I learn the Metric System the Hard Way

 I had so many nightmare about my first 24 hours on the ground.   I figured I would be exhausted and tired and grumpy and hungry and generally could find myself in a situation I would have trouble getting out of.  Ending up stranded, homeless or kidnapped by aliens all crossed my mind.  Anxiously, I tried to arrange everything in advanced so I didn’t end up sleeping on the bench. 

In general, hostels are pretty light on the ground in Croatia.  For numerous reasons it lays off the normal track for American backpackers. Its not yet in the Euro Zone and is remembered for the years of civil wars during the break up of Yugoslavia.  While that is slowly changing, it does mean you really need to know where your going to sleep before you get to a new city.  I knew of more then one group who ended up sleeping rough because of the lack of accommodations. This shortage is especially tight in Dubrovnik, where there is one hostel in town.  There are lots of very very nice resorts all along the coast, but if you want a cheap room you need to go to a private room.  The shortage of accommodations is to bad for the budget traveler because this is one of the uglier bays.

Piece of Junk

There are lots of very very nice resorts all along the coast, but if you want a cheap room you need to go to a private room.  I had booked a room from Sergio, a local man who had organized a bunch of homes into one lose co-op. He was also my ride from the airport to town.  The Dubrovnik airport is located about 14 miles south of the  main town and I may be cheap, but I'm not so cheap that I wouldn't gladly pay $25 to have a prearranged ride.  That sense of comfort lasted just until I made it out of the wonderfully AC'ed customs area into the Croatian heat, and saw no Sergio.  Panic rose, for while I had his phone number, I am terrible with foreign phones.  I tend to stare at them from about 5 feet away and hope if I will it hard enough the damn thing will just work.  Luckily, just as the last British holidayer left the curb, Sergio turned up.  

Sergio provided an interesting conversation on the way into town.  The first thing I noticed when I got in his car was the child seat for a new baby, complete with a small collection of ninja turtle action figures.  Sergio and his wife had just had there first son, and he was hoping to visit his sister soon.  She had left for New York in early 1991, just before the borders had been closed because of the War and Sergio had not seen her since.  He had tried to visit a few times in the last twenty years, but hadn't been allowed.  The first time he had tried the Croatian government stopped him because they thought he was trying to draft dodge, something Sergio admitted had crossed his mind.  The second time he tried, the USA government had blocked him because they thought he was trying to sneak into the US, another thing that had crossed his mind.  But now that the war was over and that they were soon entering the Euro Zone he was hoping he could finally go take his Teenage Ninja Turtle loving son to see his sister.  

The rooms were run by, Vivian, the daughter of the family who owned the building.  She, her parents, and her boyfriend lived downstairs, while there were three rooms for rent upstairs.  Vivian seamed very nice, but she definitely was adrift.  Her only job was to run the three rooms, and she seamed to spend the rest of her time partying or getting ready to go out.  I could help but love her because she showed me to my own room, my own bathroom and my very own air conditioner.  As soon as she left, I cranked that sucker down to 60 and stood under it for about 5 minutes.  Then, instead of doing the smart thing and sleeping, reading, or something else quite, I decided to go for a walk after not sleeping for 36 hours.  As I headed out I ran back into Vivian, who warned me that it was 40 degrees out, and I should be careful.  40 just doesn't sound that hot to me, even in Celsius, so I kept going.  

My first stop was at a local grocery store.  Having no experience with Croatian Grocery stores, I had no idea on the procedures, and surprisingly its varies greatly from place to place.  First, all bread is kept behind a counter and needs to be asked for.  If you don't know any Croatian pointing and smiling will get you something, just probably not what you were hoping for.  Second, you weigh your fruite yourself with a little machine that prints a label for the checker to scan.  If you have no idea of any of this the checker will just charge whatever she feels like while explaining the system, in Croatian.  Even the one phrase you do know, "I am sorry, I don't speak Croatian" will not stop the flow of language.  Only by edging slowly out of the store smiling like an idiot the whole time was I able to make my escape.  I'm almost positive I heard screaming laughter as soon as I got outside.  I would, a tall, sweaty, American had just edged out of there store smiling like an idiot.

Now the most important thing to keep in mind when setting out on a walk in a foreign land through crushing heat is that you must have an accurate map, one that you are sure will lead you safely back to your room.  I did not have this.  I had the tourist map with nifty icons alerting me to the trendy beaches and Vivian's directions of "go that way until the first bar".  No problems there! 

Croatia is a stunning country and my short walk slowly expanded into a cross peninsula hike.  I made some important discoveries that first night.  1, the Croatians will call any place where the ocean meets the shore a beach, so long as there is a way in.  I so wanted to go for a swim, but I had my camera with me and didn't want to leave it unattended.  2, the Italians love Croatia, I heard both languages in equal parts. 3, there are some stunning boats in Croatian water. 4, having a map is important.  Now, I say I had my camera but I only took one photo on my whole walk.  This one, and I took it with my phone. Looking back, I should have taken that as a sign that something was wrong, but I didn't and I paid for it later.   

As the sun went down, I began to try to find my way back.  I turned away from the water and tried to head inland.  Some how I ended up inside a fancy resort in my grungy jean shorts and T-shirt.  But there were some beautiful sports cars.  The map I had didn't show the road I was on, or the resort I was in.  I had to give it my best guess on the relation of the bridge to the a smallish hill next to me.  In the end it was a bit of shear luck I made it back as I recognized a small billboard near my place.  Stumbling back inside I took a quick shower, sans shampoo or conditioner as I couldn't carry it on to a plane, and had a quick bite to eat out on the patio.  I finally took some photos.

Sexy

Not my best work.  With that, I finally did the smart thing and slept.  

The next morning I woke up early in a fit of excitement and jet lag and ran smack into a giant wall of dehydration.  After forcing down a gallon of water, a bit of bread, and aspirin I rolled back into bed for a few more hours of sleep.  Just as I fell asleep I decided to look up what 40C was in fahrenheit. 104F.  No wonder everyone was startled I wanted to go for a walk. 

Ten am rolled around and I had worked my way through the jetlag and the extreme water loss to rejoin the functioning population of the world.  Gearing up for the day I threw my book, money, iPod, camera and phone in my bag and headed out to find the right bus to downtown.  Heading back the way I went the day before, I managed to find the right bus shelter.  I was alerted by the large group of milling tourist.

The bus was super packed, and had no air circulation.  I ended up crammed in the middle of a large rambling Canadian wedding party.  And it was there, with sweat rolling down my back, that the hypothesize I had based my whole trip on, that it was possible to make friends while on the road.  I ended up talking the whole, very slow, very hot, bus ride to a Canadian kid who was there for his sisters wedding.  He was half way through his carpentry apprenticeship and listening to him talk it was weird to think that if he was an American, he may not have spoken with such pride in his future.  Here was a kid who was just as proud of something that would be dismissed as blue collar work here, as I was in my UCLA degree.  After wishing him luck, I jumped off the bus and headed through the crowds towards the gate.

My first stop, before I even went inside, was the ice cream shop.  Best dollar I spent the whole day, that chocolate ice cream cone.  And I have a lasting memory of it to, in the long drip stains on my Timbuk2.

Next stop, Dubrovnik!