Still No fish

Zippers
Pastries at a place called " Butter King"
Paul looking for fish in Diocletian's Palace

It is Monday and we are giving up! Again we woke up early. Again a couple of Sardines at the fishing table that the man in front of the line beat us to. Today was our final attempt. After the failure of the "fish table" we got in the car at 9:00 am and drove to the second largest city in Croatia, Split. Surely this coastal port would have some fish for us to purchase. Aimlessly we walked around town once home of Diocletian and the centre of civilization. We had a pastry, popped into the ridiculously priced Diesel store and eventually headed to the market (a bustling meeting point of smells and sounds). We bought some steaks, artichokes, asparagus, home made olive oil sold in a plastic water bottle that could possible be the best olive oil I have ever tasted, and homemade cheese.

We also found zippers, plants, imitation sunglasses and just about everything else under the Adriatic sun. Except for fish! What gives?

* Disclaimer: We were thinking maybe it's not fishing season, but plenty of restaurants serve the catch of the day. We could eat fish if we wanted to but we don't love the way they prepare it here. It's heavy and greasy and takes away from the delicateness of the fish. We are not sea food snobs- we just think we could do it better.

No Fish on the Adratic

Not the FISH BOAT
Hello Crystal Clear Waters
Ready to jump in.
Palm trees!
Paul, Palm Tree, 80's beach hair


Paul and I are determined to become Master Chefs. Coming to the Adriatic we had visions of Jamie Oliver frying up some fresh fish with herbs and butter.

"Make sure to check for clear eyes" , Jamie's brightly obnoxious British accent keeps ringing in my ears...

A fish market is situated 5 minutes from our apartment here in Brela Voda. We made sure to be near fresh fish and to make Jamie proud. The market operates from 6:30-8:30 am. Too early of a wake-up call for vacation but alas anything for freshness.
"Freshness can not be compromised", Jamie chimes.

On our first morning we arrived at the "market" at 8:00 am with a bounce, surprised to find it to be more of a fish table, rather than the bustling fish throwing market we envisioned.
4 fish were left to choose from and our hearts sank. Disappointed we spoke to some locals who said we got up too late , but to not worry the fishing boats would come it at 5:30 pm to a town about 10 minutes drive from here. Sweet!

At 4:30 pm we put on our let's find fish outfits and headed to Makarska where there were no fish boats to be found on the main Pier. We continued to wait for another 2 hours, harassed more locals in broken Croatian/Bosnia/Polish/English asking where the fresh fish were. Patiently we waited look out from the bay until finally we could wait no longer. With long faces, and grumbly tummies we gave up and decided to head back, put some chicken on the Barby and try again today.

Slightly hung over, we pulled ourselves out of bed at 7am in hopes of the fresh catch of the morning. Sadly we arrived at the fish table to find it empty. Do fisher people not fish on Sundays? Is all the fish on the Adriatic actually frozen inland and then shipped back. What exactly is going on? Still two more days to go.

Our spirits low we decided to deal with our grief by hitting the beach. Paul found a jelly fish and a sea urchin but neither could be consumed. He got a tan in the process.. I absorbed the sun and let my hair get salty from the sea.

The inability to relax only exists when you have not found the right place to relax.

Our Patio at Villa Ana

Villa Ana


The Ocean View
It is the end of April and the temperature is lovely in the mid twenties. A few fluffy clouds are in the sky. To my left is a mountain scattered with pine trees. In front of me the Adriatic Sea with it's turquoise beaches. To the right olive and orange trees blossoming. Come to Brela Voda " Experience the Adriatic as it once was".

This is not an ad. I promise. The tag line for Croatian seems a bit "what the hell does that mean?", but once you are here in this serene town which this time of year only has a few tourists, where prices are manageable and you can get a newly renovated flat with a brand new stainless steal kitchen and a terrace big enough to ride a tricycle on, you really start to understand. Italy is over run with tourists inflating prices to astronomical levels. Ditto with the French Rivera where only Paris Hilton can afford a flat.

Here at Villa Ana where we are staying the family who owns this establishment hugged us when we arrived. Today Paul returned after half an hour with a hand full of fresh rosemary, fresh Bay leaves, and a Basil plant still in the pot that they insisted he take, after Paul informed them that the reason we chose their very fine Villa was because had a beautiful kitchen that could indulge our love for cooking and eating. (The wife also suggested we let her gut the fish we are planning on purchasing later in town and grilling on the barbecue which we insisted on bringing from Sarajevo.)

We are happier than larks. Paul is taking an after noon nap. Our day has consisted of getting up to go to the market and buying fresh strawberries and peas, walking 4 km to the next town via the beach, working out, eating lunch on our terrace, and basking in the sun.

It's hard to not feel relaxed here. Especially since we have transported most of our home in Sarajevo for this 5 day lap of luxury. All you stars on the French Rivera with you yhats and your personal chefs each your heart out. I have Paul as my personal chef and if I ask him nicely maybe he'll even take of his shirt while peeling carrots. The smell of the sea is on my nose, the breeze is blowing through my hair... and I paid only 45 euros a night to get it!

I am sick of spring!

Here I am looking sweet in Mostar.
A pretty colour; rusty, bullet ridden, yellow.
Jahorina, BiH
At the top of the mountain that Trebevic in the middle of Sarajevo. Formely known as a front line during the war.
Outside the Blue Mosque in Istanbul.
If I uploaded the correct picture you will see a plane in the middle. Cliche as it is, I really like this photo.
This is fifteen hundred year old Hagia Sofia. It started as a church, converted to a mosque and is currently a museum. It looks next practice Raelianism.
Mostar today is far more shot up than Sarajevo.

The weather of recent has been relentless. We haven't seen a cloud in two weeks, the breeze has been gentler than a baby lamb resting in a dewy meadow and it hasn't dropped below twenty in the longest time. Utter crap! We're moving home.
Two weeks or so ago we went to Istanbul. Last Saturday we went to Mostar. Last Sunday we climbed a mountain. Tomorrow we are going to Tuzla. Here are some pictures.
"What do you call cheese that isn't yours?"
"Nacho cheese."
I lifted that from a movie.