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.

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.

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.