nichi will fill stomach"

Sounded good to me.

Set the alarm, and dozed off a little worried about available cash. If my ATM card didn't work in the morning, it would be lean times on the rest of the trip. Sure #Nichi would fill stomach tonight, but what will I eat in Zagreb in four days?

Sleep. Sleep. Awakened by heavy-metal thunder. This is no weather to visit a casino in. Rolled back over. Woke up around halftime of the game. Shared the agony of the terrible loss with Mike, who was online back in the states. He and I have been together for for some infamous defeats, boy. It's almost a theme of ours.

I wonder how the Seawolves took it.

Still raining hard and I was still worried about whether or not the ATM card would work, so I figured, just get out there. I made some of that powdered coffee, bundled up, and got out there.

I also took the leather bag Ruggles ruined. Figured I'd leave it somewhere dry for someone else. Maybe someone with the patience to unstink it. Farewell, bag. RIP. RI... cat pee, that is.

Went out in the blackness. Found an alley and ditched the bag. The three 24-hour bakeries were open, and there was a bank machine between them. I held my nose, I closed my eyes, I took a drink. Bills came pouring out. Magical bills! I was rich again. Celebrated with a big old sausage roll and some baklava.

Getting pretty sick of phyllo dough. Everything here is baked into it or wrapped with it. I like the taste, but I just want a donar kebab, you know, I want to bite something and not have it crunch.

Back home for the last time. Made sure I was all packed up. Stole a roll of toilet paper in case I got the sniffles again, took the jar of almonds the host gifted me with, and zipped on out of there. Stuck the key in the mailbox.

Farewell, Split. You were cool on your own, and the ideal launching pad for adventures outward.

Dark walk to the bus terminal, but a very familiar one by now. The leather bag was gone already. A good find for someone, though they'll soon discover it's no bargain! The paw of Ruggles strikes from worlds away!

It was too early for the ticket counter to be open, but the driver sold me a ticket. No problem. You're not allowed to bring suitcases on the bus, though, so he charged me for that. Again, no problem, I had all that money now. Why, I could even afford an expensive necktie if I wanted one.

You see, Croatia claims to have invented the neck tie. I guess the story goes, a bunch of Frenchies liked the way Croatians wore their scarves, and started doing it that way, and the way the French pronounced "Croat" sounded like "Cravat," and the cravat is the precursor of the necktie.

Seems legit.

A bunch of stores has necktie-shaped doorknobs even. Everything was a million raccoons, though, 

Quiet little ride to Dubrovnik along the glorious coast. It's as pleasing to the eye and uplifting to the soul as anything there is. The mighty sea, the patient rocks, the steely green and prideful blues. White clouds above and white foam below. 

I read more Shardik. I had taken a break from it to read The Thin Man, which I completed in one sitting. Enjoyed it very much, of course, but now back to this big red brick. I chose it because Richard Adams said it was his favorite thing he'd ever written.

Maybe authors like their rough children the best. They need them more.

My host in Dubrovnik was a man named Zvonko. He had to work in the afternoon, so it was important the bus be on time, but the bus was running very late. One of the reasons is, there's a weird little postage-stamp sized plot of Bosnia that juts into the Croatian coast. It's sort of hilarious. 

It's there so Bosnia can have a port, but also for some other obscure reason. So, even though I was going from one Croatian city to the another, there was a passport check.

When you cross a border on a bus, the process usually works like this:
1) An armed guard from the country you're leaving boards the bus and collects everyone's passports and ID cards.

2) The bus then drives across the line into the new country while the border cops run the names to see if there are any fugitives.

3) The cop gives the stack of passports back to the driver, and you take off again. That's mostly how it goes.

Of course, you get nervous the bus will leave without your passport, but it doesn't happen. When the driver has them back, the process for returning them is interesting. If the driver has a buddy, the buddy walks up and down the aisle passing them back, calling out the names.

If the driver doesn't have a buddy, he hands the stack to whoever's in the front seat, and he takes his and passes back the stack. You get to see everyone's stuff!

On the ride back from Mostar, the driver had a buddy. He was having fun with it, calling out the names and running over to the person the passport belonged to like it was a game show. I was listening out for my name, of course. Would he pronounce it "See-mahn?" or "Shemmin?"

My ear was tuned to that, so I didn't recognize that he'd been calling "my" name for a while, but he was pronouncing it "Barack Obama." He was just standing next to my seat holding it out and saying, "Barack Obama" until I was like, "wha? Oh, he means me!" I was the only American on the bus, so that's the name I got.

No jinks quite as high here, though. Pretty routine. No stamps, just a flip-through and a hard stare. Then you park at something called the Supermarket Orca, which is a convenience store that gives a portion of its sales to the bus driver. So there's every incentive to park there for a while.

It had wi-fi, though, so I wrote Zvonko and told him I'd be late. Lucky. I went for coffee, but the coffee bar allowed smoking, and it was like walking into a wall. I backed right the fuck out. So fucked up to think I lived the first half of my life that way. That was just how it was when you went anywhere.

The movies make the 40s and 50s seem romantic, but the clubs where Gilda sang must have been hell.

Eventually, the driver couldn't squeeze any more profit out of the visit, so we sped on and reached Dubrovnik at last.

Cabbed it to the Old City where I was staying. Zvonko had to bail for work, so I had to meet his dad instead, but daddy needed an extra hour, so I finally got that coffee. I entered through the Pile Gate (as did hundreds of tourists also there that day) and enjoyed the big, old feel of the place.

Giant wide, marble avenue called The Stradun. It was lined with flags for The Festival of St. Blaise, which was totally happening.

Coffeed up, met the old man at the drawbridge, and tried to nap, but I heard drums and bells, so I rallied and went back out. Right away, I saw a man wearing a Sibenik cap. It looked just like mine!

Very cool old city that rewards exploration. It all looks the same at first, crooked staircases leading to cafes, charming boutiques selling neck ties. Terrible restaurants offering regretful meals. Wide plazas. High bell towers and charming clocks.

Everything was strewn with fresh garlands for the festival. I ate some chicken stuffed with shrimp. It was a million dollars, and I felt fooled. Tired, though, and making poor decisions.

Took some more shots almost pathologically and passed a grocery store. Something about its normalcy helped me refocus. I bought some oranges and some toiletries and made myself go back to the room to sleep.

Started to rest. In the morning, I was prepared to climb the walls and see what this place was all about.

I heard cannon fire and laughter outside. Bells. Should I.... Stop it. Stop it. Dubrovnik would be there in the morning. It's been here for centuries.