STORM ON MLJET, OUR LAST CROATIAN ISLAND
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| glowing horizon in Pontocuk |
Salted lakes are the pride of the Mljet national park. Their colour ranges from turquoise when the sun shines to grey-blue when it doesn't. The smaller one is the outcome of the times where that part was submerged by the sea. It is now connected to the larger one which was a swamp with sweet water that was infested with mosquitoes and malaria. To fight the disease, a channel was built up to the sea to let some salted water into the lake. It now forms a singular ecosystem with a different salinity than the sea itself.
The larger lake has a small island with a Benedictine abbey erected on top of it like a medieval fortress surrounded by a Mediterranean flora. The island is actually hidden in one of the curves made by the shore not far from the channel that was dug to connect the larger lake to the sea by the hamlet of Soline where the monks harvested salt. A mill was also built there powered by tidal energy. There is a bridge over the channel from which one can visualize the current resulting from the tide. From there a path leads to Soline planted with trees which had grown inclined in the direction of the wind. Soline had a few houses cum cafe/bar/mini-grocery but seemed largely asleep compared to the energy of the waves rushing loud and full of foam towards the cliffs. The strong ice-cold wind had obviously turned the surface of the sea into a furious creature. For now the weather was sunny and the sky was blue. We stood for a while enjoying this display of energy.
We left the park crossing the island, only a few kilometres wide, to go to and spend the night in Polace. We arrived in the middle of a joyous traffic jam: a wedding party was winding-up and everyone went back to their cars, sometimes with an unfinished beer bottle in the hand. Polace has an old roman ruin made of bricks, sign that this place too had a strategic importance in the past. We reached our accommodation for the night, called X-rooms, which were simple studios with nice balconies. We were welcomed by an elderly lady who couldn't hear much. We had dinner at a nearby restaurant where we met three women whose ferry was stranded in Polace due to the bad weather. The wind was supposed to be stronger the next day. A tempest that was raging over the south of Italy was meant to reach Mljet within a few hours. The wind would not fade over the course of the night and clouds filled the sky in the morning. That unfazed our plans a bit. There is a proper forty kilometre hiking trail from Pomena to Sobra which requires seventeen hours non stop. It goes through the central hills and their summits.
We walked up to Pontocuk which overlooks the western tip of Mljet. One can see the lakes and the sea towards the south. On top of the hill there is a wooden hut with windows to help park rangers monitor the park away from the wind and the rain. We waved at the one who was having his breakfast. He waved back but did not come out of his little nest to enquire what we were doing out there in these inclement conditions. By clear weather, one can see the continent, but it was hidden in the clouds. As a matter of fact we could feel that the storm was approaching. High winds were increasingly tormenting the Adriatic sea into a proper sea with waves. For a brief moment, a sun beam lit up the southern horizon giving the whole landscape a very dramatic shine. Rain was expected in the afternoon. We therefore thought it wise to avoid the peaks of the island for safety reasons and stayed at a lower altitude. This meant deviating from the hiking trail.
We followed it more or less up to the Blatina, a lightly salted swamp, surrounded by mountains in the shape of a crater, whose low salinity fluctuates with the amount of rainfall. The Blatina is not connected to the sea directly. It has either an underground connection through the karst or its saltwater remains from the times where the island was below sea level.
The Blatina was surrounded by scrubland. We saw a few goats in a thorny enclosure with such long and sharp thorns that it kept everyone in check. Those bushes grew also along the path making that stretch fairly inhospitable. A deer ran away as we approached, able to navigate easily in what seemed impassable for us.
The village of Blato was about two kilometres further east. It was surrounded by windswept fields and orchards. A couple of very old cars were stationed in the middle of grass patches, without license plates which was a clear sign of retirement. I thought that we might seat in one of them for a picnic away from the wind but we continued our journey and stopped by the roadside on the way to village of Babino Polje in a corner protected from the wind. Some rain came prompting us to wear our green dromedary rain outfit, which we hadn't used in a long time, only to remove it a few minutes later when it stopped. Babino Polje has developed on both sides of a straight stretch of road of about two kilometres. The view on the sea is amazing. Although at the moment we traversed it, everything looked grey and sad.
We arrived in Sobra at dusk, accompanied by a slender red-colored dog from Babino Polje who had decided, of his own accord, to take a walk with us through the village. He was visibly elated by the wind that brought him plenty of exciting odours so he went back and forth raising his right rear leg to pee a few drops countless times. In the end it was probably just a rhetorical gesture. At the end of the village road we turned on the main road towards Sobra. The dog had preceded us and it was surely not his first time because he knew he should keep out of cars. He trotted amply with his tail pointing up like an antenna and his ears sometimes floating in mid air with the wind. A few times he would leave the road to explore the road side bushes and find out about evidences of game. We had found by chance a pedestrian shortcut to Sobra, sponsored by the European Union because it was overlooking a swampy area similar to the Blatina right on the outskirts of Sobra.
Rain suddenly started pouring heavily a few minutes before we reached our guesthouse and got us fairly wet but that was nothing compared with the walk to dinner which involved walking down to the harbour with our rain ponchos flapping in the wind while bursts of rain fell on us like buckets of water. Thankfully the rain was warm pushed by the wind coming from the Sahara. Some waves washed the road of the harbour so we had to be strategic about hitting the right moment to cross the risky areas. We arrived dripping in the Konoba Riva, asking to sit inside in the small vaulted room that had three wooden tables and where all outdoor cushions had retreated. Most restaurants on the coast and the islands are serving outside and have virtually no indoor area because they open only during the nice season.
We asked if there was a shortcut to go back to our room. The guy of the restaurant told us that we should use the stairs right by the next house and go up, not right, not left slowly, slowly. The only part, he added, was that the path was very partially lit. No worries we would use the light torch of our phones. It turned out to be quite some guess work and at some point the path turned into a narrow one through thorny bushes. We could hardly see around us except the street lamp twenty meters higher up. To get there we simply had to push through the bushes, like wild boars. Anyway, wet we already were, so wetter we couldn't be. The weather forecast had been right about the rain!
The next morning, the sky looked gloomy but the sea seemed a little less agitated. Clothes had not really dried overnight. The only solution was to use the body's natural heating power to get the socks and underwear dry.
We had planned to take ferry to Pelješac. We saw the ferry coming from the continent around 7.30am. We therefore confidently walked the three kilometres to the ferry port. There was only a tourist car in the line to embark and a man fishing with a net from the pier. A tiny hand-written note on the Jadrolinja office door in Croatian advised that there would be no ferry for the whole day. The storm had strongly hit Italy during the night and people still expected strong rains. The conclusion for us was that we were stranded in Sobra until the ferry would be allowed again to traverse the channel to Prapatno. This implied forced rest on our side. This time we found an apartment right by the water, so much so that seating on the bed made one feel being on a boat in the middle of the sea.
The whole day was grey and windy, waves in the harbour occasionally splashed over the road. But all was well in comparison with what we heard happened in Italy, like the flood in Venice, one and half meters high. Locals had their own plans. Our HQ restaurant, Konoba Riva still had customers seating outside on the covered terrace right by its shop front. The neighbour, Konoba Laterna had also left its wooden tables outside, albeit with benches made to lean against the tables. As we walked back from the ferry port to go to our new place, around quarter to eleven, the terrace of Konoba Riva was full with local customers drinking an enhanced version of their customary morning coffee, for a bit of schnapps can be a good starter for the day. One party of six was actively involved in such a practice. One of the ladies wore a fuschia sweater and one man was in shorts with a grey sports sweater with a zip in the front. By the time we returned for lunch they were finishing their drinks, and by the time we finished our lunch and drank coffee on the terrace, we could see the pair attempting a synchronized choreography, having each a bottle of beer in hand, in front of the Studenac supermarket, which came as a handy supply for cheaper drinks. It was not really cold, about twenty degrees. By the time we entered Studenac, the zipper of the grey sweater was fully opened on the bear chest of our friend and when we left the zipper had been zipped up all the way up over his head. This is how we found out that the hood could be closed completely as the inebriated guy laughed while mimicking a ghost with his face covered. He had possibly become a Croatian Egungun for a few minutes. In our house, a party was going on too. Was it planned or just a way to spend time until the sun would return? We never found out, but it was a Monday and not a holiday. In any case, rock music flared regularly, often accompanied by people singing along from afternoon to later in the evening. The good thing was, on the island people tend to go and sleep early, so by 10pm everything was quiet again. Quiet people however the wind had strengthened and the rain slapped our window for a good number of hours. We were really on a boat in the tempest. I realised that I had forgotten some clothes in the previous room. I called and yes it was still there. Somehow the bad weather had been useful in making sure I could retrieve my favourite indigo scarf.
The next morning, mini patches of blue sky had appeared, the wind had lost momentum and progressively the sky opened up. We saw the 6am ferry go, so we knew we could reasonably expect to leave the island to Pelješac in the morning. Our landlady had offered to drive to the ferry terminal. She said she was born in Polace and had married in Sobra. Somehow she still preferred Polace because it was where her family was but Sobra was alright and anyway everyone knew each other.
The 10am ferry had been delayed to 11.15am, as another tiny handwritten note indicated on the door of the Jadrolinja office. The café of the ferry port became lively. At first, the crew of the ferry sat at the bar in front of their coffee, puffing the smoke of their cigarettes into the air which was already saturated with the smell of tobacco.
We sat at the terrace, in the sun. Cars parked right in front because walking the hundred meters from the ferry waiting line to the bar wasn't really suitable. Instead one parked in front of the terrace, drank coffee with friends and at the time of departure, one would drive back to the embarking queue in order to board the ferry. Everything happened in an orderly way, all vehicles managed to drive aboard despite the waves that were moving the ferry. The operator manoeuvring the bridge was very agile to compensate their motion.
Here we were on the sea again, leaving the last Croatian island of our the journey. Within half an hour we would reach Prapatno on the Pelješac peninsula.
We had planned to take ferry to Pelješac. We saw the ferry coming from the continent around 7.30am. We therefore confidently walked the three kilometres to the ferry port. There was only a tourist car in the line to embark and a man fishing with a net from the pier. A tiny hand-written note on the Jadrolinja office door in Croatian advised that there would be no ferry for the whole day. The storm had strongly hit Italy during the night and people still expected strong rains. The conclusion for us was that we were stranded in Sobra until the ferry would be allowed again to traverse the channel to Prapatno. This implied forced rest on our side. This time we found an apartment right by the water, so much so that seating on the bed made one feel being on a boat in the middle of the sea.
The whole day was grey and windy, waves in the harbour occasionally splashed over the road. But all was well in comparison with what we heard happened in Italy, like the flood in Venice, one and half meters high. Locals had their own plans. Our HQ restaurant, Konoba Riva still had customers seating outside on the covered terrace right by its shop front. The neighbour, Konoba Laterna had also left its wooden tables outside, albeit with benches made to lean against the tables. As we walked back from the ferry port to go to our new place, around quarter to eleven, the terrace of Konoba Riva was full with local customers drinking an enhanced version of their customary morning coffee, for a bit of schnapps can be a good starter for the day. One party of six was actively involved in such a practice. One of the ladies wore a fuschia sweater and one man was in shorts with a grey sports sweater with a zip in the front. By the time we returned for lunch they were finishing their drinks, and by the time we finished our lunch and drank coffee on the terrace, we could see the pair attempting a synchronized choreography, having each a bottle of beer in hand, in front of the Studenac supermarket, which came as a handy supply for cheaper drinks. It was not really cold, about twenty degrees. By the time we entered Studenac, the zipper of the grey sweater was fully opened on the bear chest of our friend and when we left the zipper had been zipped up all the way up over his head. This is how we found out that the hood could be closed completely as the inebriated guy laughed while mimicking a ghost with his face covered. He had possibly become a Croatian Egungun for a few minutes. In our house, a party was going on too. Was it planned or just a way to spend time until the sun would return? We never found out, but it was a Monday and not a holiday. In any case, rock music flared regularly, often accompanied by people singing along from afternoon to later in the evening. The good thing was, on the island people tend to go and sleep early, so by 10pm everything was quiet again. Quiet people however the wind had strengthened and the rain slapped our window for a good number of hours. We were really on a boat in the tempest. I realised that I had forgotten some clothes in the previous room. I called and yes it was still there. Somehow the bad weather had been useful in making sure I could retrieve my favourite indigo scarf.
The next morning, mini patches of blue sky had appeared, the wind had lost momentum and progressively the sky opened up. We saw the 6am ferry go, so we knew we could reasonably expect to leave the island to Pelješac in the morning. Our landlady had offered to drive to the ferry terminal. She said she was born in Polace and had married in Sobra. Somehow she still preferred Polace because it was where her family was but Sobra was alright and anyway everyone knew each other.
The 10am ferry had been delayed to 11.15am, as another tiny handwritten note indicated on the door of the Jadrolinja office. The café of the ferry port became lively. At first, the crew of the ferry sat at the bar in front of their coffee, puffing the smoke of their cigarettes into the air which was already saturated with the smell of tobacco.
We sat at the terrace, in the sun. Cars parked right in front because walking the hundred meters from the ferry waiting line to the bar wasn't really suitable. Instead one parked in front of the terrace, drank coffee with friends and at the time of departure, one would drive back to the embarking queue in order to board the ferry. Everything happened in an orderly way, all vehicles managed to drive aboard despite the waves that were moving the ferry. The operator manoeuvring the bridge was very agile to compensate their motion.
Here we were on the sea again, leaving the last Croatian island of our the journey. Within half an hour we would reach Prapatno on the Pelješac peninsula.
images:
1/ glowing horizon in Pontocuk
2/ Benedictine Abbey
3/ Soline
4/ Polace
5/ Blatina
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| Benedictine Abbey |
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| Soline |
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| Polace |
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| the Blatina |
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| bye bye Sobra |
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