25^th May, 11; Rab to Senj

We make passage for Senj on the mainland. There is a stormy Bora wind gusting up to 55 knots forecast.

After three hours of uneventful passage, we decide to stop opposite the southern end of Krk where there is a narrow channel between there and the small island of Prvic. It is a barren limestone island with a few sheep and no sign of human life except a sheep pen close to the shore. We wade ashore onto a stony beach from our tender.

The island has a stark beauty with soaring rounded hills scoured clean to the north and east by the salt-laden bora wind. On the lee side and in the valley where we landed, sparse vegetation grows, mostly herbs like Sage (Salvia offininalis), Curry plant (Helichrysum italicum), a few saxifrages and tufts of grass. The half-wild sheep look mangy and run away at the sight of us. The warm air smells of the sea and mountain herbs; the light is harsh against the bare hillside. There is no sign of animal life save for the buzzing of a solitary honeybee feeding on the purple sage flowers. The island has a savage beauty and a scenic grandeur; the vegetation type is a garigue on a broken and fissured limestone pavement. There are rocks and pebbles everywhere making walking hard and dangerous. Nonetheless, we decide to hike to a tall dry-stone wall that marks the field boundary and runs out of sight up the slope of the hill. From there we trace the line of the wall to half way up the hill to where we can get a better view. The hike is tiring, the day is hot and the going hard. We take care not to slip and twist an ankle on the rough jumble of bare stones. After half an hour or so, I’ve had enough; we have climbed to about 80 mtrs above sea level. The others seem happy to stop and admire the view across the bay to where Kalani lies at anchor. We sit and marvel at the wildness of the scene and drink deep draughts from a warm bottle of water.

After our walk and then tea back at Kalani, we press on towards Senj. As we head out into the straight that separates the mainland from Krk we start to feel the force of the strong Bora. There is only a short fetch or distance for the wind to travel over water so that, despite the wind force, the waves remain modest; even so great spumes of spindrift fleck the windscreen and reach up to drench us on the boat deck where we stand to watch the drama unfold.

Docking any boat in a strong wind is hard but to dock a 25 meter motor yacht with no bow-thruster is only to be attempted by the most experienced master mariner. Capt. Tim is up to the challenge and with all hands and passengers on deck to man the fenders we ease up toward the dock. As usual, the dock is a concrete pier with no rubber fenders attached and on the final approach we notice a nasty concrete ledge projecting two foot from the jetty for its last five meters and it is just submerged beneath the sea. Who would think to build a jetty with such a vicious obstruction? No sooner are we alongside and are greeted by a throng of admiring locals than we are approached by an old sea-dog who tells us we cannot think of mooring there for the night. He tells us that if the bora gets up over night, we will not be able to get off the dock and we will be trapped like a nut in the jaws of a nutcracker. Tim decides that we must move and we complete the whole terrifying maneuver a second time. We now understand why the harbour master said to Tim when he called up asking if there was any space in the port, “Of course yes, but why would you want to come here?”

26^th May, 11; Senj to Opatija

It is a fine day and we can see the castle on the hill close to the town, so we decide to walk up to it. It was easy to find and we arrive in plenty of time for our 10 am meeting. We spent the few minutes we have in hand filming outside the castle. It stands on top of a steep hill overlooking the sea and so enjoys some commanding views of the sea in all directions.

The day got off on a bad note. The Lady Professor at the museum whom we were scheduled to meet at 10 am did not appear. After chatting to the man on the till, who hardly spoke English, he made a call and then let us in for free, I having told him that we had an appointment to met the museum director, the professor. No one comes down to meet us or show us around, which seems a bit strange, so we look after ourselves and read the few signs in English that tell us about the Uskok pirates of Senj who build and manned this fortress and start filming inside.

The Uskoks were Christian refugees from the Turks who came to the coast to find refuge in an area under Austrian rule. They became seafarers and lived by attacking Turkish shipping, a matter of little concern to the Austrians. They became rich and powerful and built this castle in 15^th C. Unfortunately for them, the Austrians made peace with the Turks and so they turned their attention on the Venetians. Venice was the supreme naval power in the area and didn’t take kindly to being raided and having Venetians sold into slavery. They were unable to make Austria take action, so they went to war and in the early 17^th C they fought Austria for three years and defeated her. Under the terms of the peace treaty of Madrid Austria undertook to suppress the Uskoks, burn their ships, garrison the town of Senj and transport the troublesome Uskoks inland; all of which then transpired.

The castle interior is not of great interest but the story of this pirate’s lair is. After about forty minutes of filming, I ask again at the desk about the missing professor. This time there is a young girl on the till who speaks better English, she tells me that the Professor works at the museum in town – we had no idea there was one - and is not available to drive up to the castle to meet us; we say we will go down to meet her. We pack up and walk back into town, it takes us about fifteen minutes and we arrive at the museum at 11:30 to find the gates locked and no bell in sight. I call the professor’s number but there is no reply. I am at a total loss to explain this rudeness and cannot think why she had not felt it appropriate to inform us that there were two museums in her very small town or to talk to us when she was informed we were at the castle as clearly she must have been.

We set sail as soon as we are back at the boat and all of us, including the crew, are pleased to be leaving this strange and unfriendly town.

Sunday, 22^nd May, 11; Ist

This morning is a water-sports time; our guests both want to try waterskiing but the 40 HP engine on our small tender isn’t sufficiently powerful to pull an adult male of 70 kilos or more. Dean, who has been up on water-skis before, managed to get up for a while but without much finesse. Derek, who has skied all his life, performed elegantly on one ski. I meanwhile, dear reader, am chained to my computer writing this blog.

After lunch, we head further north towards Losinj and its neighbouring island of Susak. This island has a unique geology; it is made of limestone like all the islands around but covered with an overlay of between 10 and 20 meters of sand. No one has explained this extraordinary phenomenon satisfactorily but the best guess is that before the last glaciation, the Po valley delta came this far south and provided the sandy sediment for the capping layer of this island.

There is a single sandy beach where, in the past, turtles have nested. A local tells us that, while they are seen swimming close to the island, none have nested there for years; another sad tale of man’s unthinking destructiveness.

We try to anchor but are prevented from doing so by a local patrol boat. We are directed to some newly laid mooring buoys nearby but find that they have been laid down with insufficient slack on the line to be useable. We try to move away but the tight lines foul our bottom. After we are clear, Captain Tim will have nothing further to do with Susak so we head east for Mali Losinj.

During all this carry-on, I attempt to board the tender when the neoprene tube is wet; I slip and hurt the toes on my left foot. This adds my small injury to Tim’s cut hand, Bruce’s stubbed toe and then another minor injury. Both our guests attempt the Kalani challenge, a swim to the anchor and then a climb up onto the foredeck up the anchor chain. Only heroes are able to complete this test of strength and agility. To our surprise both Dean and Ben succeed but at the costs of a nasty looking graze to Dean’s shin.

Monday, May 23, 2011; Losinj and then Rab.

Tim and I have our usual after-breakfast discussion. The weather forecast is for a strong bora wind to come-up in the late afternoon. Tim, ever cautious, wants to leave soon after lunch so as to be in Rab well before the forecast storm hits.

I have arranged to see the museum in this delightful waterside town. It is one of the largest urban communities on an offshore island but, although quite sizeable, the more unsightly elements are tucked around a corner out of sight. There is a ship repair facility based on a floating dock and a number of larger commercial fishing boats. The main town is at the end of a deep bay with pretty pastel coloured waterside buildings most of which are a hundred years old or even older.

The lady I have been told to contact at the museum does not appear to have heard of us. Ten minutes later, she calls back to tell us she will be happy to meet us and show us the museum. Zrinka Ettinger is a marine archeologist in charge of the small museum in the neighbouring older town of Malo Losinj.

She meets us in the main open space by the inner harbour. She is young, dark and attractive, wears her hair short and uses little make-up. She has khaki bell-bottomed trousers and a simple top undone to emphasize her slim neck. She wins us all over in no time with her winsome smile and articulate English. For some reason Timot seems particularly impressed.

We are here to see a remarkable local find, an Apoximenos or classical statue of an athlete cleaning himself after exercise. The Greek, bronze from the second century BC is life-size. The statue was discovered in 1997 by a Belgian tourist at a depth of about 40 mtrs lying in sand wedged between two rocks. He tried to hide the find but was unable to raise the statue from such a great depth. The news of the find leaked and, fortunately, in 2005, the authorities were able to raise it from its long dormant sleep under the sea. Very few Greek bronzes are extant as the metal was usually recycled in antiquity; this is one of a select handful from that already small number that is almost entire. The piece is now in Zagreb having been beautifully and expertly restored and conserved. We are only able to see life-sized photographs and a well-designed audio-visual display.

Words do not often fail me but there is no superlative that can do justice to this masterpiece. It is finely and exquisitely modeled clearly from life, the body is beautifully toned and proportioned, the musculature well rendered. But the face is ethereal, the long curly hair is brushed back as if by the athlete’s own hand; the mouth is sensitive and the eyes expressive. So handsome is this “ephebe” that he must have been a hero and probably the admired love object of a powerful older man, maybe the one who commissioned the work? The figure is in the process of using a “strigil” or scraper that sadly has not survived, to remove the oil dust and dirt from his smooth skin after a wrestling bout in the “palaestra” or gymnasium. As a gym owner, I am entranced by this idea. I can’t help feeling that this is a superior and more sensual way to get clean than our prosaic soap and shower. It must have left the skin feeling wonderfully soft and silky. Sometimes athletes would perform this grooming service for each other….. I think I had better stop here before I get too carried away.

We took up the anchor and were underway in the early afternoon on passage for Rab. This necessitated a diversion south again to round the southern tip of Losinj before venturing northeast to Rab. As we crossed, about two hours into the passage, the sky darkened and a storm threatened but never materialized. We have been lucky with the wind. It is unusual to go this long without a single storm or strong bora wind, especially so early in the year. The temperature of the air is still cool in the early part of the day but the sun is now strong and persistent making walking around at midday tiring and hot. I now find I am always dressed in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt. My trusty battered panama does good service but will, I fear, soon need replacing.

We arrive at Rab on a perfect cloudless evening. The exquisite fortified town and its famous four bell-towers are bathed in golden evening light. Kalani passes in front of the scene while Timot shoots it from the tender; one could not hope for a more evocative picture – he is delighted and so are we. I have seen many beautiful Mediterranean coastal towns perched on rocky islets, guarding a safe anchorage; so many that I am spoiled and a sense of ennui has replaced my former rapture but not here; the light is so perfect and the town such a gem. The Venetian walls are almost ochre in this light, the towers rise in silent testimony to the awe their ancestors felt for the unknown and bells peel out the hours. On close approach, the beauty of the Venetian balconies and fenestration is apparent; the houses that lie atop the walls are revealed in all their intricately carved detail.

Tuesday, 24^th May, 11; Rab

After a late breakfast, we venture into town to meet Vanja Sersic from the town hall. His English is rudimentary so we take Viktor along to translate. The process is long as we are clearly not expected although Vanja does recall having received a phone call about us a week or so ago. He is friendly but vague and its clear he is not available or equipped to show us around. It is now nearly 11:00 am and I am getting hot and frustrated, I want to start filming. We are finally invited to cross the main square and go to the tourist office where Luka Percinic will meet us. At last, we meet our guide. He is young and enthusiastic and speaks good English. Luka talks to us as we walk around this perfect, small, fortified town. He tells us everything, perhaps a few too many facts; we are looking for good shots and great stories. There is no shortage of good shots but stories are harder to discern. He is patient while we go about the repetitive and slow process of filming.

On the hill overlooking the sea we come to the first of two nunneries, a Franciscan convent with only two nuns still in residence. The younger of the two shows us into the small chapel but will neither allow us into the convent nor is she willing to speak to camera herself. The convent was founded in 16^th C during the Venetian period for the daughters of local aristocratic families, presumably Venetian. This struck me as odd given that St Francis is almost a patron saint of the poor and dispossessed. But then the Catholic Church is full of such contradictions, it is hierarchical, its highest princes flout wealth and pomp and yet Christianity is founded on principles of simplicity and humility. To Roman Catholics the clergy and the flock are both separate and unequal. To become a Knight of the Catholic Sovereign order of Malta, a candidate had to show sixteen quarterings that is to say armigerous ancestors on all sides going back to their great, great grandparents – I’m sure god was happy to know his knights weren’t plebs.

The second convent lies a few hundred meters from the first. This one is Benedictine and a closed house. Temptingly, we hear beautiful female voices raised in a melodious descant coming from within but we are not permitted to enter. I cannot help questioning the purpose of such an order of hermits, how do they serve either the world or themselves by such frugality and denial? We are told that this house was founded about a hundred years after the Franciscan one, but for the daughters of the common people; divisions of race and class have never been a stranger to Christianity despite its teaching that we are all one before god.

We decide to walk up to the top of the tallest of the four bell towers. By the time we get there the clock tells us it is about five minutes to midday. We stand on the narrow walkway that goes around the tower while the mighty bell strikes the noon hour. When I hear the knell of a bell tolling at home, I think back to my schooldays when bells meant a summons to class or to prayer. Bells in the Mediterranean have a different timbre and speak of a leisured life that tells one it is time for lunch or time for cocktails at a café in the square.

Timot films Kalani as she steams around the city and into the outer harbour. Below the bell tower we can see into the walled kitchen garden of the nunnery; one of the sisters is watering a row of beans. She bends over in her blue habit and white headdress using an old-fashioned painted metal watering can; no one has told her that it is pointless to water in the heat of the midday sun. Somehow, her labours seem timeless and pleasing even if fruitless.

Derek and I descend the tower steps back into the narrow alley and walk toward the Cathedral with its 12^th C Romanesque façade. Narrow, rounded arches are inset into a wall of banded stone in pink and red; the façade has been recently renovated and the work has been beautifully realized. I have only one criticism that I voice to Luka. The new pointing between the stones here and everywhere else in Croatia is too harsh. The mortar used has too high a percentage of cement that renders it inert whereas a thinner mix would allow plants and mosses to colonize the stonework or at least the interstices, softening and mellowing the effect over time.

By now it is well past lunchtime and the restaurant that Luka has chosen for us has finished serving but our resourceful guide finds another that is prepared to remain open as late as 2 pm. He leads us back to the town center and down a small alleyway to a touristy restaurant. We are the only diners. I order calves liver. It is served with white rice and no vegetables. The rich sauce is thick with onion and the liver is cut into small pieces and overcooked, never the less I am grateful for an edible meal and a cold drink. The others choose tuna salad that, just as I predict, is a mound of tinned tuna atop some chopped iceberg lettuce garnished with rings of cucumber and wedges of tasteless under-ripe tomato. A few beers help the meal go down. Croatia is beautiful beyond compare but has some catching-up to do when it comes to gastronomy.

After lunch, we summon Viktor and the tender to take us back to the boat for a siesta.

Friday, 20^th May; Zadar

It now feels as though summer has finally arrived; settled weather and a calm sea, just perfect for the day we head out of Zadar with our latest guests on board, Dean Grant and his young friend, Ben Bolton. Dean has become a friend since we moved to Malta, we have only met his boyfriend briefly once before. They make a handsome couple, Ben is ten years younger than Dean, very slim and boyish; Dean looks in great shape for his 36 years although he has started to grey at the temples.

As we pull away from the dock, we are moored alongside a concrete jetty with no tires or fenders; the stern port quarter comes within about six inches of the hard concrete pier and due to the relative inexperience of the deck crew, our running fender comes out and flutters uselessly above the gunwales. I hold my breath as we move slowly away from a near disaster.

We head out in amongst the myriad of small islands that run parallel to the shore just off Zadar; our plan is to move slowly north over the next three days to our next destination of Losinj.

We decide to eat lunch underway. I love to sit at the aft dining table watching our wake recede into the distance, the sun glinting on the calm water. No sooner has Bruce served a delicious lunch of langoustine, seafood risotto, than Victor comes aft to tell us that dolphins have been sighted off the bow. Everyone drops their forks and rushes forward to be greeted by the sight of three large bottle-nosed dolphins crossing under our bow. They perform beautifully for us, one leaps right out of the water while two others rise gracefully in unison to breathe audibly and plunge back into a dive. As quickly as they appeared they are gone.

To our surprise, these islands are heavily wooded, such a contrast to the bareness of the Kornati islands. We meander in and out of the islands as we wend our way slowly north; the waters are calm and the sun is shining, the reflections on the still sea like mother of pearl. In early afternoon, we anchor in a quiet bay with shelter all round so everyone can relax and have fun. The crew put the kayaks into the water; Alex and Bruce go for a paddle to the nearest small island. I take our guests for an exhilarating spin in the jet-ski; she runs down the coast at her maximum speed of 50 miles and hour; I put her into some tight turns that ensure Ben puts his arms around my waist; you need to employ every subterfuge when you get to my age. I take Timot out with the waterproof Gopro camera; the difference in handling is marked, Timot’s weight as compared to Ben behind me makes it harder to get up onto the plane; then we shoot off, once underway the difference is barely noticeable. Timot get some great shots of tight turns and waterline shots of the wash.

Saturday, 21^st May, 2011; Zadar archipelago

In the morning we decide to go swimming and exploring the underwater life. It is still cold enough for wetsuits, so Derek and Victor suit-up. The water visibility is excellent and the underwater environment in this remote place looks undisturbed. There are plenty of sea urchins; some females have pebbles and shells on their backs – a sign they may have roe inside. Derek spots some large fan clams and collects a few to eat. From the sandy bottom they retrieve a number of disgusting-looking sea squirts or sea cucumbers; they look just like flaccid penises but the Japanese consider them to be a delicacy. I think I they are welcome to them.

After lunch we press on slowly northwards to find a sheltered anchorage by a small village. We venture ashore to explore. There are brilliant patches of yellow Spanish broom in flower; they look painterly against the dry-stone walls and greenery of the maquis. We look for other interesting plants. Dean is a landscape designer and, as he lives on Malta, has an extensive knowledge of Mediterranean plant life. Only the night before, we finished off a bottle of a clear liqueur called Mastica made on the Greek island of Chios. We identify the mastic tree, Pistacia lentiscus, from which this pungent, resinous drink is made. Alongside the crumbling stone walls we find a straggly hedge made entirely of a plant with palmate leaves like cannabis. Dean identifies it as Vitex agnus-castus, the Chaste tree, so called because priests used the berries to dull their libido; the translation of agnus-castus is castrated lamb.

The field system has been abandoned and has reverted to scrub. Not much apart from the broom is still in flower; there is one plant with pale yellow, upward-pointing, tiny, trumpet flowers; the leaves are broad and velvety with pronounced reticulate venation. Neither of us knows what this is, so we decide to take a flower back to identify. I love spending time with flower samples and a pile of reference books and soon I find the answer; it is Birthwort, Aristolochia clematatiis, so called because it was used to induce childbirth but the toxins it contains are now considered to dangerous for medicinal use. Timot likes the low evening sun that backlights the showy mass of yellow broom. It dances across the flat-calm water to illuminate Kalani’s topsides with ripples of golden sunlight as it dips down behind the horizon.

Thursday, 12^th May; Zadar

Zadar is a typical Mediterranean fortified port town. Built on a small rocky island close to the shore, it was originally an Illyrian settlement that became a Roman fortified town. Not much remains of the Roman walls but parts of the Roman forum can be seen and some of its stones are incorporated into the famous church of St Donats. The streets are still laid out on the original Roman gridiron pattern with long decumani bisected by the shorter cardo; the forum lies at the center.

St Donat’s church is an imposing edifice; externally the architectural style in pre-Romanesque and redolent of northern Europe but the ground plan is Byzantine. The trio of semi-circular apses rise high punctured only by a few small, round-headed window openings near the top of the building. The whole has the appearance of a fortified tower rather than a church. It dates from the early 9^th C at a time when Croatia was being converted by first the Latin Church of the Franks and later by the Orthodox missionaries Cyril and Methodius who used the local lingua franca to disseminate the gospel. They invented a new script, Glagolithic, to encompass the strange diphthongs of the Slavic language. This church seems to epitomize the power struggle between Rome and Byzantium; Rome favouring the Latin liturgy exclusively while the orthodox services were in the local language, of course there were liturgical and doctrinal differences that meant so much at the time but now seem so pointless and irrelevant. It was also a power struggle between the Pope in Rome and the Patriarch in Constantinople. It was a struggle that was only resolved in 1045 with the great schism when these two great branches of the Church went their separate ways.

Our guide is a young local girl, Paola, who works as a free-lance guide knows her history; she shows us the Venetian land gate and the Venetian 16^th C fortifications. Zadar was captured in 1202 by the 90 years old Doge Dandolo at the start of the fourth crusade. The Venetians had agreed to transport the crusaders to the Holy Land for a substantial fee but, even so, managed to divert them into capturing Zadar and then sacking Constantinople. Zadar reverted to the Hungarian (Angevin) Monarchy soon after and finally became Venetian in 1409 when King Ladislaus sold his Dalmatian possessions to Venice for 100,000 ducats. Zadar remained a Venetian possession for nearly four hundred years until the fall of Venice. Thereafter, a short period of Napoleonic rule ensued until the town became Austrian under the terms of the treaty of Campo-Formio. The history of this place followed the same pattern of changing imperial masters as most of the Illyrian shore. While the Venetians were in charge, the pervading fear was the Ottoman Turk who lurked only a few miles inland; an ever –present threat with which to frighten naughty children.

We get back to the boat, now safely moored in the marina, to find Bruce cooking a delicious dinner of venison steak and roasted vegetables with a demi-glaze jus. We sit around the aft deck table eagerly awaiting the arrival of Alex and Bruce’s bearing the plates. Bruce describes the menu with such love and enthusiasm; he is really a talented chef. We all fear we are putting on weight although Bruce is under instruction to provide healthy food and small portions. The rule is no starters and no wine when we don’t have guests aboard.

Friday, 13^th May; Zadar and Paklenika National Park

Our guide a Park ranger, Zlatko Marasovic, is young, attractive and informed. He comes to pick us up at the marina and we drive through heavy traffic to the park entrance some 45 minutes away. Just before we get there, in the foothills, we come to the abandoned-looking village of Marasovici. It is the village where our guide’s grandfather was born and it gave him his surname. The buildings are in a run down state, the yards are full of weeds and rusting equipment; there is no sign of farm animals in the stables or stalls. The village is picturesque; especially a fine ornamented stone doorway lintel and pediment; it is a curious design unlike anything I have seen before. We speculate as to the influences that led to such a creation, it feels oriental, even Chinese; we conclude that the curious swag-like element is probably a Turkish influence from central Asia.

We try to gain access to the yard of the main house but it is bolted and locked; I go round the side and find a small lane and some steps; then I hear a woman’s voice and call our guide. The elderly lady is smiling and friendly and talks non-stop. She wears an old apron, a headscarf and black tights under a faded blue skirt; I guess she’s about 75. Then an angry older lady appears on the balcony above; she’s dressed all in black with a lined face and hands on her hips as though issuing a challenge. Zlatco talks to her for what seems an age, and finally turns to me to tell me that the lady in blue is his aunt and that the older lady is 95 and was married to his grandfather. A house that seemed run-down and abandoned is now full of life. These two old ladies are living in great poverty in a house that anywhere in northern Europe would be condemned.

We jump back into the car and go up into the hills behind. Our destination is the larger of the two limestone gorges that cut into the mountains behind. The scenery is spectacular; sheer walls of rock and white hillsides seemingly devoid of vegetation. There are climbers on many of the rock walls and some learners close to the path we are on. This is not a way I would choose to find recreation. On the rocky slopes of the canyon, mauve Window Bellflower (Campanula fenestrellata) grows in showy clumps.

There is a chorus of birdsong in the gorge but few birds to be seen. Michael says that he has never heard such a wonderful sound, his three favourite songsters all singing together; the nightingale; blackcap and blackbird; their song amplified by the enclosing walls of the gorge.

We head back to the park headquarters and change vehicles to a four-wheel-drive. As we climb up into the hills, we pass through three different climate zones in an hour; Mediterranean maquis on the lower slopes moving up to Continental above 700 meters and then Alpine moorland above 1200 meters; each has its own plant species and dominant vegetation type.

In the continental range, we pass through a number of different forest habitats such as Beech woods on the more shady slopes, Black Pine and Holm Oak. On more open land we see bushes and low growing trees such as Manna Ash (Fraxinus ornus) with its feathery white blossom; Turkey Oak (Quercus cerris); Hornbeam (Carpinus betulus); Green Alder (Alnus viridis) and Buckthorn (Rhamnus intermedia). Apparently, this park has 2,700 species of plant.

The real glory is left to last; the Alpine meadows vibrate with fresh green grass set against split and fissured limestone crags. Because of the cold up here, spring is later and we see a profusion of rare alpine flowers; yellow wild Tulip (Tulipa sylvestris); Brilliant blue Gentian (Gentiana acaulis) and best of all, the plant I had been hoping to see, the intensely blue-mauve Illyrian Iris. As we crest the road and come out onto a mountain plateau, we see four Alpine Choughs tumbling and clowning for our special delight – the perfect climax to a perfect day. We head back to the boat for a long hot bath and a nice cup of tea.

Saturday, May 14, 2011; Zadar

Mike and Lucinda Waterhouse leave in the morning. We have a break from filming and will stay in Zadar until 20^th May when our next guests arrive and filming resumes on 21^st May.

Tuesday, 10^th May, 11 and Wednesday, May 11, 2011; Kornati Islands

Kalani takes us to the small fishing village of Murter on the edge of the Kornati National Park. The warden, Simon, is there to greet us and with him is a Park biologist. Simon is a tall and calm about 35 years of age but balding; we decide to call the small, wiry biologist “prof”. Initially there is some tension between us all as Derek, who has taken-on the role of film director, tries to get everyone to listen and not all talk at once. Michael is chatting to the biologists about the birds when Derek drags him forcibly away – this gets his full attention. Finally we make some sort of plan but I am unsure if we really understand one another. The launch shoots off at 30 Knots across the eight miles of choppy water that separates us from the main group of islands.

They have a 35ft launch to take us at speed around a few of the many islands in the group. The Park covers 70% of Kornati but most of the 180 islands are still privately owned. The poor farmers and fishermen of Murter bought them about 100 years ago from a rich Zadar merchant. In those days these barren islands were considered worthless. The locals marked their land boundaries with carefully built dry-stone walls that run for hundreds of meters in straight lines across bare rock and scrubby garigue vegetation, seemingly going nowhere. Given the work involved, it is hard to imagine why they took the trouble to build them. On close inspection, the walls are seamlessly constructed to a high standard with level tops and sides; it is as though the farmers who made them decided to create a work of art. They must have taken pride in their work. From a distance, they look like the raised seams on a garment. They graze a few sheep and in the sheltered valleys, grow olives and little else. The islands are used seasonally at harvest time when the olives are ripe and ready.

The islands and rocks have a stark, barren beauty as they glisten in the sunshine scattered among a dark blue sea. The slopes slip gently into the water around them, the limestone rock strata expressed by wind erosion. Lines of plants gain a foothold in the lee where they can find a place to put their roots. There are low mounds of the Mastic tree (Pistacia lentiscus), Tucreum and other lime-loving garigue shrubs.

Amongst the clumps of Salvia I notice a fragrant bush with a cannabis-like leaf that I later identify as the Chaste tree (Vitex agnus-castus) so called because the fruit was eaten by priests and monks to reduce their libido; unfortunately it clearly didn’t work. Everywhere the coastal rocks are worn and jagged making landing difficult. The land is stony everywhere and my feet slip on the pebbles and sink into the cracks between the ancient boulders making walking perilous.

A few scattered trees, Holm Oak (Quercus ilex) or Aleppo pine (Pinus halepensis) manage to survive and even thrive when conditions permit. It is probable that parts of these islands were forested once until the Venetians cut the forest took the wood for their ships.

The Bora wind whips the sea into a foam at a moments notice, scouring the rocky slopes and bending the stunted bushes to its will. Not much can live here but on a hillside in a sheltered cove, I see a row of beehives; these tiny workers collect the pollen from a myriad of wild flowers in springtime to make a delicious honey suffused with the scents of lavender and thyme.

Unsurprisingly, there are few birds in these wild islands, some Yellow-legged gulls, a small cliff-nesting colony of Shag, rock doves and a pair of Peregrine falcons that predate on them. Swifts nest here late in the season choosing the safety of rocky crevices in the cliffs and crags.

High on a promontory lie the ruins of a small stone fort built by the Romans as part of their defense against the Illyrians. The Liburnian tribe of Illyrians, who lived in this area in the centuries before Christ, were noted seafarers who harried Roman shipping and fought their legions.

We leave this barren, enchanted, place with the feeling that we have found the wildest of the wild shores of Illyria.

Saturday, May 7, 2011 - Sibenik

Today is more sedate. We meet our guide, Vanya, from the local tourist office. She has the day at our disposal so we walk up and up many steep steps until we reach the main castle and from there we get a panoramic view of the harbour with the mediaeval city roof tops arranged below us. We immediately have problem with wind hitting the mikes and then we hear a loud buzz saw and hammering. We retire defeated and retrace our steps. Chatty Vanya speaks excellent English and is obliging and friendly. She takes us through a door into a small, walled, formal garden; she tells us it is the medicinal and culinary herb garden of the monastery of St Lawrence. It dates from the mediaeval period and has been restored to its former self with neat box hedging squares bordering the planting and a central paths transecting at a small water feature. The smell is enticing; lavender, rosemary, thyme, chives, marjoram, basil, chamomile and curry plant all scent the air, there is even some borage for a Pims cocktail.

With appetites stimulated we repair to a restaurant to eat a local feast of octopus salad followed by a marinated beef dish in a local sauce with gnocchi. We all decide that we must re-shoot the scene at the fort because of intrusive hammering noise. After coffee, we struggle up the steps again and re-shoot the sequence. It was well worth it, the late afternoon light was perfect and the noisy builders had stopped their hammering. We have a birds-eye view of the ancient city below us in its superb natural setting in a fine protected anchorage.

Before returning to Kalani, we walk round the 14^th and 15^th C Venetian cathedral with its famous barrel vaulted roof made entirely of mitered slabs of stone. The decorated doorway is supported by figures of Adam and Eve and around the outside façade of the apse are carved portrait busts of mediaeval worthies forming a frieze just above eye level. The whole is a fitting monument to the power and prestige of Sibenik in the Venetian period.

Sunday, 8^th May; Sibenik and Krka Park

Today, we are going to visit the Krka National Park. I’ve been looking forward to this part of the trip having read much about the beauty of the place. Our guide, Mariana Saric, meets us in front of the cathedral. She is reserved but businesslike; we climb into her car full of baby things and domestic clutter. At last we have a really hot day and we wish we had worn shorts; it is the time of year when each new day brings different weather. Her car has no air-conditioning, so we wind down all the windows.

The park entrance at Lozovac is about 15 kms away. The view from the road as it descends is wide and green with bare hills above overlooking the verdant valley below. We are in Karst Limestone country, the green of the river valley contrasts noticeably with the grey limestone hills. Once we are at the level of the drowned river valley floor and are inside the park; the world changes from arid to lush. The sound of birdsong is all around us competing with the loud croaking of a multitude of sexually excited frogs their cheeks bulging as though they are blowing bubble gum. As we walk further into the park along well-maintained boardwalks, the rumble of rushing and tumbling water drowns out even this sound; we are at the falls.

Layers of travertine form natural ledges over which the limpid waters rush in a series of steps. These are not the largest, tallest or most mighty falls but they present elements of all these superlatives and are certainly beautiful. Bright green weeds trail like tresses in the clear water and, hanging from the limestone rocks in the face of the falls, are mounds of a complementary bright green grass.

The river at this point is divided into many small channels and a millrace that feeds an old water mill. The mill has been restored and we are shown the six huge millstones; one is still grinding maize flower, perfect for polenta. There are two other rooms, the first a sort of laundry room with a natural whirlpool for washing cloth and the other with two large wooden mallets driven by the watermill that hammer, with a repetitive rhythm, the freshly laundered cloth in order to soften it.

We hurry back at last to greet our friends Michael and Lucinda Waterhouse who have already arrived on board.

Monday, May 9, 2011; Sibenik and Krka Park

Lucinda is not feeling very well and welcomes a chance to spend a quiet day reading. Derek, Michael and I head back to the Krka Park to explore the upper reaches beyond the Skradinski falls. Today is cold and a bit dull, quite unlike yesterday.

Michael is entranced by the birdsong we hear in the green woods by the riverbank. It is a medley of warbler song, blackcap, nightingale and the chorus provided by blackbirds. Great reed warblers sing their loud rasping song from the fringes of reed-bed that line the riverbanks. The scenery as we travel upstream is impressive, the boat passes through soaring gorges of naked limestone with the channel narrowing in places to little more than double the width of the boat.

We are taken up the river to a small round island, Visovac, with on it a Benedictine monastery from 15^th C but the four remaining monks are not happy for us to film them or their six noviciates.

The park rangers are all men and, like many Croatians, extremely tall, one must be over six foot four inches. They are not rude but not friendly either and only warm a bit when Michael chats to them in the universal male language of football; one that neither Derek nor I speak. Our guide, under the impression that we are Canadian tells me that she doesn’t care for the English; when I asked her why, she said English tourists are polite to her face but always complain behind her back. This may be so but, I would have thought, this must be preferable to tourists who complain angrily to her face and also behind her back. The general feeling I get is that Croatian men are rather short on charm or maybe it is a language problem. In many former communist countries the ethic of customer service has yet to penetrate. Croatia still seems beset by petty rules and is keen on notices everywhere that forbid something or other. The nicest of the rangers is the boat pilot who obligingly retraces our steps so that we can film some terrapins on the riverbank.

Although there are birds to be heard, the river seems short of bird life; a few mallard, dabchick and a pair of great crested grebe attract our attention and as we approach the orthodox monastery upstream, we see a flock of little egrets perching in the trees, other then these we don’t see much evidence of ornithological variety.

The ancient orthodox monastery of Krka has few monks and only one is prepared to meet us and show us around although he refuses for no evident reason to be filmed. He is a genial old bearded Serb, short in stature in contrast to the Croat men, who tells us he had to leave the monastery and flee for three years during the Serb-Croat war. He chuckles a lot and is by far the best-humoured man we have encountered, he is entirely simpatico and has excellent English. The monastery is built on an ancient early Christian catacomb that is only partially on view; it is undergoing restoration. The chapel is over-decorated in the orthodox manner with many old Russian Icons on the wall behind the altar and newly painted frescoes of two-dimensional saints depicted everywhere. The church is dedicated to St Michael, the archangel and winged warrior. It seems that the monastery was severely damaged in the recent war, which is why the frescoes are so fresh.

We return to Kalani to find that the wind is up and Captain Tim advises that we delay our departure until five o’clock tomorrow morning.

Although extremely tired from our long day, we have enough energy left to enjoy a superb meal cooked lovingly by Bruce, bean and leek soup followed by octopus risotto, the same octopus that we had bought from a fisherman about ten days ago. It had been left to soften in the freezer and then stewed slowly in a pot with red wine for over two hours.

Wednesday, 4^th May, 2011; Split

The storm we were expecting came through last night. The neighbouring large yacht came perilously close to our bow; we had to shout to raise anyone aboard.

The new day is fresh and clear so we hop in a taxi and go to the Archaeological museum for our first appointment. They were not expecting us but after a few phone calls, we convinced them to let us in to film there. The courtyard looks like a Roman cloister with a lean-to roof and massive wooden beams. All around are bits of Roman marble, sarcophagi, stelae and statues. We make straight for two magnificent tessellated pavements now mounted and framed. I think these are my favourite objects from Antiquity, so vibrant and immediate do they appear to the modern eye. Inside the border are mythical scenes, depictions of birds and animals and in the central roundel a portrait of a god. William and I struggle with our sixth form Latin to translate inscriptions on the stelae without much success.

We pack up and rush to the Art museum where Jozip Dini, the curator, greets us; he is expecting us and is welcoming, although he struggles with his English - it is a great deal better than our Croatian. He is our age with grey hair and a beard; he looks professorial. The museum has works from the renaissance to contemporary but seemingly mostly 20^th C. The quality is high and we find three or four pieces that resonate with us particularly. They are a series of pre-war landscapes in a loose post-impressionist style with a flavour of Gaugin by Ignjat Job including a view of the harbour in Komitza where we have just been. A picture of a red scorpion fish by Petar Dobrovic took my eye. It is painted in a rough, confident style; we like its bright free expressionism.

After the gallery, we feel hungry. Jozip suggest we try a local restaurant called Kod Joze cellar, we order seafood and a large fresh Scorpion fish which is delicious. Alvaro eats a great many chips and we all share great platters of clams and risotto

Thursday, May 5, 2011; Split and Salona

At nine in the morning our guide, Mario, arrives as planned to take us to the Roman site of Salona about five miles out of town. It is a beautiful, warm day but neither of us remembers to bring sunscreen and I forget my hat; there is so much planning to do and so much to think of.

The filming gets off to a bad start as Mario’s English isn’t great; he is stiff and reluctant in front off the camera, finding it hard to be concise; his answers are far too long and rambling. The ruins of the Basilica cover a large area but we aren’t that interested in the Romano-Christian period. My attention is drawn to the magnificent carvings on the Roman sarcophagi that are lying around in a jumble. There are beautiful reliefs of griffons, sphinxes, medusas and a bacchanalian scene with winged cherubs and bunches of grapes. Curious signs appear on more than once coffin suggesting some sort of family emblem. Each stone sarcophagus is carved from a single block of marble with a separate lid that has a pitched roof and four stone shoulders. Derek and I stand by the finest example where I express a wish to be buried in just such a casket but Derek insists I will be burn – he’s in charge.

After the basilica, we walk on to the magnificent amphitheatre dating from the 2^nd C BC that must have held about 17,000 spectators. It was here that Diocletian killed many Christians including the local Archbishop Domnius in 304 AD, just a few years before Emperor Constantine converted the Empire to Christianity. Not much remains of the amphitheatre as the Venetians, Turks and Austrians robbed its stones successively. During Tito’s time, a road was built right next to this important site and a hideous row of gasometers; the communists were no respecters of culture. The remains of the structure still has excellent acoustics, the sound of our voices is amplified in a marvelous way as we stroll around discussing the awful fate of the Christians, gladiators and slaves that were sacrificed for the amusement of others.

My attention, as always, is drawn to the beautiful flowers growing out of the ruins. There were poppies, of course, prickly thistle that was everywhere I put my hands or my bottom and the one I relished most, the intense bright green and yellow of a small fleshy leaved plant with yellow star-shaped flowers, Sedum acre, the Wallpepper; it seems to find a toe-hold where there is no apparent soil.

Salona was originally an Illyrian settlement and then a Greek one before becoming the capital city of Roman Dalmatia. The site is huge and we can only manage to see a small part of it. In about 614 AD the city was sacked by Slavs consequently the Romanized population migrated to Diocletian’s former palace in Split and Salona was abandoned to weeds and the ravishes of time.

We felt we deserved a good lunch and so repaired to the same excellent restaurant as yesterday where William and Alvaro bought us a delicious lunch. It was with great sadness that we waived them both goodbye after a great week together.

Friday, 6^th May, 2011; Split and voyage to Sibenik.

After a calm and uneventful passage of about four hours, we anchored in the splendid natural harbour of Sibenik. The final approach is down a twisting narrow channel with a fort duly positioned to demolish any intrepid intruder.

Sibenik is an ancient Croat town built around an earlier Illyrian encampment. The earliest reference to the city is in 1066. Forts were constructed on the hills above the town then a wall and later a double wall was built to enclose it. By the early 15^th C, Sibenik was in Venetian hands and remained so, like most of Dalmatia, until the fall of Venice. The Turks were a constant threat, their border was a mere 15 kms inland, but they never took the city.

The city built a magnificent cathedral out of stone, even the barrel vaulted roof is made of stone slabs fitted together without mortar. It takes pride of place on one side of the main town square. The old part of town possesses an atmosphere of timelessness and venerable age marred only by a few modern doors and ubiquitous electric cables.

I have so much preparation and telephoning to do that I leave Derek to go with Alex and Bruce to the fish market. They chatted to stall holders and bought a huge amount of food. Derek took a great picture of Alex in a butcher’s shop, naked to the waist, next to a lamb carcass – meat meets meat. Then he met a choir of all-male Capella singers, filmed them and bought their music with the right to use it in the film, should we decide to do so.

Sunday, 1^st May 2011; Hvar

We woke to another cold, wet day, the rain poured down relentlessly; Timot was nervous that his precious camera might get wet. We met Drezan at nine as arranged to see the restoration work on the old theatre and arsenal. Inside we discover a miniature theatre complete with painted ceiling and tiny boxes all around; it can accommodate no more than a couple of hundred spectators; built in 1612 as a peace offering to the people after a rebellion against the aristocratic elite two years before; the first public theatre in Europe or so we were told.

I found the arsenal and the huge room above it more interesting and impressive. Above were the offices of the Captain of the Port and the draughtsman’s drawing office where galleys and merchantmen were designed on a scale of 1:1 or full scale. The ships were constructed in the cavernous arsenal space below – Venice in miniature. The great pine beams bore witness to the use of local timber that helped to denude the islands of forest cover. Venice demanded good Croatian timber for her galleys and public buildings.

We just have time for a dash through the wet streets to the Franciscan Monastery with its fine church. The complex is on a rocky outcrop joined to the shore and surrounded by a low retaining wall.

We meet brother Bernadino in his brown cassock, cowl and white rope belt, one of only two friars left in this house. This gentle, smiling monk spoke in French, our only tongue in common; he greets us warmly and bids us welcome. With his cropped grey beard and open face, he presents a picture of selfless devotion. First, we visit the refectory; there is a magnificent fresco at the far end of this paneled room. William gives us a short talk about this fine early 17th C work by a local Croatian master that depicts the last supper and covers the whole side of the room, about ten meters in length.

We filmed the Brother outside, sitting on a low wall at the far end of the garden he so clearly loves, a spreading cypress tree lending the space a shady cool. The garden is littered with broken pieces of ancient carved stone and on the low wall are two huge stone oil jars. He sits chatting to Derek looking out to sea towards our boat riding at anchor in the bay.

Weighed anchor at about 3pm and arrived the tiny fishing port of Komiza on Vis at about 6 pm.

Monday, 2^nd May; Komiza, Vis

Wake to a sparkling morning and a feeling of summer, we go ashore to walk around the small port then decide to hike up the steep lanes of the old village, so little touched by modernity, to the church set alone high among terraces of olives, carobs and vines. The fields present the best show of wild blooms to date, carpets of yellow crown daisies, scarlet poppies and bright Large Blue Alkanet (Anchusa) humming with bumble bees. Attached to a dried flower stem we find a potter wasp attending to her tiny nest of perfect honeycomb cells looking like a delicate creation of papier-mâché.

On closer inspection, we find that the church is built inside the ruins of an old fort; the thick outer wall has gun embrasures and a sharp-pointed corner arris like the city walls of a 17^th C fortification. Wild pink snapdragons grow profusely out of cracks in the stonework. In front of the tower two straight, pointed, tailored cypresses stand sentinel, thrusting skywards; dark green against the mellow grey stone. It is a calm and reflective afternoon; Timot takes advantage of the low golden evening light to capture some beautiful vignettes of walls and flowers and, finally, Alvaro and I walking down the steps from the church chatting while the bells peal out seven o’clock.

Tuesday, 3^rd May 2011; Vis and at sea to Split

During the night the wind increases to 35 knots and Tim and Viktor stand watch; three hours on and three hours off for some fitful sleep. By morning the storm has abated but the forecast is for further high winds all day. Indeed, the wind did increase somewhat but, as we had to be in Split, we decided to try and run before the storm. We leave the shelter of Komitza bay with some trepidation fearing rough water as we round the headland. The voyage across will take about six hours and, so far, is peaceful and only a little lumpy. Bruce feels a bit sick but still manages to make some delicious sandwiches for lunch. The rest of us go up-top and laze around watching the coast slip by while we listen to music on headphones. I love these calm days; reflective and soulful, to be at sea is an excellent therapy for a troubled soul or an over-anxious brain. I can’t help noticing the absence of birds on the crossing; a few seagulls and the odd shearwater and nothing else. The depths of the ocean, once so fecund now seems raped by man; fish catches diminish and the once huge shoals of sardine and tuna are no more. I hope we can stop this greedy mining of the sea before there is nothing left at all.