On our last day, we may have all been ready to kill each other, for there was not only a good 8 hours of sailing, but the depression of leaving our boat, our vacations, and the beautiful islands of Croatia.  Goran brought us to the Blue Cave – off Vis – in which a hole in the limestone allows sunlight to color the water within a cave a mysterious turquoise, and there is room for just one dinghy to enter at a time, to marvel and take pictures.  It is not as fascinating as the cenotes of mexico, but it was worth the quick ride in when there was no line.  We also swam in a lovely bay with an even smaller bay made out by two limestone cliffs, which created a narrow opening through which you’d have to dinghy or swim to a secluded beach.  A couple of us dinghied in – while the others jumped off of cliffs outside – and were pleased to discover another beach bar on land, though we didn’t need it since we had brought rum punch.  A team of young and attractive tattooed Swedish men swam to shore just as we did, so between that and the beautiful aquamarine water, I was a happy camper.

The rest of the way back to Marina Kastela, our starting point, was on open sea.  It was choppy, which Goran said that we avoided mostly because it was just before summer season.  We were tossed about, hanging on to the tables.  The guys got nauseated.  The girls discovered that drinking really helps boatsickness, as the mind doesn’t know the exact reason why the world is spinning.  Perhaps this is why sailors drink so much rum.

Regardless of open seas, we had been drinking a lot.  I would estimate between 12-16 drinks a day, starting with champagne for breakfast.  I suppose it’s forgiveable on the last day, which is kind of sad.  When the boat began to approach the marina, the sun was setting, and everyone was in a somber mood.  But instead of just feeling it, sometimes people use alcohol to dull the heavy emotion.  On land, there was strife.  In avoidance, I took a shower.  We split up because some of us wanted pizza and beer – which we got at a pub engrossed in the soccer game, and the owner called a pizza delivery service for us, and it was a great end to the whole trip, sitting there outside in the dark in a barely functional hut set up to serve alcohol to locals.

We had to go to the airport at 4 am.  I was extremely pissy and landsick.  We all had a connection in Zagreb, so we spent 6 hours in the tiny airport, which conveniently had several outdoor cafes.  I was relieved to leave and to land in Paris.  It was diverse and full of life and gave me an energy despite having little sleep.  I found my hostel, bought a tub of foie gras, and promptly got lost wandering in the streets.

If you are sailing the central and southern Dalmatian coast, it may be logistically impossible to avoid some long days on the water.  Whether perfectly or unfortunately timed for us, our longest was the fifth day, which also may be the point when six people on a 35 foot catamaran begin to tire of each other.  The motor roared at 7:30, and one feels compelled to arise amidst noise and movement, both of which are unnatural.  But we had a full almost 12 hour day of driving from Korcula to Vis, which our skipper thoughtfully broke up into two stops for swimming.  As always, a dive into ice cold water is the best way to start the day, I dare say even better than coffee.

We arrived at Vis island around 6 or 7 pm, buoying outside the harbor of Komiza.  Supposedly Komiza is a more picturesque and tourist friendly place than Vis Town, and it certainly felt lazy and uninhabited, even though lined with cafes on the shore.  There was a resort and a famous lobster restaurant, which you could dingy right into through a stone archway.  That will be for next time.  Instead, Goran arranged for us to be picked up by taxi and driven up the hill to a house-like restaurant with an ancient-looking wood oven, where a large stone pot of lamb and veal had been cooking under a hat-like cover of hot rocks all day, waiting for our party.  On the table were three varieties of home-made grappa in delightful leaning bottles, as apertifs.  The meats were served with potatoes flavored in the meat juices, and it was real pretty up on the hillside, looking down at the sea.

For the first time, we spent a night docked in the harbor.  It is a luxury to not have to row to shore – to be able to get on and off to land by stepping directly off the ship.  In the morning, we rented bikes.  All of us being out of shape, and there being a light rain, after scaling two small hills we were all spent and complaining, even though the view of the sea past the vineyards and red-roofed towns was pretty.

We turned off the road to the winery Bire.  There is a chardonnay-like grape grown only in Korcula, called GRK, of which Bire makes an excellent wine.  Only a few thousand bottles are made each year, none of which are exported.  The college-aged son of the owner poured our tastings.  He said that his family, which had an Italian surname like many others on Korcula, had lived on this land for 200 years, by church records.  We decided to become importers of Croatian wine and sell it out of our Williamsburg shop and wine bar, which we could call GRK.

He recommended the pizza place at Hotel Borik to eat lunch, which we did and loved so much we went back for second lunch later.  By then the sun was out and we found our way to Lombarda beach, strenuously pedaling our way through green fields of grapes.  The beach was one of the only white sand beaches on these islands, and was conveniently served by a bar, one of those beachy huts you’d see in a Goa or Tulum.  We didn’t spend much time in the water, as we were afraid of the tiny purple jellyfish.

On our way back, we turned up a small road to a settlement with a couple of wineries and some houses.  The first winery was Cebalo, which also owned the vineyards.  It was a Tuscan structure, bathed in light, looking over its farmland and down to the sea.  We bought a bottle to share outside around the large farmhouse table.  Next door was another winery, and we were now sufficiently drunk to make the bike ride home swiftly and without complaining.  Back in Korcula we picked up groceries, then basically repeated our previous night, by going to the castle bar – Massimo – followed by dinner at Adio Mare, with the addition this time of gelato.

We sailed towards Korcula Town, which was 60 km away from Hvar, stopping to swim a couple of times along the way, and drinking and dancing on the boat.  It was around 6 pm when we finally docked.  There is a wonderful ritual to entering the marinas, involving shouting back and forth between the skipper and the harbor master as you motor by at a reduced speed.  Those on nearby parked boats watch, idle on their decks, as you slowly maneuver into your spot, slinging buoys overboard.  Some boats tighten ropes in between each other to make space.  Two white lap dogs on the next boat over stood on their hind legs wagging tails, as though in maritime greeting.

Korcula is a medieval walled town on a small hill, with a bell tower marking the top.  Within its narrow streets, it is almost heartbreakingly beautiful, for the sea sparkles at the end of every white stone street.  But people lived there too, and laundry was slung across the buildings.  The others said it was like San Germagnano, but better because surrounded by the sea.  We discovered a cocktail bar at the top of a rampart, which you reached by crawling through a hole at the top of a very steep ladder, something that would never pass muster in our litigious United States.  There was enough room at the top for about ten tables, and people could sit on the stone wall, looking down at the blue water curling around limestone rocks sixty feet below.  A dumbwaiter was used to lift cocktails to the top.  It was like being Rapunzel, with drinks.  It was ridiculously unreal.  The bar was filled with travelers – Aussies, Americans, and Germans.  Are these the nationalities that like cool gimmick bars?

Dinner was at a place called Adio Mare, on an upstairs terrace tucked picturesquely in between stone towers.  The fish was wonderfully fresh and the char of the grill so earthy.  There were squid and small fresh shrimp with shells so light you could pop the whole thing into your mouth with an almost unnoticeable crunch.  Everybody loved the food so much they vowed to return tomorrow.

Got a glass of scotch and some delicious hard croatian cheese and saltines.  The sailes are up, and we’re on a relatively open stretch of sea.  The girls are sunning on the nets at the front of the boat.  The rest are sitting in quiet contemplation somewhere on the boat – funny how there is always room for one’s own, even on a small boat with 7 other people.

This morning I woke up in drunken shock that I was alive on a boat.  I had gone to sleep at almost four and it was only a few hours later.  We had spent the afternoon and evening in Hvar town, a beautiful city on a small bay.  The approach to Hvar, by way of sea entries, has got to be one of the most exhilarating experiences imaginable, for the boat must turn before its passengers absorb in full its glimmering white stone streets, and enter the tiny bay, which is filled in by an inscrutable boat parking system.  Boats of every shape and size imaginable line up along the limestone promenade, the purpose of which for some is solely to sit on your yacht and look cool.  In fact, we were amused for a good half hour by the entry of one Vogue, skippered by a man in tight black shirt and gold chain, the boat a gross black status symbol representative of small penises.  It muscled its way in between two smaller vessels, like a giant Hummer parking in a compact parking space next to a Camry, and we watched with amusement the resulting altercation, which was like something on the Real Housewives of Eastern Europe.

Hvar is situated in a steep hill.  Its narrow streets reminded the party of Venice.  The prices are touristic.  At the top is a fortress the roots of which date back to B.C. and the Illyrians.  We hiked up after some wine and aperitivo, and took pictures at the top.  At 8, we went to dinner with our skipper Goran, where we had 3 fresh fishes – sea bass, dentex, and a red scorpion fish, in order from least to most flavorful.  The scorpionfish had been flavored with lemon and picked up the char of the grill perfectly, so it had a flavor that was like crack to me and I sucked every bone dry and even ate both eyeballs.  Digestiv was a lovely smooth homemade grappa, and by then we were all perfectly hammered.

We had made a reservation at Carpe Diem, a highly recommended cocktail bar.  We got a bottle of vodka and pitchers of fruity cocktails with lots of long straws, and we smoked our Cuban cigars.  The DJ was playing a good house mix and we went crazy for Daft Punk and broke several glasses, upon which we paid and left, but then we heard Get Lucky emanating from another bar and rushed in to dance.  We wanted to stay out in an alley packed with strangers and travellers, but skipper needed to sleep.  We couldn’t complain too much since he was the only one who could ferry us back to our boat through the inky black water.

I was forced out of bed by the starting of the engine.  It was no worse than sleeping to the sway of the sea, but I desperately wanted to catch a last glimpse of Hvar before we left its harbor.  It was too late anyhow.  I lay back in my berth wondering if I’d finally get seasick.

But we sailed to an island with a turquoise colored bay, and jumped into the cold water and swam, which cured any malaise.

I write this under Adriatic sun, with a cold Croatian beer nearby, on the front deck of our catamaran, driving towards Hvar town.  A few sailboats pass at our flank.  It’s been about an hour since we set sail from Brac Island.  It was raining there, just as we were trying to get some sun on a beach.  We got there by rowing our dinghy to shore.  We spent the whole dinghy ride making jokes about deep strokes and related euphemisms, giggling.  Through a cypress grove was a clean bathroom we could use for 5 kn.  It began to pour and 4 of us ran back to the dinghy and rowed in the rain.  Anup had to go back to get the other two.  He rowed alone, as incompetently and hilariously as a silent actor.  We watched from the boat and laughed.

The morning had been spent waiting on the bay for some help to arrive because the right engine was broken.  There was a general sense of unease that only 1 toilet worked and nobody wanted to clog it, despite not having shit in days.  I knew that my jet lag had passed when I woke at dawn needing to go, but refusing to play the clogged toilet lottery myself.  Now my digestive system has simply shut down.  I really shouldn’t eat anymore.  Possibly one of the greatest rituals of travel is discussing your shits.

I slept incredibly.  The boat rocks you to sleep like you’re in mother nature’s womb.  It is so silent, and even morning birds are too far ashore to wake you.  But the sunlight comes into the skylight.  I took a very cold shower.  I lay in bed all morning choreographing my movements.  Get wet.  Lather hair and body.  Shave and rinse.  Nothing like an ice cold shower to wake you up.

By 8 am we were drinking mimosas.

So… I might be having one of the most amazing experiences of my life.  I am living on a 35 ft catamaran off the coast of Croatia.  We are on a bay of Brac Island and the sea is gently rocking us.  I am with two couples and another single girl.  The landscape is impossibly beautiful – limestone cliffs and verdant brush, punctuated by red shingled houses.  It is just a beautiful, gentle lifestyle by the sea.  We have a skipper who is driving us for appx $500 per person for the week.  The boat is cool but one of the toilets is not functioning.  And showering takes place in that toilet.  I certainly fear we will run out of water but I suppose that is one of the lessons of a boat.

When I arrived in Split I was accosted by so many buggers I took a taxi directly to our marina.  There, was a peacefulness among the solemnly aligned boats..  The bus ride from Zagreb may have itself been interesting, but I was so jet lagged that I slept.  I know we passed at least one castle and a snow capped mountain range, as well as other seaside villages.  Split is large enough of a tourist hub to have tall beachside apartment buildings, which are a jarring juxtaposition with the oldest extant Catholic structure.

When the boat started and we went out to sea, driving towards limestone cliffs, the water was so blue and the wine so red, I couldn’t believe it was real.  We sat out on the nets on the front of the boat and marvelled until it was evening.  By then we had come to rest in this quiet bay.  Around us, other boat people were having dinner in the dusk, and quiet laughter drifted past.  The air and the water were a melancholy blue, and the scent was so verdant that one felt like the king of the world, or at least, so very lucky.  Life is romantic, sweet, and beautiful.  I sleep in a triangular shaped berth, a skylight above my feet, some light rainfall outside, and a rocking.