Saturday, September 26, 2015

Shirtless Drug Lord

The bus ride back to Dub town proved to be just as entertaining as the first.

-we had to stop for gas half way to fill up. Shouldn’t they have done that before?

-Border control: boarded the bus and collected all passports in ONE giant pile. THE WHOLE BUS WORTHS. Then when he was done leafing through them, he dropped the pile off with the driver and we were off. WITHOUT KNOWING if he’d accidentally left one behind. We passed the whole stack back through the bus and picked ours out as if we were in class passing back worksheets.

-The girl behind me farted audibly and announced it to her friends. (In a British accent, which somehow made it that much funnier.)

Dub town welcomed us back with rain as punishment for leaving. 

Luckily our new spot wasn’t too far from the bus stop. 

Unluckily it was up another giant hill.

We arrived at the guesthouse with much too much hope to have it end with... being greeted by a shirtless drug lord.  

The gate was opened by Ole Raskevic, who looked like he wore a shirt maybe 3% of the time. 

He was way too comfortable shirtless. He possessed a large belly, and an even bigger slobbering dog, who had unfortunately, taken a liking/licking to Lil Bea.

Ole Raski shook my hand and that’s when I noticed his extra-long-Guinness-book-of-world-records pinky nail. Surely it was there for some sort of purpose? People don’t just grow one nail that long for no reason. Probably drugs I decided. 

Ole Raski had just enough charm in his smile to make me not run for it. That and the fact we had already paid.

He carried Lil Bea up the first set of stairs and I wondered if she’d break his prized nail. 

He showed us to our room. Our air condition-less room despite the description when I had booked it. His explanation of the lack of wifi was the real show stopper though.  It involved a charades performance including something about lightning, an explosion, and ended with, “KAPOW!” 

Ole Raski smiled and left us to it, and that’s about when I decided I’d be sleeping on top of the covers, whistle in hand.

We were tired but wanted to explore Dub town a bit before leaving in the morning so checking in to Ole Raski’s was the perfect motivation to get back on a bus to go walk around old city.

I was in search of a bar built into the cliffs that went by the name of Buza bar. It wasn’t easy to find in the dark, meandering the streets of the old city. We found our way, my keen sense of tracking down booze, leading the way. It may have been night time but the view was still gorgeous. 

We sipped our drinks to the beat of the salty breeze as it swayed the streak of moonlight dancing on the sea. So relaxing...until I remembered we had to go back to Ole Raski's.

But first, a drink. Also, I wanted a picture, and the next people coming down the stairs to our seating level were the chosen photographers. The Australian women gladly snapped a beautiful photo. Of the railing.

“I’m the worst at taking photos! Let me try again!” she waved her arms about.

Second photo attempt...nailed it!
Her friend, Dr. C, started chatting with us, eventually inviting us to stay with her family in Melbourne if we were to make it to Australia. Oh, and did I mention she's a Chiropractor? Jackpot. We were definitely going to need an adjustment after carrying these backpacks for 5 months, so Dr. C if you’re reading this, hook a girl up! 

Also, we’ll see you for airport pick up in a few months? But, seriously though.

That night, we fell asleep to the sweet sweet sounds of a Symphony of dogs barking.

I "slept" board straight on top of the covers, afraid to jostle up whatever germs and such resided on the bedding. The pillow was so high it was like sleeping sitting up, and resulted in the crick of all cricks in my neck the next day. Perfect for riding the bus to Split for 5 hours.

We bid adieu to Ole Raski, who was wearing the same shirtless shirt as the previous day.  This time at the bus, we were prepared for the luggage checking situation and cost. So, there was that.

The projected five hour bus ride turned into 6, so although we should’ve had plenty of time, we would now be lucky if we made the ferry that we had bought tickets for. If we didn't? There wasn't another one for 7 hours.

Thank god we had a whole bag of Ribice, the weird Croatian cracker snack that shouldn’t be good but somehow was.

We sat in traffic, dangerously close to missing the ferry. 

My nerves inquired with the bus driver, “Will we make it?”

“I don’t know, this is everyday like this for me. Make me a lunatic.” 

It wasn’t looking good.

We rolled up to the bus terminal, KJ and I ready to bolt off the bus. The driver expedited our bag retrieval, and we RAN.

We ran across the street. 

We ran along the water on the sidewalk, dodging many people. 

We ran past the ticket offices. 

We ran up to the ferry sporting our hefty packs and Lil Bea. 

Lil Bea whined by way of squeaky wheels as they soared over a medley of curbs and cobblestone. I was sure one of her wheels would be a casuality.

We. Had. Just. Made. It. Can’t. Breathe. So. Sweaty. Again.

All I could think on the ferry to Vis was that we needed a Home Ec miracle. Food, laundry, and sleep. But for now coffee would do.

As we pulled up to Vis Island, the ferry ramp slowly lowered, and it felt as if we were waiting to be released into Jurassic Park. As long as Jurassic Park had air conditioning and wine, I didn't care.

Our island accommodations were to be a studio apartment in Komiza, on the other side of the island from the main port. All I knew was that someone by the name of Petar was going to be there to pick us up. Also that he was to be my new best friend if this was true. 

We hopped off the boat, Lil Bea dragging her wheels. I was starting to realize that she could be a real brat sometimes.

Like a dream come true, there was not just one person holding a sign with my name scrawled across it just like in the movies…but two, no three. How many of me was there? I raised my free hand (that Lil Bea wasn’t clinging to like a toddler) as a surrender.

“That’s me!” I greeted whilst trying to decipher which of the sign bearer trifecta was actually Petar. We were escorted to a van with another group of travelers and I still did not know which of the three wise men was Petar. Just then an adorable old man approached me. He introduced himself as Petar, and even his handshake felt like a hug. 

We arrived at the apartments and met his wife Donka, who greeted us with the warmest of warm embraces. They spoke little English, but within seconds our bags were off, Lil Bea’s cries put to rest, and   were Grappa cheersing in glorious air conditioning.. Petar and Donka were our miracle. Komiza was already a magical place.

I felt like I had just been welcomed home.

**Disclaimer: I can not confirm, nor deny that Ole Raski's profession was in that of the drug lordish realm. However, this was my take on the situation combined with my imagination. All roads in my head lead to drug lord. And, the pinky nail. Come on people.

No comments:

Post a Comment