DAY 42

Monday 22 August 2011

We woke up to a fantastic sunny (hot!) day, walked down to the “wild beach” side of the campground and started the day with a dip in the sea. Worked on the blog in the dining room (you can figure out why we get behind), took another dip, walked to the market down the road, where the shop owner said she knew a woman down the road who had recently moved back from San Pedro, Dian’s home town (a harbor town home to many Croatians over the years).

We decided to have dinner in the restaurant. The previous night they had goulash featured, for 65 k ($12), but everything was double that. Charles really wanted the goulash and our merry host Milan said, I think we still have two portions, and we said, Perfect! The goulash was incredibly good and the portions huge, with potatoes and a tuna pate that was outstanding. Milan came to our table plying us again with his six-pack of “medicines,” and this time Charles went for the “Motor oil” rather than the “Penicillin” or “Antibiotic,” while Nicole and Dian chose #1, the homemade sherry. Later he offered us a marmalade-filled bun as well.

Milan asked Dian if she would sing something with the band (guitar-6-string traditional mandolin-viola trio with great vocal harmonies), and he suggested “Clementine.” (Note: Dian’s mom and dad sang the same song on a visit to Yugoslavia/Croatia in the ‘80s. It’s very popular here.) After that rousing sing along, with Nicole adding harmony, Milan announced she was a jazz singer from LA, and she launched into “All of Me,” which the band didn’t know but followed masterfully. Her Satchmo scat break brought the audience to a fever pitch (her words), and she had to exit through the crowd back to the table shaking hands and receiving gifts of local sherry and honey from Milan and the staff. A table of Bavarian Germans sent over some fantastic fish (holy mackerel, literally!). So much great food, we carried back doggie plates for the next day.

Dian slept under the stars, knowing that all the garlic she consumed would keep away the mosquitos (and every other living creature).

DAY 41

Sunday 21 August 2011

After we awoke, we got fresh bread and had coffee with the family next to ours. They gave us tips on routes, good as gold, because Christian works at the Auto Club in Munich and is very well connected all across Europe.

One last dip before we split to Split. It’s a big city and we braved driving in to see what we could see, like Zagreb. Then we went back to the coast where Charles’ hard-earned research paid off. A camp he found that looked good turned out to be gooder than good.

Given that Internet access was becoming increasingly elusive and an important part of where we decided to stay, Camp Serena turned out to have not only that (gratis), but the most spectacular view in a Big Sur kind of way. Luckily for us, they had a few spots open and we chose one with 180° view of the Adriatic. After parking in our sweet spot we all decided to take a dip. Nicole started down one path, and Charles and Dian unknowingly down another. Once Dian and Charles were at the beach they couldn’t locate Nicole but weren’t too worried. Amazingly they reunited in the middle of the sea. Pretty wonderful when you consider there were 200 campers and many places to enter the sea from.

The manager, Milan, an animated host, offered us some of his own Raki and sherry with a large die that you could roll to choose which of the six numbered bottles you wanted to taste. We liked the ones he called "Penicillin" and "Antibiotic." His daughters Georgia and Maria also gave the camp a welcoming feel. Charles had an interesting discussion with employee Sanda (a civil engineer) about comparative education systems.

We had dinner listening to the wind blowing in the pines, then as the winds died down we listened to live music wafting from the restaurant. We fell asleep to folk songs and distant waves lapping.

DAY 40

Saturday 20 August 2011

We liked tiny Camp Michael, but decided to move on. By 6:30 AM the temperature was already climbing. Dian walked into town and found a little bakery. We had a quick breakfast of fresh croissants and kefir and continued our drive down the Dalmatian Coast.

 The siren call of the cool Adriatic was irresistible. Five times we stopped for a revitalizing dip in the cool waters (it also alleviated some BO problems).

We explored some small villages along the way. A lot has changed since Tito and Communism released their grip in 1989 but they still had the feel of the old fishing villages centuries ago.  We stopped at a tourist office in one, and they offered us a taste from three different bottles of homemade liquers (now THAT’S the kind of tourist information we like). One was Raki, the local version of White Lightning. In another seaside village, Charles drove down a narrow lane, based on a point of his European driving philosophy that was proven false: if a car fits, you can drive there. Dian did a great job backing out under pressure with all the locals staring. Only a few towels were run over (why no one said “You can’t drive here” was a testament to the Croatian live-and-let-live philosophy). By the way, have we mentioned that everyone assumes we’re German because of the plates on our car, and in cases like these we don’t correct them.

We pulled over right next to the water in a cove and decided to spend the night. We splurged with dinner out at the only restaurant in Marina and were told after a delicious meal of seafood risotto and spaghetti that it was safe and we were allowed to stay where we were for the night. We met our “neighbors,” a wonderful German-Croatian couple and their daughter, Elizabeth. Christian and Shelly invited us in for a beer and Dian went in the ocean one final time in its inky blackness.

And also a dip at night

Charles sacrificed his ears and music sensibilities for the sake of Internet access, at the local beach bar with high decibel pounding Eurotrash.

Our view from where we would be sleeping

We kept our air vents on the roof open which was fine to bring the temperature down a few degreees, but unfortunately this roadside turnoff was a place where people pulled in and often smoked a cigarette or two. Ugh.

DAY 39

Friday 19 August 2011

We bought groceries, car necessities and had a spare key made. Decided to skip the expensive highway vignette and be on the lam as we slipped through Slovenia. An hour later, we entered Croatia, with a real border, and got our first passport stamps since landing in Europe. We drove to the nearby large city Zagreb, found a bank to get some kuno (local currency), where the friendly teller taught us some essential phrases. When Dian said, I have a question, he responded, "Shoot." and we all laughed.

So far we’d encountered what the Europeans had been apologizing for as a rainy and cooler-than-normal summer. We got used to the rain (it never stopped us from doing what we wanted), and appreciated that it wasn’t blazing hot. But it soon became hot - 32+ C in Zagreb, hotter as we went south, into the high 90s F.

We thought the toll on the highway to Zareb was bad enough at $15, but from Zagreb to the coast was a shocker: close to 40 bucks. Finally reaching the coast, with no air conditioning, we were anxious to dive into the sparkling deep blue waters of the Adriatic Sea, and wasted no time. We also stopped to take a photo of an official road marker for a wild pig crossing – when’s the last time you saw that in the US?

We found Camp Michael, a few steps from our van to the water, and settled in. Michael’s son Ante welcomed us on the veranda with three very tall (1.5 l) frosted beers,  and we found out he’s been working there 56 years, all his life. We slept well, with the sound of the water lapping, but with visions of the bad Speedos we had seen racing through our minds.

The wild pig sign

A fisherman at work. Photo by Charles

Photo by Charles

DAY 38

Thursday 18 August 2011


We said goodbye to the friendly staff at Camp Clepardia after four nights, our longest camp stay yet, for a long (10 hour) day of driving through four countries to the Dalmatian Coast, through the big Croatian city of Zagreb. Charles bought a much-needed big map book of Europe. (People like Howard, on the road for three and a half years straight, said GPS or no, you HAVE to have good maps!)

A final farewell to Camp Clepardia and Poland

We sent out six post cards, postage totaling US $15 -- now you know why you never got one.

Street art in Krakow

Update: on our long drive, Jill the GPS changed her gender and nationality to become the smooth Daniel of  Britain. When he's right, he's Danny Boy.

Fountain sculpture in Krakow

We spent the night at a rest stop.

DAY 37

Wednesday 17 August 2011

While we waited for the mechanic to open up, Dian went and bought some rain boots. At noon we took the car in for the final fan belt and filter parts.

When Charles and Dian were squabbling about which way to get back, Nicole, self-named The Homing Pigeon, often lead the way (coo).

We thought of Grandad when we saw a firehouse by the Salt Mines!

Tunnels leading from one area of the mine to the next

Since so many people (including our guru Rick Steves) had raved about the Wieliczka Salt Mines, we decided to go in our van since it was only a half an hour away. Humming like a Singer sewing machine, we took our van to the famous Salt Mines, the oldest continuously running mine in the world, and the sixth longest operating business in Europe. Charles’ press pass got him in free, and Nicole’s student status gave another discount. Dating from the 1200s, the miners themselves carved sculptures of various subjects from Copernicus (one of the first tourists there) to Brownies (little mine elves who worked after the humans left) to the Pope (the Polish one).  After taking the life-risking elevator cage up to the surface, we had a ten-inch Duzy, a chocolate and vanilla soft-serve.

Stairs leading down into the mines

Driving through Krakow, our rumbling tummies urged us to find an authentic Polish restaurant. We ended up at an authentic Chinese restaurant. The food was delicious with large quantities and good prices (be forewarned: when requesting tap water, please confirm that it is indeed tap water you are being served, or you will be charged for mineral water at  $3 a pop – pop would be cheaper).

It's a Duzy!

DAY 36

Tuesday 16 August 2911

We found a recommended mechanic nearby for a needed tune-up. He had no time for some of the other things we needed done, but we had to get the basics handled, since it had become our car for the duration. It was about $85, more expensive than Ruben charges us in Santa Monica (and we even provided the oil). Still: the only thing cheaper in Europe is beer.

We bought a needed pillow, and a lightweight, British-made mountaineering hammock (Polish: hamak). We also made sure the car would be done no later than 3:30, so that when we returned from our tour with Kris, (leaving at 4 PM), we would have a place to sleep that night. It was.

Dian, Kris and Charles

As we walked and rode the subway with Kris, we learned that he was getting a degree in International Economics, emphasis Taiwan (he studied there), and he said when we saw him performing chores around the camp with his iPod in, it was Mandarin lessons he was listening to, not pop music.

The first sight was a square filled with large metal chairs, spaced evenly but far apart, a monument to the Jews who gathered there thinking they would be “relocated,” meaning exterminated, and they put up a losing fight. Next, a visit to Oskar Schindler’s factory site, now a museum. Then, a highlight off the beaten path: a huge mural covering a large building by street artist Blu. It sparked controversy because many of the very Catholic Poles did not take well to the depiction of someone speaking into an oppressive huge megaphone shaped like a bell and covered with the Vatican coat of arms, hovering over a mass of upturned faces. Open to interpretation.

We walked a bit through the center of town but skipped some of the usual tourist sites. What we did not skip was Polish pizza, at the best place in town. Finally we took a bus to a far part of  Krakow where there was an old stadium and one wall of it, about four blocks long, was filled with graffiti. Nicole especially was happy to shoot some of the scenes.

We took a taxi back to camp, where Kris’s smiling colleagues cheered his triumphant return. We invited him back for a beer and wound up playing Boggle with yet another non-native-English speaker. He held his own, and then we lapsed into scary folk tales, about Smok the local dragon.