Bosnia & Herzegovina, January 2016

Under siege.

The winding road ascended away from the coast, the croatian border control in the distance. The female agent quickly stamped our passports and we pulled ahead into the purgatory that often exists in remote mountain border crossings. (Between Chile and Argentina emigration stops near Bariloche, there is a several mile no-man's land.)

After a half mile we pull up to the Bosnian check point. A corregated shack on the windy ridge, the gate requiring manual operation. The agent, in a navy trench coat and military hat,  emerged from the shack and we handed over our passports and the vehicle documents. He asked me to get out of the car and pop the trunk.  He was quickly satisfied that my backpack and Clare's teal suitcase contained only personal items. He dissappeared to the shack and a few minutes later we were through.

The road winded along the ridge for a few km, the ritzy croation coast visible down in the distance, the rubble of burned out buildings out the other window. The landscape was rugged and remote. Mountains draped in low hanging clouds, the temperature flirting with freezing. After several minutes of silence between us, no other vehicles, the road rough, I wondered aloud if they had snow plows here.

We were heading inland, snow seemed imminent and for the first time since getting the car we were a little nervous. Croatia has great roads, is really well developed, has bounced back from the war. We felt a little more isolated coming into Bosnia. The occasional police check point didn't make us feel any better.  In the middle of nowhere, a small group of police (in their trench coats and hats) were standing on the roadside, waving some cars over. It seemed sketchy. While we saw several of these checks throughout the country, we never got waved over, but we were nervous passing them each time.

Bosnia & Herzegovina conjures up visions of war and instability and I never really thought of it as a 'destination'. We were intrigued, however, after reading endorsements in other blogs while researching this trip. It's true, Bosnia still bears many scars from the war. But the old adage rang true. Rich culture, friendly and warm people, great cuisine. A great book, indeed.

We reserved an airbnb in Mostar for our first stop. We only planned to stay one night there, so we got an early start (for us) leaving dubrovnik, arriving in Mostar about noon.

The place we booked had a few hundred reviews  (that's a lot) and the host was very communicative in advance. (This bodes well for a smooth transaction)  Because we don't have active phones or mobile data plans, it's very important for us that we firm up all arrival details, including directions, to these Airbnbs prior to hitting the road. We have learned over time that hosts will expect us to just call them when we get close or if we get lost.  That's not an option, so we are very diligent about collecting info and confirming plans in advance. This is by far the main drawback of using airbnb vs hotels.

Of course, as we honed in on the place, we couldn't immediately find it.  Turns out google maps only led us to the street, not the actual address. We parked and decided to look on foot. It was a busy street, difficult to drive back and forth on.   Well, none of the buildings or houses have numbers on them and nobody we asked knew what we were talking about. (We later found out that after the war, the government removed all the numbers and changed the name of the street, but never bothered to return the numbers. So even the locals are unsure of the names).

After an hour, we finally found the place, tucked behind a store, not actually on its addressed street.  Sigh. An hour is precious time when you only have one afternoon to visit.

Our frustration was quickly erased when the host, a middle aged gal, invited us in for tea and coffee.  (On several occasions, the host listed on Airbnb and who we correspond with is a young adult who we never ultimately meet.  It's always their parent.  I think the kid just handles the online stuff due to their tech savvy and language skills, but their parents really manage the property.) Anyway, she invited us into her house, prepared bosnian coffee, tea, and we gestured our way through a nice visit.

We then walked down to old town, stopping at an atm to retrieve local currency, Bosnian Convertible Mark. (The fourth currency of the trip - euro, krown, kuna)  The cobblestones were very rounded and bumpy! Definitely not heels friendly. The streets of the small old town were narrow and quaint. We walked across the iconic and unesco inscribed Stari Most (old bridge),  spanning a beautiful green river. A hand painted sign at the edge of the bridge stating "never forget 1993."

We wandered out of old town through the city streets to the Spanish square, a polished and stately promenade dotted with foreign embassies and buildings in ruin. 

In one of the parks, there is a life size Bruce Lee statue. Not sure of the connection, but we molested it and got a few fun photos.

We found our way back to the old town and the restaurant that came recommended by all, Sadrvan. This began our love-hate relationship with bosnian eateries. The food was top notch. We shared a mixed platter of national specialties. Stuffed vine leaves, stuffed tomatoes, stuffed cabbage,  sausage links with soft and moist pita bread, bean stews and a bunch of other flavor rich little nuggets. The meal topped off by dessert and bosnian coffee. (Similar to turkish and Greek coffee,  a very fine powder boiled in a decorative copper pot, creamy and rich,  served with a super sweet turkish delight candy).

We were having an early dinner, as we tend to do, so were alone for the majority of the meal. As we hit coffee and dessert a few other groups arrived, armed with cigarettes. There is no escaping second hand smoke in this country. We are particularly sensitive to it due to Clare's pregnancy, but seriously. The baby is probably going to need a nicotine patch to wean itself after this trip.

That night we were woken by the loud sounds of young men partying and carrying on in the street below our apartment. We thought for sure our car, parked on the curb, was going to bear the brunt of it.  Thankfully not.

We packed up after a quick breakfast and headed down the road toward Sarajevo.

The journey took us through the mountains along a strikingly beautiful river.  The blue green glacial waters reminded me of similar rivers in Patagonia. (Not as beautiful nor pristine, to be sure, but still really nice).

We again booked a place on Airbnb, a rather large and nice place perched on the hill above old town.  For the money (30 us d/night), the nicest place we have stayed on the trip.  We were given specific instructions  on how to back our car into the provided spot, from above. The place was on what seemed to be a 20% grade. You only have one shot to get it right. We would stay here the next two nights, never moving the car.

That afternoon we got our bearings and figured out the path down the steep streets into town. Most buildings have bullet holes in them and cemeteries are scattered about. Here and there stands a new place.

A call to prayer rang out over the city.  Simultaneously beautiful and enchanting, but also a little foreboding. I've never witnessed this ritual and I regret to admit that it gave me a twinge of discomfort.

Bosnia & Herzegovina is a Muslim country, representing half of the population and one of the presidential positions.  (There are always three presidents, one Muslim, one jewish and one serbian orthodox). Small Muslim cemeteries are found throughout the city, where the Muslim members of the Bosnian army are buried. 

We ate lunch at a 'fast food' place where the food is pre-prepared and on display behind the glass ala Chinese take out.  We selected a variety of dishes which they garnished with a fresh piece of bread.  The bread in bosnia was so good! Always fresh and moist. A huge improvement over the croatian hockey puck.

Wandering through the old town we came across a crusty old guy selling roasted chestnuts and fresh squeezed pomegranate juice. He pressed the juice into repurposed pop bottles, 20 oz cost us 5 marks (7 marks to 1 dollar). Divine. We capped the afternoon at one of the many coffee/dessert shops. Seeking out an empty place and hoping to finish before the inevitable arrival of smokers.

That night we dined at another traditional place called Inat Kuca (the house of spite). It was a charming house turned restaurant that we had to ourselves. Clare had a home made ravioli in cream sauce and I had another mixed plate with the (locally) famed sarajevsko beer. Crisp and flavorful!  (The brewery, with its own water well, was a life line for the city during the war when the municipal water supply was cut off by the republik of Srpska forces. A tried and trued method of warfare. Really frustrating to witness us poison our own water in Flint and potentially with the proposed copper mines on the edge of the Boundary Waters Wilderness.)

A round of bosnian coffee and dessert to cap off another fine meal.

The next day we decided to take a city tour, the first one of the trip. We booked the Complete Sarajevo War Tour, led by a quirky guy in his early thirties (who looked early 40s), self described as "really fat". We met him, in his large orange jacket and small red backpack, in the center first thing in the morning ( 9am).  We loaded up in the chauffeur's car (a fit guy in his early 40s, looked like early thirties), a small 4 door hatchback. They whisked us away, heading through town, past large hotels, shopping malls,  national media station, and the US embassy  (only cost 6million euros). This stretch is known as 'sniper alley' because the wide multi lane thoroughfare was exposed and vulnerable to the snipers perched on the hills surrounding the city.  Erven, the guide, provided a cynical play by play of each passing building.  Pointing out the nice mob owned high rises and describing the miscues of a disfunctional government reeling in the aftermath of the war.

The first stop was at the entrance to a tunnel that connected the city with the country, running under the UN protected airport runway. It was a lifeline of supplies and also served as an escape route for the few able to secure exit documentation. (The attacking republik of Srpska was trying to kill everyone and the defending Bosnian army was trying to prevent people from leaving the city so they would continue to have something to fight for.  Our chauffeur had escaped with his family through the tunnel. Our guide had taken refuge in spain, his mom insisting they flee prior to the beginning of the war in '92).

From there we drove through the snow up into the mountains. It snowed about 4 inches the night before and was still coming down heavily. The route is through an active mine field, the road flanked with little red signs marked with scull and cross bones warning not to venture off the road. Every year people get blown up.

We visited the site of the nordic ski jumps from the '84 winter olympics held in sarajevo. The facility is defunct now,  only functioning as a little rope tow for beginning skiers.  The podium is still there,  offering a great photo op. It's hard not to notice how modest the podium and the other facilities were.

Next we drove farther up the road to the site of the defunct Hotel Igman, a luxury hotel finished in 1983, specifically for the Olympics. Erven, our guide,  calls it the concrete monster. During the war, the place was destroyed by the Srpska forces. We walked through the ruins, climbing the stairs to the fifth floor. It is now used for people playing paintball and the swat team trains inside it.  (Apparently it's a tourist attraction, again, too.)

We decended the snowy mountain road in route to our final stops.  The jewish cemetery on the hillside above town, a Srpska sniper post. Headstones  bearing bullet holes.

I asked Erven who was happy with the outcome of the war that lasted 5 years. He shrugged his shoulders.

We rounded out the afternoon with lunch and another visit to the dessert shop.

We had a final traditional bosnian dinner that night.

In the morning the city was under a blanket of snow. Our car perched in its spot overlooking the narrow, steep, "two lane" road we would need to descend.

Thankfully we didn't meet any cars coming up and the tires held true.  We were on the road again.

We headed north,  again taking in the scenic country.

Our time in B&H was a highlight of the trip and we would have liked to spend more time. I highly recommend it. Unfortunately we had a deadline to return the car and a plane ticket to Greece. Tourism is rapidly picking up every year,  and B&H is expected to apply to the EU. Visit now while it's less crowded and still a little raw.

We got to the croatian border at slovonski brod. The agent's eyes lit up with surprise when we handed him our USA passports.

We spent the next two days at a very funky "wellness" hotel, Eko Garten. I think we were the only ones staying at the 15 room mom and pop b&b. They only spoke croatian and german. Mom was sweet, dad was grumpy. We decided to eat dinner there both nights. Dad was in the dining room watching tv, mom would take our order and whip it up. We ate German inspired delicacies such as schnitzel slathered in cream cheese covered with shredded white cheese. We took advantage of the facilities, bathing in hot beer. We needed a couple of days to relax before we moved to the next phase of the trip. This fit the bill.

Dalmatian Coast, Croatia - January 2016

The Dalmatian Coast is the image of Croatia that can often come to mind. Rugged coast line, ancient walled cities perched on cliffs overlooking the blue Adriatic, beaches scattered with European women in deep tans and not much else, islands off in the distance. Warm moist air, afternoon love making while long white curtains flow in the sea breeze, the sun pulsing above the water.

Maybe it's just some poor war torn place that has shuffled names and boundaries over the last 40 years. Or Game of Thrones and kings landing is its newest image.

We drove into Zadar in northern Dalmatia after a final breakfast with Dora in Rovanjska. It is only about 45 minutes away. The Zadar old town is an oval protrusion out into the sea, maybe a couple miles in circumference, flanked on one side by an inlet and yacht club.

We found parking for our trustee steed, fumbled hopelessly with the parking pay station (it was out of order,  but I, suprisingly still don't speak croation), then found another station (conviniently as another person was using it -  monkey see, monkey do.) Even the mundane chips time away from the day, everything is part of the adventure we have to keep reminding ourselves.

After a frantic search for a bathroom,  we wandered through the "old town." All of these coastal cities have them,  they are walled,  no cars,  cobblestone, narrow, full of restaurants, shops, museums.  All are inherently touristy, with (seemingly) varying degrees of utility to the towns people.

The Zadar old town was modest and we had a fine time wandering through.  It does not extend to the waters edge, rather there is a road that circumnavigates it and a seaside promenade that has seen significant redevelopment in recent years. Most notably a sea organ was installed on an edge facing the open sea. It has a very simple modern design, a series of wide stair steps staggered, leading down from the promenade to the water. You can walk and sit on the feature. As the sea ebbs and flows, the organ pipes are engaged, offering a constant singing whistle in time and crescendo with the wave action.

We sat on the steps and watched the handful of sailboats,  kite boarders and windsurfers zigzaging about.  It was a breezy day,  so the boats were fast and the music was loud.  This was easily one of the coolest things we saw in Croatia.  Its elegance and execution was admirable and enchanting.  What a rich contribution to the local character, something everyone can enjoy,  a new experience every time.

We lunched at a fancy, modern glass decor, fish house.  The menu was loaded on ipads, you select your language, and navigate similar to your music player.  Kinda fun.  We had some fantastic prosciutto and cheese to start. Clare had grilled fish and veges and I had a sou vid type prep of fish and veg. Both very good. For dessert was espresso and souffle and carob carrot cake.

After lunch we wandered across the bridge to check out the yachts. An impressive row of large sail boats and mini cruise ships.  There always seems to be that one ship bigger and more impressive than the rest.  In this case,  it was My Little Violet.  It's only 200,000 euros/week to charter. Who's in??

As evening set in, we returned to the car,  satisfied it had not been towed or ticketed. We traveled south a couple of hours to Split where we would spend the next 4 nights.

We opted not to get a gps with our rental car, relying on the free map we took from an airbnb and the map function on our smartphones.  We don't have data plans over here so no active navigation. Our only option is to plug an address into Google maps while connected to wifi before we depart, which will highlight our destination and the chosen route.  The embedded gps will track our position.  So,  instead of siri using her sultry voice to command my next move,  Clare wonders aloud and for the most part we do well.  Especially for free of charge.

Whenever your destination is in old town and the roads are on 10% grade and too narrow for a scooter,  Google loses a little reliability.  As we honed in on our place in Split, we found our way into a literal jungle of cobblestones and cars crammed in every nook and cranny, going up a steep ass hill,  blind corner after blind corner. Slowly moving farther and farther away from that little red pin on the map. At the top of a dead end street, there happened to be a spot we could back into.  We didn't move the car for the next four days.

Turns out we were pretty darn close and had no problem walking the rest of the way to our Airbnb apartment.

While inexpensive, the place was clean,  comfortable and in a great location, in old town,  right out side of the Diocletian Palace. The palace ruins have been converted into a bustling commercial area, open 24/7. Game of Throners, you would like this place.

On that first evening, we wandered into the palace looking for a late night snack.  In the center square, there was a DJ and lights set up for a final party of the holiday season.  It was quite the juxtaposition within the stone walls and ancient ambiance. But,  then again, that seems to be the normal mix here in Europe.  Preserving and respecting the relics of the past, but evolving them to continue to be relevant and useful.

We landed at a little joint, Zinfandel, with live music inside, but we sat out to avoid the smoke. I had a few beers, some slivovic and some tasty home made ravioli. It was a busy weekend night,  and it was clear that the palace is a place that locals and tourists alike frequent.

For breakfast in the morning, we grabbed a pastry from the pekara and had coffee on the expansive prominade in the middle of town, watching the large ferry boats and cargo ships come and go.  We would do this every morning of our stay.

By the time we were done with coffee, we were ready for lunch and headed to Bokeria, a spanish market inspired place that served us amazing squash soup, drizzled with olive oil,  yogurt and toasted seeds. The salads looked great,  but were only ok. (Croatia, not big on the whole vegetable thing.  At least not at restaurants.  You can see gorgeous stuff at the open air markets, but something is lost in translation).

After lunch, we seized the warm, calm,  sunny day to walk along the coast. A board walk stretches for a few miles to the south,  beaches mixed with cafes, and lots of people enjoying the day. I couldn't resist the urge, so I stripped down to my speedo and went for a dip.  The folks wearing parkas certainly out numbered those in the water,  but it was not bad,  and certainly refreshing. This would be the only realistic opportunity to swim in the adriatic on this trip, so.

We stopped at a little cafe on the water for a drink and to watch the sunset, perched over the water. Spindly clouds providing contrast and color. Boats trolling by. And then Guantanamera started playing,  and all was right in the world.

When the song ended, and the sun wasn't below the horizon yet,  it started playing again, this time matching the sunset  perfectly.

The next day for lunch,  we visited a place that food celeb Andrew Zimmern considers one of his favorite restaurants in the world, Villa Spiza. It's a hole in the wall inside the palace, seats about 10, most of which are at a counter overlooking the small kitchen.  The menu changes daily based on what's available and in season.  The two cooks are also the waiters and the bussers.

We shared what was probably our best croation salad, (greens beyond iceberg! ), and I had the deer meat ragu over pasta and Clare had the chicken pasta. Both were super fresh and tasty....but also croatian, so heavy, too large of portions and very meaty. We walked it off with a hike up the hill toward the north and then a walk along 'Olympic way' (I made that up), a seaside promenade with commemorative bricks for all of the croatian Olympians  (and Yugoslavian??? dated back pretty far). It was a very windy day,  so the sailors were out,  including the croation Olympic team.

We cashed in early that night in preparation for an early morning ferry to the island Hvar.

The ferry was large,  accommodating both cars and big trucks. We left our car in it's spot in Split and walked onto the boat. It's design was symmetrical, allowing it to be driven from either end,  eliminating the need to back in and out of the docks.

Clare and I donned our jackets, rain gear,  hats and gloves in order to sit outside on the roof in relative comfort. It was a windy day, and cool out,  so most people were down below in the salon.  Only the intrepid smokers joined us up top. The sea was pretty big that day.  I'm not a sailor, ill equipped to judge the actual size of the swells (nor confidently stomach them), but they were big,  and the boat was rocking and banging. After about an hour and having passed all the barrier islands, the capitan and several crew came storming out of the bridge and frantically ran across the top deck,  next to our seats,  to the controls at the stern. The boat slowed, rocked and groaned,  they turned the thing, now pointed at our destination. In another hour we were on shore.

We landed at the small port just outside of Stari Grad. We walked the few KM into town. It was windy on the island, too, and due to the season, not much activity.  We wandered briefly through the old streets.  Stari Grad is one of the oldest cities in Europe.  We found the open restaurant, which was cozy and inviting.  They cooked us a calzone and lasagna in the wood fired oven. Comfort food desperately needed by these land lubbers.

We later wandered around the point, along a path leading out of town in the direction opposite the port. There were swimming platforms built all along the sea.  Looked nice.  On this day, waves were crashing over them.

Strolling back toward town,  we stopped at a little terraced place.  We stepped inside, empty, but american folk music filled the space. When the owner emerged, he explained the history of the small building on the sea.  Serving originally as a one monk monestary, later a fishing shack,  a quarantine ward then finally a cafe bar. There was a disco ball hanging from the wooden ceiling, supported by ancient stone walls.  They throw parties here every few weeks year round. The next one,  in a couple days,  was going to feature a short film shot during a party in that same place in the early 80s, when the now owner was just a teen, tending bar.  Sounded fun.

He explained that he keeps his place open year round, and organizes various events from time to time in order to get the community members together in the slower months. It was a shame we didn't have a day or two to spend with him and take his offer to show us the island.

We walked back to the port and boarded the final ferry to Split. It was dark windy and chilly, so we decided to ride inside in the salon. It was like riding in a cafeteria and you couldn't see out. We cozied into our booth and listened to The Cartel. Around the time the first graphic beheading description was taking place, the boat really started to rock.  And it was hot in there. I couldn't take it.  I grabbed my jacket and ran outside.  After staring at the wall for a while, I was able to pull it back together. The wind had been blowing hard all day, the waves were very large and the boat was rocking, let's say,  extremely.  Looking over toward the railing, the moon would apear high in the sky, in the next instant, it would dissappear, in a flash, below the rail. Up down, up down, up down,  in a trace of light, fast.

We eventually made it back safely, all the romance of working on a boat wiped from our imaginations.

That night we returned to Bokeria again for dinner.  After soup, we shared a pistachio gnocchi. Yum.

That night a rain cloud hovered over the city, crashing thunder and lightening unabated. It was frightening.

In the morning we pried the car from its spot and headed down the coast toward Dubrovnik. This section of the coast was the most scenic. High cliffs, islands, misty rain, rays of light over the water.

Bosnia and Herzegovina has a small section of coastline in order to operate a port.  We decided to have lunch while passing through.

Arriving in Dubrovnik  (or Kings Landing for those into Game of Thrones), was less of an ordeal as there was simple parking close to our rented room.

We only had two nights here, so our explorations were brief. The first evening, we wandered through old town, looking for dinner.  Dubrovnik is very touristy and expensive  (on the cruise circuit, but none this time of year). The old town is more of a tourist trap than a community space as in Split. Many things were closed, including all the restaurants we hoped to visit.

We happened across an indian joint tucked away and,  gasp, didn't hesitate to enter. Have you ever seen a croation restaurant? No? Ya,  well we were tired of it after a couple weeks.  We ordered no meat,  the dishes had a lot of flavor and we were satisfied with the change.  It wasn't great indian food,  but it was great in that moment.

The following day we shelled out the exorbitant 20 bucks a piece to "walk the city walls". There is a pathway on top of the wall surrounding old town, leading in and out of the turrets and providing great views. There is a big map inside the old town that shows the location of all the mortar blasts, burned down structures etc from the war in the early 90s. You could see much of this destruction from the top of the walls, in the areas that weren't repaired or reconstructed. Now serving as sanctuary for stray kitties. We played spot the kitty, and were impressed by how many we could find. Poor kitties.

At this point we were done with the croatian food, especially if it was going to be over priced, so on this night we ate at a Thai place in the Grand Excelsior hotel. It was mediocre, to be sure,  but again a welcome change.

It was pouring rain by the time we were done, so we popped into a place back in old town for one more coffee and dessert. It was a charming lounge, feeling like the lobby to a tropical hotel. It provoked a nostalgic vibe on our last night in Croatia.

It again rained and thundered all night.  In the morning, we packed up and headed inland to Bosnia and Herzegovina.

Plitvice and Paklenica National Parks, Croatia - January 2016

We approached Plitvice National Park (plit-vit-za) from the south.  It had been snowing all day inland, over the mountain. We passed through small seemingly abandoned towns, the snow piling up. A few people milling about, a business here and there, and a lot of crumbling buildings.

Part way through one of the towns, we experienced a rare phenomenon.  There was a flash that caught our eye from above. In the brief moment afterward, we wondered out loud if it was the street light or something else.  Then BOOM. The unmistakable crack of thunder. 

It was thunder and lightening.  Thunder snow. A pretty rare occurrence that simultaneously surprised us,  frightened us and excited us.

We didn't have accommodations for the evening, relying on booking on the spot one of the many rooms surrounding the park entrance that we read about.  It was late afternoon as we approached the park,  getting dark.  We began to wonder a little bit where we would stay.  It was snowing heavily, and there wasn't much life out there.  The southern flank of the park is not very developed.  The northern area around the jezeros (lakes) is what makes the place so famous, and where 99% of visitors spend their time.

We have grown accustomed to seeing signs for "sobe, zimmer, room", advertising accommodations as we have traveled through Croatia. Usually not looking open or inviting this time of year. Such was the case as we trudged along in the snow in the dark in our miniature car. A passing park bus provided minor comfort that we weren't stranded.

We neared the entrance to the lakes and traffic increased and so did development. We were very road weary after driving all day, the last several hours in a blizzard. With six inches of fresh snow on the ground and counting,  we saw the sign for a hotel and decided to turn. 

We both knew that this decision would be costly. We didn't have to verbalize it to agree that a hotel would likely be expensive, but also the option we needed to pursue.  We have traveled enough, stayed in enough Airbnb apartments, rooms in folks houses etc to know that a hotel in a place like this is not a budget option.  While we aren't traveling on a shoe string, two months is a long time so we are conscious of how much we spend on accommodation. We rather splurge on food than a fancy room.

We turned in the hotel entrance,  snaking down and around to the entrance in untracked snow.  Uh oh we thought.  This place doesn't look open, we are driving down a hill in our little car in a bunch of snow.  Turns out the place wasn't open, but a little sign taped on the door said that hotel jezero was open, just up the road.  We took a running start and squirreled our way back up and out to the main road.  We pulled into the appropriate hotel a few minutes later and asked for a room. The price was well over a hundred bucks, but it included breakfast and the guarantee of one more day of marital bliss.

We woke to 12 inches of fluffy snow. Trees covered, every branch decorated by the heavy snow fall in the absence of wind.  No clouds, sunny.

We strapped on our gators and away we went.  After a short bus ride, we were making fresh tracks down the trail. There were a couple others on the bus and we passed a few more on the trail, otherwise we had the place to our selves. (We don't know it any other way, but supposedly it's a mad house in the summer, so we reveled in our good fortune).

The trail descends down to the stair step complex of lakes connected by rambling, beautiful water falls. The plank walkways traverse across the water and along the shore line.  The walkways were covered with deep snow, making the journey extra entertaining in the absence of hand rails and icy water below.

As we gazed up at the main falls, the warm sun started to peak over the canyon walls. We were surprised when large chunks of ice calved from the top, the sun and flowing water loosening their grip.

We hiked around all the open trails (the "upper area" all being closed in winter), leading to the boat launch that carries visitors back to the entrance.  We opted the walk the trail along the lake shore instead of the boat ride. The trail was technically closed, but it was gorgeous out, and we were equipped to break trail in the fresh snow. The sun was rapidly melting the snow on the trees by this point, so we were showered the whole way back by dripping branches.

It was a beautiful park, and very well developed, providing up close access with low impact. We are fortunate to have seen it on a day like that.

We got back to the car, which was still covered in snow since it was in the shadows. We cleaned it off and headed back down the road. 

Traveling due south from the park,  we passed through the two small villages where my great grandparents were from.  Josan (on the main road) was where my great grandmother, Pera, was from and Mekinjar (off the road a few miles was my grandfather,  Mile, home town). There is not much left in these places, so we didn't stay long. We would have poked around a little more,  but with a foot of snow flanking the road, it was impossible to pull off or turn around. We did walk through a cemetery in josan, all the headstones reading Radakovic, Peras maiden name. While in the cemetery, a villager walked down from the hill above, likely wondering what our car was doing blocking his road. He didn't speak English. We said "Marinkovich", and it motioned off toward the valley and said "Mekinjar".

We found our way to Mekinjar, took some photos of the few rubbled buildings and the surrounding agricultural land.

Pera and Mile immigrated to the usa after world war 1 and landed in Anaconda, Montana.  Mile worked at the smelter until he was killed in a rail car accident. The Anaconda Company compensated Pera by paying off her mortgage and providing her wood to heat the home that winter.  Legend has it that she took to distilling spirits to support her troup of sons,  placing them in a box on the front stoop so they would be safe in the event of an accident. Supposedly there is a copper still or two hidden away in one my grandpa Dan's late brother's place in Anaconda.

The landscape was very reminiscent of South west montana,  the big hole and the area they resettled, Butte-Anaconda. I certainly had a twinge of nostalgia while here, I suppose they did too, over on the other side.

We forged ahead and zigged back out to the coast, to a little town outside of Paklenica National Park (pak-la-neet-za). We stayed in a cute, modest apartment in Rovanjska. Our host, Dora, was a cheerful and outgoing gal in her late 30s. During the war,  she was a refugee for 5 years in Germany, having to flee croatia.  The apartment building,  originally her grandmother's, was occupied by soldiers to "process people", and was beat up pretty badly.  Bombs, bullets,  shrapnel all taking their toll. After the war her grandmother returned and got the business going again.  Eight years ago Dora returned to help her out.  Her grandmother has since passed, and Dora runs it herself now. She tells us this story over breakfast she prepared for us. 

This time of year is slow, so we were fortunate to have the opportunity to connect with her.

Of course, we didn't know her story when we booked the inexpensive room on Airbnb. How enriching it was to ponder while we stayed amongst the freshly painted walls and new windows. You don't need to venture far to hear first hand accounts of war in this part of the world.

Paklenica national park is known for its abundance of rock climbing routes and vast network of hiking trails.  Be sure to look at a map, or stay on the trail, though, as there are still areas with land mines. They are only in the more remote regions, deeper in the park. The lower, more accessed areas, have been deactivated in one way or another over the years.

We hiked up the main corridor, along the the river, up the steep canyon that is home to all the climbing routes. This trail was paved in massive stones, the path wider than many roads in this country. We figured only the first few km would be built.  No, some poor sobs broke their backs for miles building this thing.  It was both impressive and highly annoying. Walking on rocks isn't fun very fun.  I would much rather dirt. It was pouring rain, too, making the rocks slick,  adding to the discomfort. 

We ultimately reached a little mountain hut. It's likely a busy place in the summer, bustling with hikers and climbers based on the number of picnic tables.  On this rainy day,  it was just us and another couple that arrived just before us.  It looked like they were staying for the night in the upstairs accommodation. The guy that runs the place invited us in to warm up, but we opted out because the other guests were in there smoking.  It's true, no place in Europe is smoke free.

I explored around the hut and discovered a sign with an arrow that said "swimming pool".  I followed the arrow, and much to my surprise there was a giant rock basin. It was empty now, but was connected to the river via diversion channels.  This thing was about 8 feet deep and probably 40 feet in diameter.  I could imagine good times being had here.

That night, we scoured the little towns looking for food.  Not much open this time of year.  We ended up eating at a small family run hotel. I had the "pork". They brought me a plate containing 3 pork chops and nothing else. We are getting a little fatigued of the meat (and potatoes, if your lucky) diet in croatia. Especially in these small towns in the off season.

The following day,  we bid Dora adieu and pushed farther down the coast.

Istria, Croatia - January 2016

Slow flakes began to lightly fall as we stepped off the bus in Ljubljana. The Slovenian capitol (pronounced lou-blee-ana) was gray and the air had a bite to it. We didn't stay here long, nor venture far from the station.  It was only a stopover between Triglav National Park and Zagreb, Croatia.

Ljubljana had a little edge to her,though.  Graffiti on the walls and train cars. Something we hadn't seen much of until now.  However, it's hard to look your best in overcast and cold,before winters white blanket arrives.

After a quick bite to eat, we boarded our afternoon train to Zagreb. Upon arrival, the evening was setting in, and so was the storm. We were showered in large fluffy, wet, snowflakes as we performed the routine of arriving in a new place, a new country. Find an atm to get cash in the local currency (kuna), figure out the public transportation situation, buy a ticket, get on the tram, fumble through the new ticket scanning system. Each time the routine is less frenetic, more smiles, and more deliberate.

The snow was piling up in Zagreb, and the Christmas lights were on center stage.

We found our way to the Airbnb we rented for just the night.  My big backpack on my back and pulling Clare's bag through the snow.  Clare with the daypack and her handbag. We have settled on this configuration because there are too many stairs to navigate, and Clare is at the point where she can't (er, shouldn't) throw around a larger bag.

The apartment was nice and would more than suffice for the night. It was only equipped with a pull out couch bed and bunk beds. A fact we apparently overlooked when booking.  I took the top bunk, and Clare the bottom.

Excited to be in a city full of restaurants, we found our way to a tapas place we read about online. I had goose liver pate with sweet wine (John taught me that pairing), and followed it with lentil soup and a croation beer. Clare had a roasted beet and goat cheese salad.  The bottle of olive oil on the table was fantastic, the waiter telling us it came from Vodnjan, on the Istria peninsula. We made a mental note as we were soon headed that way.

After a chilly and fast breakfast in the morning  (the hot water heater went out during the night killing the heat registers and hot water for bathing), we headed out.  We geared up our bags and trudged through the fresh 5 inches of snow.  We caught a shuttle to the airport where our rental car was waiting.

When you book a car using an online aggregator and select the absolutely smallest and cheapest option (a VW Up! - 108 euro for 20 days rental) you end up dealing with a company called "Best Rent."

There was no line at the Best Rent counter, adorned by a wrinkled and faded sign. When the agent finally appeared he was all business.  Looking at us with his one eye,  he demanded passports, drivers license and credit card. After some photo copies and running my card for 800 euro "deposit", he handed us the keys and said nice day.  Before we could spit out any questions he had his eye trained down at his phone,showing us only the top of his bald head.  I guess you get what you pay for.  As we left the counter a little dazed and confused by the brevity, he was struck with a flash of humanity and handed us a windshield scraper.

The drive from Zagreb to Rovinj is a few hundred kilometers. About 2/3 of which it was snowing and with heavy traffic. We stopped in a little town just outside of Istria for lunch.  The waitress recommended either the game or the horse meat.  I reluctantly chose the game, figuring the horse would be offered regularly. I haven't eaten horse since i was in Chile in 2008, and always look forward to the opportunity. I blew it tho, haven't seen it again. Anyway, Clare followed suite and we got two large plate fulls of brown globs and dumplings. I think the meat was bear based on its fatty and chewy nature. It wasn't great, but i ate most of it.  Clare left a little hungry.

We descended down out of the mountains into Istria and the snow subsided. We continued on to the coast, and our homebase for the next three nights.

We rented a modest (cheap) one bedroom place on Airbnb. Our host Slobodan (goes by boban, i called him bobodan, not to his face) was a laid back cheery middle aged guy. He and his wife live above the apartment.  He gave us a couple dinner recomendations as it was already after dark, but promised to give us more in the morning.  When we told him we were on a mission for good food, he was on it.

Istria is like little Italy (actually quite near Trieste and Venice), known for its wine, olives, olive oils and truffles. Handmade pasta, cured ham, cheese and lots of fish.

Anxious to get a start on the day, we texted bobodan at about 9:30am and told him we were ready to talk restaurants. He came down and we busted out the map and pen and paper. We weren't but 5 minutes along when he paused, and got up and left.  A few minutes later, he returned with his hands full.  Three wine glasses,  a bottle of white, a bottle of red and a bottle of grappa and three shot glasses.

"It's not too early for wine?" he asked.

He started by pouring three shots of crystal clear grappa. His friend makes it for him. Strong but good. Clare pleaded that she was fine due to pregnancy.  After smelling her portion, i drank it.

Next it was white wine,  malvasia. His friend makes this for him, too. Bobo procures the grapes, then his buddy makes 150 liters for him. It was golden in color and mildly sweet and crisp. Yum. I drank mine and Clare's portion.

Next was red.  Again a home made variety that was great. Two portions for me.  As we meandered on about the food, the red wine kept flowing.

After a couple hours,  bodan left us be, (and left us with the two bottles of wine!). It was now time to find lunch!

We decided to head south and visit Vodnjan, the olive oil mecca the waiter in Zagreb told us about.  We grabbed a pastry at the bakery and hit the road.

As we pulled into the small ancient city, the walls collapsed around us.  Before we knew it, we were driving down cobblestone road that was max 6 feet wide.  We snaked around, constantly wondering if we were on a pedestrian walk way (always being reassured by a random arrow or do not enter sign) until we found a nook to park. It was raining pretty hard, so were happy to stumble across a tourist info office. The folks were busy doing some clerical work and were a little surprised to see us. Everything was closed.  The gal made a couple calls on our behalf, and was able to get a guy to come down to do an oil tasting at his shop. Paul was Irish, married to a croation lady with a family olive oil business, Brist.

He was supper chatty, running us through their lineup and answering all our questions. Needless to say we were the only people in there so it was really nice to have his undivided attention. The stuff we are eating in the usa is not the real deal.

Paul and his wife left other careers to move back to Croatia and help with the family business. It was entertaining to chat with him since clare and i are in a similar situation. Turns out paul wrote a parenting book for ner do well dads to-be that was quite a hit in croatia.  He promised to send me the unedited and unpublished english manuscript.

We had a late lunch/early dinner at a place bodan recommended outside of Pula. Masdive portions of fried calamari, bean soup, istrian sausages and a truffle seafood pasta. I don't think we could muster dessert, but i probably had an espresso as I've gotten into the habit with all my meals.

We cruzed through Pula,saw the coliseum and headed back to Rovinj.

The next day we drove north in the rain along the coast. This is a touristy stretch, so most things were closed. Places that are open are generally "cafe bars" but it's hard to stop at those because every person in Europe smokes.  And they smoke inside. And most certainly smoke while drinking coffee. It's not 100% avoidable, but we try to limit Clare's exposure. We drove into Vrsar, an old little town perched on the sea. We again found our selves navigating extremely narrow roads, up and down hills, thankful we were in the worlds smallest car. We lunched in novigrad and then headed inland.

We wound our way on narrow back rounds to Hum (say hoom), the smallest town in the world. A charming little walled town that serves mainly as an attraction, i assume, but we were the only ones there.

That night we had dinner at Bobo's primary recomendation, Konoba Danijeli. Located in central istria in the middle of nowhere.

Following bodans specific advice, we started with istrian prosciutto with cheese and truffle oil. We then had a homemade pasta with a truffle white sauce. We finished with panacotta and espresso. I think he recommended that we get more, but we learned our lesson the day before. (A lesson we keep relearning as it turns out.)

The following morning it was time to move on.  We bid slobodan adieu and headed toward Plitvice Lakes National Park. We drove across istria then down the coast to Senj. We had lunch over looking the sea and were surprised by how stark and arid the landscape was.  I had calimari, half fried half grilled drenched in olive oil (preferred the fried - grilled is a little chewy and watery). Clare got the grilled shrimp. Erase what you are picturing and imagine a plate of 10 small lobsters.

After lunch we turned in from the coast and started winding up over the tallest mountain in croatia.  As we climbed, the rain turned to snow, and it never stopped dumping.

Dan, Clare