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My big treat for our first weekend in Croatia was the arrival of my brother Richard, who flew over from London where he is working over the Olympics. He flew into Pula on a Ryanair flight Saturday morning, so Dale and I drove the 2 1/2 hours from Crikveniza to fetch him. As we waited at the arrivals gate, passenger after passenger trundled out. 45 minutes after the plane landed and still no sign of Rich. As elderly women in wheelchairs began to be wheeled out of the doors I began to get worried he had missed his flight. As Dale went in search of wifi to check whether we had a "sorry, but..." email waiting for us, Richard finally emerged apologetically (he picked the wrong queue at customs) and looking a little jaded after his 3am start.
We drove into Pula's town centre for a pick-me-up coffee and a wander around the town's Roman amphitheatre. A quick pizza and beer stop later, we were back in the car and returning to Crikveniza. After giving Rich the grand tour at Drivenik and an introduction to the Adriatic, it was agreed that another beer was in order. Dale, Gareth, Ryan, Rich and I walked to the nearest pub and ordered five beers. The plump waitress cheerfully returned with five half litre handles of Croatian lager, each costing less than $3 NZ. At some stage during that first beer it was decided that we should embark on a pub crawl... A couple of drink stops later and we made it to a restaurant serving jumbo pizzas half a metre in diameter (the XXL pizzas are one metre in diameter, but we would need a few extra people to polish off one of those). One of the Benic boys suggested that Richard might like to try some Rakia (a Croatian spirit made from plums). Dale then suggested that we should all have some Rakia, and soon the helpful waiter returned with a tray carrying five shot glasses full of the eye-watering fluid. While the spirit tastes nicer than others I have tried (Richard described the taste as 'pot pourri'), it certainly burns the throat on the way down! The waiter soon returned with another round of Rakia shots - these ones on the house. Before two shots turned to three or more we paid the bill (dinner and drinks for five people only cost around $100) and wove our way onwards.
As Rich noted, being in this part of Croatia is a little like going back to the 80s. There are still ice-cream cafes, video game parlours, and children's playgrounds with no cushioning under the slides or jungle gyms. Nobody has heard that there is a hole in the ozone layer - so there are burnt bodies everywhere - and everyone owns a lilo. Speedoes are the swimwear of choice for men, everybody smokes, and they still have discotheques. We found one of these discotheques on the beachfront - it was cranking out europop and had dance platforms set up on the sand. The boys didn't know where to look first since in every direction perfectly tanned, scantily clad girls bopped to the techno beat. One thing I have noticed in Croatia are that there is an above average proportion of young, trim, golden skinned beauties. But something must happen to these uber babes after the age of 35, as middle-aged Croatian women seem to be universally beefy, wrinkled, and frequently missing teeth.
I could tell that Richard was tipsy when he threw his hands up and began to vigorously bounce to a song which sounded like it was being sung by the Croatian answer to N'Sync. I could tell that Dale was tipsy when he bought the boys a round of cigars. And I could tell that Gareth was tipsy when he returned from the bar with a litre of a cordial-looking concoction described as 'Sex on the beach'. Ryan (a student), as the only seasoned drinker among us, seemed to be handling the booze, although I don't think his increasingly flushed cheeks were due just to the heat!
It was a long walk back to the apartment and it was shortly after 2am that we finally approached the front door...which was locked. We looked at each other in consternation, conducted a brief search in the hopes of finding a hidden key left out for us, then slumped defeated on the steps and lawn. With two floors of sleeping people below Dale's parents we couldn't call out or ring the door bell without waking the entire building and possibly the neighbours as well. Gareth toyed with idea of scaling the building, but he was sober enough to realise what a stupid idea that was. Dale - who was drunker than his younger brother - started collecting small rocks to throw to the window three stories above, in the hopes that this would wake his slumbering parents. I snorted at this crazy scheme and began looking for a comfortable patch of lawn to lie down on. The other boys did the same, as Dale stubbornly stuck to his plan and hurled pebbles through the night sky, only some of which reached their mark. It was Dale who had the last laugh though, when a pale hand pulled the curtain aside and Dale's mother's face appeared at the third storey window. Dale waved vigorously and then turned triumphantly (and unsteadily) to gloat as Lorraine made her way down the stairs to let us in. Relief turned apprehension as we whispered speculatively as to whether the parents would be furious at being woken. We lined up in order of sobriety (me at the front, Dale at the back). The door opened, and we followed the disappearing ankles up the stairs. When we arrived in the hallway, we were met with amused questions and Dale's dad presenting Gareth with a t-shirt with a health warning against binge drinking written on it (I still don't know where he got it from!!).
We slept late the following day (Sunday), until Dale's aunt and Ouma arrived for a beach trip. The whole whanau traipsed down to the beach, carrying sunblock, towels, and slip on shoes to protect against sharp rocks and sea urchins. Looking a little worse for wear, the boys floated listlessly on a lilo and rubber ring, or floated on their backs squinting in the sunshine. Lorraine organised deck chairs and bottled water and joined us in the cool, clear water, while Zlatko, found a spot in the shade for Ouma to sit and keep an eye on proceedings. The sea around us was full of big bellied, hairy Croatian men, skinny children without sun hats or sun protection, and a mixture of Croatian women - from the young and gorgeous, to the old and moustached.
In the evening Dale's parents suggested we go to see a performance in Kirk by a neighbour from Drivenik who plays in a Croatian musical group. We were keen for some culture, so we travelled in convoy from Drivenik (where Dale's parents had picked up Ouma and Dale's aunt in their car). During the trip we lost sight of Dale's parents' car in front and had to follow road signs instead. When we were 10km from Kirk we had a call from Dale's dad asking where we were and giving us the name of the motorway exit we were supposed to take. Ten minutes later as we reached the outskirts of Kirk he phoned again and it became clear that the concert wasn't in Kirk, but in a town 20km earlier! We backtracked, went round a roundabout the wrong way, took a wrong turn down a narrow one lane street, performed a 20 point turn to get out of the street and finally arrived at our destination feeling frazzled and hungry. Our destination turned out to be a Soviet-era hotel with small outdoor area set with four microphones and a dozen plastic tables with chairs. We joined Dale's family at their table and ordered drinks. When the waiter returned, we asked for the dinner menu and discovered that we could not order food outside but could go inside to the hotel restaurant which was open until 9pm. It was 8:45pm.
The boys and I were feeling famished, so left the olds outside and went in search of food. The restaurant turned out to be buffet only and was deserted, except for a few waitstaff who did not conceal their disappointment at our late arrival. They needn't have worried since when we saw the shrivelled buffet offerings we decided to go in search of better fare. Dale, Rich, Gareth and myself found a restaurant nearby that was still serving food. We each ended up with fried sausage meat, in varying forms, with chips. Hot, greasy and filling. We took a couple of pizzas back for Ryan and the grown ups,arriving back during the break after the musicians' first set. When the musicians resumed, they turned out to be four, grey moustached men, playing varying sized string instruments. They played and sang traditional Croatian songs for 15 - 20 minutes, before taking another break. They returned for another set but by 11pm we were all ready for our beds, so slipped out mid-song.
For Richard's last full day in Croatia, the Benics all went off to work on the house in Drivenik, leaving us to relax in Crikveniza. We began the day with a lie in and coffee on the balcony. We had a couple of chores to complete (hanging up the laundry and a supermarket shop) and then we were free to head to the beach. It was so hot that beads of sweat were running down my face by the time we reached the sea. We ignored the possessive stance of the Germans sitting on the swimming platform when we arrived, dumped our towels and beach bag, and waded out until the salty water was over heads. It was easy to float and chat for nearly an hour in the lukewarm Adriatic. Rich and I lunched at a restaurant overlooking the sea, had another swim, and suddenly it was 3pm and time to meet up with Dale. Despite being tired from a day of sanding and painting at the house in Drivenik, Dale took us to the castle in Drivenik above the Benic's house. (Yes, there are castle ruins in Benic valley). It was still scorching hot as we walked around the towering grey stone walls and paused to admire the view over the forest green valley below.
We returned to the Benic's house to collect Ryan and Gareth for dinner in Crikveniza. We decided on another Jumbo pizza at Corso (for 100 kuna - or $20 NZ - to feed the 5 of us). It was tasty and had different toppings from the pizza toppings I am used to. We chose to have half the pizza 'spicy' (with chilli flakes, spicy salami and dollops of Ajvar - a tomato and eggplant salsa) and half the pizza istrian (with cured ham, garlic, olives, and baby capsicum). The waiter from Saturday night brought us another round of Rakia to finish the meal. Suppressing shudders, Dale, Gareth and Rich downed their shots. Ryan and I enjoyed ours.
Tuesday afternoon was Richard's flight to London. Dale and I once again journeyed more than 2 hours to the airport in Pula. This time we travelled via Opatija - the former holiday destination of choice for Austro- Hungarian Emperors. The gorgeous seaside town is full of spacious Austrian-looking villas, some converted into hotels, others crumbling on the hillside - waiting to be transformed into hotels.
The drive from Opatija to Pula was another hair raising experience - cars overtaking us on blind corners, trucks overtaking trucks, and a chap driving on a four-wheel farm bike on the motorway! By the time we made it back to Drivenik, Dale had almost sworn off driving!! While we had been taking Rich to the airport, the Benic clan had been working hard on more painting and cleaning at the house. The following day we joined them as the home improvements continued. The highlight of the day was discovering a chicken, hidden under some outdoor steps, sitting in a metal bucket on a pile of eggs!
After all the manual labour, we had worked up an appetite, so Dale, his brothers, and I headed into Crikveniza for a pub dinner. We returned to the place where half litre handles cost 14 kuna ($3). A pretty slavic looking waitress was serving and when we quizzed her about the menu, her English was better than most. She recommended the bratwurst to Gareth, adding "I like sausage"- thinking her oblivious to any sexual innuendo we kept straight faces. But I began to wonder about her sense of humour when she brought out Ryan's gnocchi and cracked a Borat joke "Is on the house...NAHT!".
My vegetarian platter turned out to contain an array of deep fried items, most of which included cheese. Not quite the vitamin injection I was hoping for - but then I should have remembered that (a) I was at a pub, and (b) Croatia is stuck in the 80s.
The next day the boys arranged with a family friend to go out on their boat, leaving me with Dale's parents. Zlatko wanted to go to Rijeka to find a part for his broken weed whacker, so we set off via Drivenik. However, when we got to Drivenik it became clear that Zlatko wanted to go with a Croatian neighbour who could give directions to the shop and help with the translation. Dale's aunt kindly offered to take a girls shopping trip in her car, so we left the men and their weed whacker and set off in search of malls. We ended up at the Croatian equivalents of Mitre 10 Mega and Briscoes. Lunch at the diner attached was a real Croatian experience. It was like being back at boarding school - first collect tray and cutlery and then proceed down the line choosing meal components. I began by pointing out pasta from the carb selection. The serving woman began heaping a plate with a mountain of the bow shaped noodles. Next I chose chicken breast in sauce from the meat choices. The serving woman piled on 1... 2... 3 chicken breasts! Looking at the tower of food already on my plate, I was too afraid to ask for anything else and so proceeded to the cashier (the serving woman had a twinkle in her eye, clearly appreciating that there was no way I could finish the family sized portion of food she had dished up. Lorraine, learning from my experience, simply asked for mixed salad and received an enormous bowl of lettuce, red cabbage, green cabbage, raw onion and tomato. The whole bill was $5 NZ - we couldn't believe it!
The boys came back from their boat experience tired and a little sunburnt. They had spent the day picnicking, sun bathing, jet skiing and swimming at a secluded bay - which they had shared with a nude family who had obviously expected a bit more privacy! They arrived back just in time to join us at a barbecue at the home of our land lady, and Benic family friend, Judica. The barbecue itself was wood-fired, with a chimney and the meal had been cooked inside a clay pot placed within the fiery outdoor oven. When the lid was removed, it revealed a neat stack of sliced potatoes, topped with a split chicken, and four bratwurst in a cross over the chicken. To complement this feast, Judica had prepared a salty cheese slice (a pastry bottom with a mild and crumbly soft cheese filling and glazed with egg) and freshly baked bread rolls which tasted like a cross between a croissant and focaccia bread, while we had brought a salad. The meal was delicious - the best we have had yet - and I was just finishing my third bread roll when a further platter was brought out containing two meaty regional specialties (the first looks like sausage shaped meatballs, and the second looked like a hamburger patty with chunks of cheese in it. The meats were accompanied by a tomato salsa, diced raw onion, and a salad of lettuce, cucumber, and grated feta. I stared at the newly arrived food in dismay, wondering where I could possibly put any more food. My four legged solution was the ginger cat sitting at my feet and staring at me with giant pleading eyes. After nibbling on some of the sausage shaped meatball I began surreptitiously slipping pieces to the grateful recipient beneath the table. But this wasn't an option when dessert - apple strudel - was served a short time later. Instead, I relied on Dale's help to finish off most of the strudel, but even he was struggling by the end.
Large meals seemed to have become a theme for our Croatian leg of our trip, so I was ready to pass up a trip to Drivenik the following day for Ouma's handmade gnocchi. Lorraine and I had some girl time - taking a morning swim, going to the hairdresser, salads for lunch, and then some shopping. Dale met up with us in the afternoon after several more hours of labouring in Drivenik. Ouma had postponed gnocchi to that evening, when another Croatian cousin and three of Gareth's friends would be there to enjoy it. Still not recovered enough to feel hungry for another large helping of food, we decided to stick with antipasto and a bottle of wine on the balcony in Crikveniza. (Fortunately for Dale, Ouma saved him some of her special gnocchi, so he didn't miss out on this treat).
With the arrival of Gareth's friends and Linda (the cousin), Zlatko now added taxi service to his handyman duties, and was travelling between Drivenik and Crikveniza more than ever, ferrying people back and forth. The worst night for him was when two more of Gareth's mates arrived in Rijecka at 9pm on Sunday. So Dale's poor dad set off to compete with the Sunday night traffic (as visiting beachgoers from Zagreb made their way home for the start of the work week) and navigate his way to the bus depot in Rijecka and back to Crikveniza - to pick up Linda - and then drop everyone in Drivenik. It was well after 11pm by the time he had finished!
Our last night with Dale's family we spent in Drivenik enjoying another one of Ouma's home cooked meals. Sitting around the outdoor table in the balmy evening, we could admire Dale's neatly mown lawn, and the freshly painted windows, shutters and front door. Zlatko was excited by his discovery in the attic of some newspapers from 1948 (all Croatian of course) and an old wine barrel with straps for carrying on a person's back. Ouma told us stories of the people who used to live next door when she was here 40+ years ago. Just a typical evening in rural Croatia!
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Caroline Ariaens Sounds amazing Victoria!