reflections on a walk to work

This morning I decided to be a big girl and come into work all by myself. As pleasant as my fellow roommates are, sometimes its nice just to have some time to yourself. The breeze was light and there was only a smattering of rain; I headed off down the hill. To my left was the Adriatic Sea, small whitecaps breaking across the water. I could hear the waves hitting the shore of the small beach below but the sound is not thundering like it is in Virginia Beach. It's more a calming, soft swish carried upwards to my ears. On my right were the mountains and various trees and plants and who knows what manner of wildlife. Below, my destination was Old Town and the college.

I walked past the pink wall (a tall barrier for the curve as the road turns) and down the asphalt path that leads to the upper wide stairs. We have names for each of our paths that we take. The 56 stairs to the apartment is "personal hell". The stairs by the house with glass block windows (everything has some sort of landmark, that is how directions are given... "turn right at the Biker's Cafe"... "go straight at the fountain and left at the clock tower"...) is "upper hell". If we take the stairs (all 200+ of them) down by the beach, that is "lower hell".

We have another set of stairs that comes out near the Ploce ("plaw-chick") gate of Old Town. We call these the "wide stairs" (or as I call them affectionately "Harold and Kumar" because words to that effect are spray painted on the side of one of the walls). There are upper wide stairs as well, but we generally don't take them even though they lead to our road. They end in an asphalt path at the top that is covered in part by thick trees. It's like walking through a rabbit hole even though it's just a short distance. We prefer to be out in the open where we can see the sea below.

I took the upper and lower wide stairs this morning. These are nice because it's not constant stairs with infrequent landings like upper and lower hell. Instead, its a two steps, a long landing, two steps, a long landing. You get a rhythm going as you walk along, your sandals slapping out a beat on the well-worn rocks and marble.

I arrived at the base of the stairs and crossed the street; rather than going through Old Town (they wash the stone walkways and main street in the morning and it's slippery as hell), I took the sidewalk around the fortress and along the road. It's easy to feel insignificant as I look up at huge stone walls above me, walls that protected the city and kept its inhabitants safe. As I continue, I walk under a stone bridge, high above, and am flanked by rough stone walls on both sides kept in place (although I think it's just for show, I can't imagine it offering any real protection) by wire netting. It's a one-lane road, with intermittent steel poles, about three feet high, the only protection against getting run over by a delivery truck, a mini-car (they all seem to be mini-cars around here) or a motorscooter.

As I continued, I couldn't help but marvel at the ingenuity and dedication it must have taken for people to build these walls, these fortresses. Each block of stone chipped away to make reasonably consistent squares then stacked up on top of each other. It wasn't like you could have loaded up a cart at Home Depot and built it by yourself. How many people have walked along this sidewalk, shoes and boots wearing it down? What dreams and ideas and thoughts did they have to share with the world? How many had ice cream cones in their hands (ice cream is the BIG treat here... and it's difficult to describe how amazing the flavors are)?

I walked past the Pile ("pee-lay") gate of Old Town, right near one of the ice cream shops and ATM. Yesterday after lunch we treated ourselves to dessert before we headed to work. Cathy got a lime ice cream that was delicious. I opted for a tiramisu dessert. Now, before you start salivating along with me, it was the size of a double shot glass. A whipped sort of cream/cheese with a layer of coffee liqueur. It had a teeny tiny spatula-type spoon to eat it and I did my best to savor it so it lasted more than two mouthfuls. It made me think of how small pleasures can be so easily overlooked and unappreciated.

We're struck by how odd it is to be walking along the narrow sidewalks and people don't move out of your way or smile at you. We're told that is the Croatian way, but I wonder why. We are also curious how people seem to know we're Americans before we even open our mouths. People stand along the Stradun, the main street of Old Town, holding out menus for you to look at; they always seem to have the English page opened for us. It's not like we have tattoos of American flags on our foreheads. Maybe Croatians just have a better sense for reading people's faces, expressions.

Life here seems so simple and uncomplicated. The food is fresh and the pace is unhurried. The football fans are enthusiastic to the nth degree. The kids seem joyful and unstressed; happy to chase after the pigeons by the clock tower, realizing they'll never really catch one. The teens seem to be in their own world, much like America, but they don't look sullen or resentful of life. And the old folks (like myself, middle-aged and above), while not outwardly smiling, seem to be happy and satisfied with their lives. Just like in the States.

Yes, people and life here can be much like it is in America as well... I just put in my 3 kunas for a moccachino from the machine right outside our office. I watched as the coffee and syrup and milk mixed directly... into the dribble pan... as no cup had descended... yep, 3 kunas right down the drain. Sixty cents I'll never see again. The only problem; the vending machine man doesn't understand a word of English and I don't understand a word of Croatian. He has machines to stock and I have blogs to write. Life is like that sometimes.

mir... a

(p.s. I still have not figured out how to unload my camera, but I promise once I do, pictures will be forthcoming... and I thank people for their comments. I haven't been good about acknowledging them individually, but they are appreciated nonetheless.)