BRNA, ISLAND OF KORCULA, CROATIA - DEEP THOUGHTS

by Dan Winters (posted by his more techy savvy daughter)

We bagged the drive from Split and the chance to visit more Roman ruins at Ston and took the ferry directly to Korcula. This saved three and a half hours of driving and the danger of visiting more Roman ruins in Ston. We almost flunked Ferry 101. They said to go to pier 24, 45 minutes early. We arrived and there was a line of cars, but no Pier 24 sign.  We worked out our way up car to car, but all the drivers were from a country other than Croatia and knew nothing. Anxiety reined. Finally, an English women put it all in perspective, "Don't fret, Love. If it is mucked up, we mucked it up together." Despite being there an hour early, we were the last of 40 plus vehicles on board. I don't know, maybe it was alphabetical. We sat on the covered upper deck and watched the backpackers sleep, the Germans eat, all nationalities selfie, and the handsome romantically named islands of Hvar, Brac and Vis slip by.

 

On Korcula, we are staying at the (not making this up) Hotel Feral. Websters says that feral means "...having the characteristics of a wild beast". There were no wild ones at the hotel, but there were quite a few domesticated ones around the pool. The hotel sits on a quiet bay and we took off a couple of days to just chill. We had time to think about some strange stuff we thought we had observed. Here goes:

 Puzzling Croatian Behavior:

1.      Dangerous Gearshift Disability. Twice we asked our guides to drive our rent-a-car. Twice they were unable to master that complex modern gadget: the automatic transmission. By the way, the automatic was invented in 1921. Each guide, lifelong manual guys, tried the manual clutch/gas start up thing, but with the brake pedal and the gas pedal resulting in the engine roaring and the car shotgunning forward when the non-clutch brake was released. One said, "There is a brake on somewhere." We thought, "Yeah, under your left foot." Another guide, in order to slow for a stop light, downshifted from drive to park at 45 miles per hour. We thought, "If you touch the gear shift again, no tip."

Bobbers everywhere

2.      Excessive Bobbing: At the Feral, most of our hotel mates took dips in the bay that bordered the foundations of the hotel. It was warm, smooth, luscious. But no one swam; they bobbed. Everyone, hundreds of people, all genders and ages, freakin' bobbed. No getting your hair wet. There were a few minor exceptions: some light dog paddling, a couple of ladies boldly side-stroked, and one mad man did the breaststroke. A revolutionary, innovative and very brave women put a face mask on, actually put her face in the water (but not her hair) then did a deadman's float. No movement—weird. We swam some laps free style. People adverted their eyes. What do they know that we don't?



Squint and you'll see some nude people

3.      Really Unwanted Nudity: It is a rule, maybe a criminal statute in Croatia, that if you are a male, over 60, and your beer belly hangs down at least to mid-testicle, you must wear a speedo. One old bruiser even had a thong on. Carol still can't sleep. Likewise if you are a female over 60, and your tits sag down eye-to-eye with your belly button and you must, I repeat, must sunbathe topless. One old broad went total newborn. I still can't sleep.

all smiles here

4.      No Gratuitous Smiling. My dad was a vibrant guy with a big positive voice. When he walked down the street he would make eye contact and say, "Hi! How are you doing?" to everyone. It kind of creeped my brother and me out, but the passerbys loved it and burst into big smiles. What are you going to do? His name was Howie—that's what Howies do. In Croatia, if you did the Howie thing, you would get nothing. Nothing! No "hi" back. No smile. Not even a "Screw off" look. You would get blank. Which is strange because every Croatian we have spent any time with, was charming and gracious and get this—had a great smile.