PELJEŠAC, THE VINEYARD OF CROATIA
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| Ston and the salt works |
There were four kilometers to reach the fortified town of Ston by road. As expected, the land was primarily used for olive groves and vineyards. Pelješac is famous for its wines. Dingač and Postup are the names one sees in wine stores for plavac, or plavac mali which is the sort of grape principally grown in South Dalmatia. But of course, the islands are also large producers, especially Hvar.
As we got nearer to Ston we got a glimpse at the salt works. Salt was a large contributor to local economy in the past. But Ston town also features the second largest great wall after the Chinese one (though a mere fraction of it with 5.5km of wall running back and forth between Ston and Mali Ston to secure the access by land of the entire peninsula of Pelješac). Today the wall still stands and has become deservedly the main attraction that draws tourists to the town on a day tour from Dubrovnik. Gastronomy is another reason to come. Oysters are bred in the channel of water between the peninsula and the continent, called Stonski Kanal in Croatian.
In this end of October, the town is in a lethargic mood and far from overcrowded. Cafe terraces have empty seats. We always like to watch the daily ritual of morning coffee to exchange news. But here there is more happening at different moment of the day. Business coffee meetings in the afternoon or possibly coffee/cigarette breaks. There are also the visitors on a tour who prefer to have a beer or two while their peers are going up and down the town's wall. It is easy to identify them because, at a certain moment, they will rush to pay their bills in order to catch their bus. Then comes the regulars, local men with time on their hands, drinking beer or white wine, one glass after the other, usually with cigarettes at the same rhythm. We had a sample in front of us that was in an advanced stage of "business" discussion. An older man and two younger unshaven ones wearing comfortable sweat pants and flashy caps. Regular trips to the bar toilets signalled that they had discussed over many beers already.
The town centre consisted of a few streets in a grid shape with terracotta roofed stone houses. A church stood a little lonely but still within the town wall enclosure that was protected by a water channel on the outside in the direction of the salt works.
The following morning we took a walk to the southern hills and came back through Broce, a waterside village, which is connected to Ston by a road that traverses the salt works. Around Broce, the absence or scarcity of people in the grandiose landscape of green hills plunging into the water, the few stone buildings that had been built when the salt industry was still in its heyday contributed to make one feel like a traveller of another time in a land that juxtaposed nostalgic and worn out tokens of the past with abandoned litter of the modern era like car and boat wrecks. A blue plastic sandal was floating amidst the grass growing in the water by the shore. It was swayed by wavelets and the wind but remained stationary somehow.
At the bus stop, where two ladies were selling pots of chrysanthemum to remember the deaths in cemeteries, we waited for the bus to Trstenik. It would have been too long to walk up to there in a single day and there was nowhere to stay in between where we could get food. The bus dropped us along the main road in front of a fantastic panorama where the road overlooks the sea, which lies a hundred meters lower. One could see the outlines of the island slopes, in a succession of folds each in a different shade of grey. Vineyards spread like a patchwork carpet nearly all the way down to the water. The light was dim as the sun was setting behind a veil of thin clouds. One could see, at the foot of a large hill, the creek where Trstenik was nested. We walked all the way down there enjoying this eerie light about which one wasn't sure if it was good or bad news from a rain perspective because the light dimmed progressively but less rapidly than when the sky is cloudless. One couldn't tell if rain wasn't around the corner either. Trstenik was quiet, the water a little muddy from the recent storm and the pebble beach littered with plastic that no one had cared to collect as it would surely have been the case in the touristic season. Many houses had their shutters closed. No more cafes, bars, or restaurants were opened. A couple of older kids were playing in the kids playground by the water. Thankfully the grocery store was still open, so we quickly went there to get supply for dinner. It had two kinds of wine: red or white. The choice was therefore simple as we wanted to drink red with our pasta dinner. The great thing was that the wine came from the nearby village of Janjina, some Plavac Mali, and it turned out to be excellent and very affordable. We were thankful to the lady of the grocery store to have selected it.
November had just come, bringing on its first day an impressive sunrise over the eastern hills of Pelješac. A veil of altitude clouds, like the one of the previous evening, dimmed the power of the sun rays into a golden glow enveloping the hills and caressing the quiet sea. The shape of palm trees, against the light, made the view over the village particularly up-lifting. And so was our walk in the beginning, despite all the dead trees partially charred and standing after a fire. We reached the area of Dingač, which has given its name to one of the most famous Croatian wines with vineyards planted along the steep slopes, on narrow south-facing terraces supported by dry-stone walls. The label of wine bottles from the area often features a donkey loaded with two baskets. It comes from the fact that the vines are planted on abrupt ground and donkeys were used for the harvest. The village itself of Dingač is rather small and unremarkable. Then came a rocky stretch on the way to Podobuče, another village surrounded by vineyards, which stretches all the way down to the sea in a tiny creek. There November brought us rain. Not much at first but an increasingly persistent one. As we reached Postup, what could have been a lovely landscape had turned into a ghostly vision with the top of the hills in custody of thick and dark clouds. We found a bench covered by a tree to have a rather miserable picnic. The rain went on as we resumed our walk under our rain ponchos. To add to the desolated aspect of the landscape, large areas had been completely burnt down. Charred tree trunks, bushes turned red-brown or yellow. It all looked fascinating and unnatural. One thing puzzled me, why hadn't there been any burnt parcel of vineyards?
As we got nearer to Ston we got a glimpse at the salt works. Salt was a large contributor to local economy in the past. But Ston town also features the second largest great wall after the Chinese one (though a mere fraction of it with 5.5km of wall running back and forth between Ston and Mali Ston to secure the access by land of the entire peninsula of Pelješac). Today the wall still stands and has become deservedly the main attraction that draws tourists to the town on a day tour from Dubrovnik. Gastronomy is another reason to come. Oysters are bred in the channel of water between the peninsula and the continent, called Stonski Kanal in Croatian.
In this end of October, the town is in a lethargic mood and far from overcrowded. Cafe terraces have empty seats. We always like to watch the daily ritual of morning coffee to exchange news. But here there is more happening at different moment of the day. Business coffee meetings in the afternoon or possibly coffee/cigarette breaks. There are also the visitors on a tour who prefer to have a beer or two while their peers are going up and down the town's wall. It is easy to identify them because, at a certain moment, they will rush to pay their bills in order to catch their bus. Then comes the regulars, local men with time on their hands, drinking beer or white wine, one glass after the other, usually with cigarettes at the same rhythm. We had a sample in front of us that was in an advanced stage of "business" discussion. An older man and two younger unshaven ones wearing comfortable sweat pants and flashy caps. Regular trips to the bar toilets signalled that they had discussed over many beers already.
The town centre consisted of a few streets in a grid shape with terracotta roofed stone houses. A church stood a little lonely but still within the town wall enclosure that was protected by a water channel on the outside in the direction of the salt works.
The following morning we took a walk to the southern hills and came back through Broce, a waterside village, which is connected to Ston by a road that traverses the salt works. Around Broce, the absence or scarcity of people in the grandiose landscape of green hills plunging into the water, the few stone buildings that had been built when the salt industry was still in its heyday contributed to make one feel like a traveller of another time in a land that juxtaposed nostalgic and worn out tokens of the past with abandoned litter of the modern era like car and boat wrecks. A blue plastic sandal was floating amidst the grass growing in the water by the shore. It was swayed by wavelets and the wind but remained stationary somehow.
At the bus stop, where two ladies were selling pots of chrysanthemum to remember the deaths in cemeteries, we waited for the bus to Trstenik. It would have been too long to walk up to there in a single day and there was nowhere to stay in between where we could get food. The bus dropped us along the main road in front of a fantastic panorama where the road overlooks the sea, which lies a hundred meters lower. One could see the outlines of the island slopes, in a succession of folds each in a different shade of grey. Vineyards spread like a patchwork carpet nearly all the way down to the water. The light was dim as the sun was setting behind a veil of thin clouds. One could see, at the foot of a large hill, the creek where Trstenik was nested. We walked all the way down there enjoying this eerie light about which one wasn't sure if it was good or bad news from a rain perspective because the light dimmed progressively but less rapidly than when the sky is cloudless. One couldn't tell if rain wasn't around the corner either. Trstenik was quiet, the water a little muddy from the recent storm and the pebble beach littered with plastic that no one had cared to collect as it would surely have been the case in the touristic season. Many houses had their shutters closed. No more cafes, bars, or restaurants were opened. A couple of older kids were playing in the kids playground by the water. Thankfully the grocery store was still open, so we quickly went there to get supply for dinner. It had two kinds of wine: red or white. The choice was therefore simple as we wanted to drink red with our pasta dinner. The great thing was that the wine came from the nearby village of Janjina, some Plavac Mali, and it turned out to be excellent and very affordable. We were thankful to the lady of the grocery store to have selected it.
November had just come, bringing on its first day an impressive sunrise over the eastern hills of Pelješac. A veil of altitude clouds, like the one of the previous evening, dimmed the power of the sun rays into a golden glow enveloping the hills and caressing the quiet sea. The shape of palm trees, against the light, made the view over the village particularly up-lifting. And so was our walk in the beginning, despite all the dead trees partially charred and standing after a fire. We reached the area of Dingač, which has given its name to one of the most famous Croatian wines with vineyards planted along the steep slopes, on narrow south-facing terraces supported by dry-stone walls. The label of wine bottles from the area often features a donkey loaded with two baskets. It comes from the fact that the vines are planted on abrupt ground and donkeys were used for the harvest. The village itself of Dingač is rather small and unremarkable. Then came a rocky stretch on the way to Podobuče, another village surrounded by vineyards, which stretches all the way down to the sea in a tiny creek. There November brought us rain. Not much at first but an increasingly persistent one. As we reached Postup, what could have been a lovely landscape had turned into a ghostly vision with the top of the hills in custody of thick and dark clouds. We found a bench covered by a tree to have a rather miserable picnic. The rain went on as we resumed our walk under our rain ponchos. To add to the desolated aspect of the landscape, large areas had been completely burnt down. Charred tree trunks, bushes turned red-brown or yellow. It all looked fascinating and unnatural. One thing puzzled me, why hadn't there been any burnt parcel of vineyards?
We were really soaked by the time we arrived in Orebic looking for the keys of our accommodation. As a matter of fact, the apartment was open and the keys inside. It was good to shower and put on dry clothes. The rain stopped towards the evening but going out wasn't really appealing. We only ventured to the nearest supermarket on our street and bought food for the evening. The next morning a thick ring of clouds was enveloping Sveti Ilja, towering one thousand meters above the town. We had pondered climbing it if the weather allowed. We started going up after having had a quick look at waterfront of Orebic. Rain started so we changed our plans and followed another route, the western access which gave us a nice view on the tip of Pelješac. Below, on the water a sailing school prepared for a regatta and Korcula town was now visible.
Back to town we stopped for coffee at the harbour and visited our neighbour who was selling young wine from Dingac. We bought some which was fruity, a bit sparkling and not completely dry. Drinkable but not to be remembered. The neighbour used a plastic pipe to pump wine from its steel barrel into a plastic bottle, like one does to pump out fuel out of a tank. He did so to avoid pumping the protective layer at the surface, which was meant to protect from air contact. He visibly enjoyed his wine because he drunk up in front of us the glass he had poured himself generously for tasting.
Back to town we stopped for coffee at the harbour and visited our neighbour who was selling young wine from Dingac. We bought some which was fruity, a bit sparkling and not completely dry. Drinkable but not to be remembered. The neighbour used a plastic pipe to pump wine from its steel barrel into a plastic bottle, like one does to pump out fuel out of a tank. He did so to avoid pumping the protective layer at the surface, which was meant to protect from air contact. He visibly enjoyed his wine because he drunk up in front of us the glass he had poured himself generously for tasting.
Images:
1/ Ston and the salt works
2/ Trstenik
3/ Dingač
4/ The tip of Pelješac
5/ Orebic, seafront
2/ Trstenik
3/ Dingač
4/ The tip of Pelješac
5/ Orebic, seafront
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| Trstenik |
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| Dingač |
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| The tip of Pelješac |
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| Orebic, seafront |
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