kicking back on korcula

After Split, the plan is to get a catamaran to Hvar, stay a couple of nights, then to catch the car ferry to Dubrovnik, via Korcula. But the catamaran is booked out, despite being told the previous day that there is no need to buy tickets in advance, so we end up on the darkly wooded island of Korcula for six nights.

My dream is to 'kick back' on a Dalmatian island for a few days before our week in busy Dubrovnik.

The locals 'kicking back' in Korcula.

We book a traditional guest house in the middle of 'Old Korcula Town', arriving after dark and unable to find anyone who knows of the place. Standing in the middle of the bustling, lamplit main square outside the cathedral, after an hour of fruitless searching, we are approached by a jolly faced man with a moustache. ''Can I help you?'' he asks. Dave is wary. ''No thanks.'' He has the lap top out and is looking for the address.

''I think you want me,'' the man laughs. ''Come down this street. I am down here. Let me take your bag.''

As I start to follow him, Dave mutters, ''No. Don't go with him. You don't know who he is.''

I am all for going with this friendly chap. ''We are looking for Vitaic guest house,'' I say. 

''Yes, yes. That is me. Number 8.'' He leads us down steep stone steps in a dark walkway.

To our relief the sign on the green door says it is the place and he is the owner. ''Thank you for finding us.'' I say.

'Traditional' guest house is a euphemism for a bit drab with brown carpets and an old fashioned wardrobe, but it soon becomes our 'home.'

It is such a great location, very quiet, with friendly and kind family owners, good air-conditioning, a fridge and Wi-Fi. Believe me these things matter after several months travelling.

If I lean out of our window I can see the glittering Adriatic at the bottom of the steps. We watch the sunset every night from our favourite restaurant six steps down from our front door.

I know that I have enjoyed nearly every place we have stayed on this trip of a lifetime, but I have to say that Korcula is the romantic island of my dreams. Apparently there are smaller, more serene islands such as Mljet, but Korcula is just right for me.

The 'Old Town' which juts out on a thumb of a peninsular is small and perfectly formed, the views are indescribable, the weather is sublime, and the water is like translucent hand painted silk. I feel my heart swell with happiness at the sheer beauty of the place.But I can't convey this feeling, this place, this fleeting moment in words or even in Dave's pictures.You can't feel the sun on my back, or the breeze tickling my skin, Nor can you smell the salty sea or taste the soft salty cheese in my salad. You can't see the colour and shape of every pebble beneath the water or the speed boat cutting a white streak through a sapphire sea or hear the vociferous local women chattering on the bench as their gaggle of grandchildren splash and dive from the concrete wharf into the sea.
For me you can't beat "being there." Virtual reality just doesn't compete with the real thing.

 Even the souvenir shops and occasional tour groups don't detract from Korcula's charm. Since it was part of the dominion of Venice for several centuries the Italian influence is strong, not only in art and architecture but in something less tangible. Perhaps an easy going relaxed ambience? Good food and wine? 

Korcula Town claims Marco Polo as a native son, although there is no convincing evidence of where he was born. He is another traveller whose exploits became legendary partly because of the power of words. When captured and imprisoned by the Genoese he dictated the stories of his adventures, later published as 'The Travels of Marco Polo',  to his cell mate. 
Just as many travellers write to record what they find elsewhere, many writers travel to find themselves. Some, like Emily Dickenson, don't go anywhere. They contain worlds within their heads. Others need to leave to find their stories. Like Janet Frame, the New Zealand author, some of us need to go to the island to find the is-land. 

Such is the quality of the fruit in this area for the wine of Korcula, it will be recommended to us at restaurants in Dubrovnik

We walk through vineyards and spend a day at a nearby sandy beach reading, swimming, and lolling on sun lounges under a sun umbrella; Old Dog remains fully clothed and supine as he monopolises the small circle of shade and watches the scantily clad sun lovers. A day at the beach is not his idea of fun!
 

A dave at the beach.

We explore the tiny streets of Korcula which radiate down from the central square like the spokes of a wheel, sit for hours over coffee or wine or fish or fresh Dalmation salads watching boats glide on the smooth sea. Two Englishmen share fishing tips.One of Korcula's many cats sprawls indolently across the pavement until the waiter nudges her onto a step out of the way of the tourists looking for lunch.The menu is in Croation, English,German, Italian and French [in that order], suggesting the tourist demographic

As I swim in the harbour around moored boats, the stone walls of the village are amber in the early evening light. Another cat sits on a coil of ropes watching me with disdain, and the ruffled surface of the sea shimmers, while fish tickle my legs in the darkening water below. 

Time to get ready to see the famous sword dance which has been performed only in Korcula, for 400 years. Entering the outdoor theatre we are advised that it is too dangerous to sit in the front row. We love the drama of the performance; the red knights fighting the black knights [over a young woman]; the proud faces of the male dancers; their strength ,skill and grace; the sparks flying as they clash swords; the brash accompaniment of the local brass band.
As the applause dies, one of the older dancers with laughing blue eyes announces that he has been dancing the Moreska for 63 years and has just cracked his 2,000th performance. It requires strength, agility and an impeccable sense of timing. Impressive for a man of his age.
 

We marvel at the stone masonry and carving skills for which the Korculans were renowned and pray in the cathedral and the three tiny chapels for our sons.

After three days of such joy, 'kicking back' became 'crook back'. I bent over and my back 'went out',

I spent three days in bed, drugged to the eyeballs, and screaming when I tried to stand. I am sure the owners thought that Dave and I were having all kinds of sexual adventures in our room.

They smiled knowingly when he went out for food and drink. 
 

Stone carving skills for which 
the Korculans were renowned

When I was incapacitated, I read Caryl Phillip's book of essays, 'Colour Me English' with his sharp observations about racism, class and the tyranny of difference.

I realise that one of the benefits of travelling to other places is to recognise that despite our superficial differences we share a common humanity, a wonderful diversity which we can embrace rather than fear.

As Caryl says, to seek essentialism in others [or perhaps even ourselves] is to follow a dangerous path indeed. This is what my journey is teaching me.

Our view of the mainland, from the ferry, as we departed our new-found 'idyllic haven'