I am not your ice cube, and other tales of Bol

Sleep.  Sun.  Swim.  Eat.  Repeat.  If you're my roommate, you also sundial to get maximum rays.  As a pale Scottish girl, I'll never win a tanning competition.  But despite SPF 60, I still won most improved.  I don't think either of us stopped smiling for four straight days.

The beach at Bol is a beautiful, natural, ever-changing peninsula.  Its title as the third best beach in Europe would be surprising to many North Americans as it's all rocks, no sand.  But something needs to be clarified - smooth rocks, all sharp edges worn down by the lapping waves.  After three solid beach days without the sneaky surprise of sand in unwelcome places, I was sold.  Every morning after coffee on the terrace of our lovely new room (which was half the price of the old with twice the charm), we made our way into town for breakfast.  Then, we either strolled the smooth stone path or hopped a water taxi to our beach - the biggest decisions of the day being which side of the peninsula to relax on and which were the optimum beach chairs to rent. 

The heat was tempered by regular dips in the water I still can't believe isn't dyed, and the end of summer crowds had thinned considerably. 

We had daily aperitivos on our beautiful terrace while the sun set. 

One day Wendy went diving and I splurged on a beach-front massage.  On another, we took a day trip to Hvar and ate on point sea batt (aka sea bass) and pillowy gnocchi overlooking the harbour.

Our landlady was a gem, and a serious character to boot.  Not only did she greet us with fresh figs, juice and coffee almost every time she saw us, she rescued us from a fate worse than death.  Or more accurately, Wendy's laundry.  Our second to last evening, some hand-washing was done and hung to dry before we headed into town to eat at Mr. Kebab, our new favourite hang-out. 

A very strong wind started up on our walk back, and with a worried frown my roommate let me have first dibs on the bathroom so she could check on the entire contents of her backpack on the line outside our window.  She ducked her head back in with a look of horror - everything was gone.  Already in glasses and pajamas at this point, I agreed to hold the fort down while she sought help.  Two minutes later, my subdued reading in bed was interrupted by the door bursting open.  Our nightshirt-clad landlady, curlers wrapped tightly in her hair, leaped in, brandishing a rake.  No, this was no Halloween movie but rather an honest attempt at collecting the clothing from the hillside.  Eventually the two of them traipsed around the hillside to pass the laundry back inside through the window and all was rescued.  After that chaos, Wendy was rewarded with the A/C on turbo setting all night long.  Even if I had to wear pants and a hoody pulled over my head in order to stay warm.  Wendy - I am still not your ice cube.

Leaving Bol on August 30th was a challenge, and not just because the catamaran left at 6:30am.  We really loved our place there and just didn't want to leave our beloved Balkans in general.

Fortunately, there was a crowd of twelve teenagers on the dock, still drunk and passing around a twenty-sixer, who shrieked and slurred their way through Croatian folk songs as a send-off back to the mainland.  Suddenly, leaving was preferable.  Until next year.

A swim before sleeping

"Think we can fit in a swim before bed?"

Wendy's last email seemed improbable at my 4:15am wake-up call.  The morning was cold, dark and still from the windows of my airport taxi.  The goal to be warm in Croatia by dinner seemed a long way off considering my seven hour layover in Germany.

Downtown Berlin at 8am is a different experience.  Shops are gradually opening up, cafes and pastry stands do a brisk business, cars honk and weave in their efforts to make it to work on time.  The streets are quiet, awakening slowly to face the sun.  Suit-clad fathers cycle by on their daycare deliveries, their toddlers strapped into seats behind.  Mothers patiently teach their children how to lock their runner bikes to the school fence.  Having a few hours in a familiar, albeit cold, city before catching an afternoon plane back to Croatia was a gift.

My heart lifted even more landing in the blazing sun in Split, the past three weeks of rain and chill rolling off.  My roommate bounded off the bus from Bosnia, mega-watt smile firmly in place and ready to hit the beach.  We were on a ferry to Brac in less than an hour, a room booked close to the beach at Bol, the third best beach in Europe.

Well, as usually occurs with the best-laid plans, our arrival in Supetar revealed the promised hourly bus to Bol had stopped running an hour before we even got on the ferry.  A taxi cost $50.  Hmmmmm.  We stopped at a tourist agency for suggestions and experienced one of the joys of off-road travel: the unexpected kindness.

After a leisurely waterfront pizza, the guy running the tourist agency threw our bags in his trunk and drove us 40 minutes across the island for the cost of the bus ride.  As always, having insight into local culture more than made up for sharing the cramped back with multiple car seats.

Speeding along winding mountain roads lit only by the moon lent a surreal quality to the experience, definitely enhanced by my being up for 20 hours.  Setting eyes on our high-priced room was also a surreal event, but more because it contained only one of the promised elements: a small balcony.  But it was 11pm, and no room changes were occurring that night.

The evening was balmy, dark and still . . . except for the two of us skimming through the cool sea.  Yes Wendy, we can definitely fit in a swim before bed.

Living large in Lithuania

Luxury is a relative term when backpacking.  Sometimes it's an expensive coffee, or a sit-down dinner.  You know it's been a rough trip when you pray for a dorm with no snoring.  With an early morning flight out of Kaunas, Lithuania the following day, luxury was a single hotel room, a few extra litas to spend on dinner and an early morning taxi.

Kaunas reinforced Lithuania as the most enjoyable of the Baltics for me.  I arrived late afternoon with a few hours left of daylight to wander.  It's small, full of character and charm.  And a fantastic three course French-influenced dinner on the main square, paired with wine for the price of an Earl's entree at home.  Followed up with a light rain and vivid sunset, and my Baltic sojourn ended sweetly.

Let's get lost . . . in Riga

Over years of travelling, I've developed a highly strategized approach upon arrival in a new place.  It used to be: find the nearest tourist information office, get a map, and begin checking off the sights on my must-see list.  Now, it's much simpler.  Stop first for coffee, if possible to go.  Then get lost.

I've learned it's the aimless wandering that yields the most: the picture that captures the very essence of a place, the perfect restaurant scoped for a memorable meal, a lovely shaded garden to read in on a sunny afternoon or a cozy coffee shop to while away the hours of an unexpected rainy afternoon.  And it's this leisurely discovery that enables the quirky, sweet and lively interactions with people that gives strength of good memory of a time and place.

Riga had the potential to be a frustrating leg of my summer travels.  In the interests of saving my family the worry of me trekking merrily through the wilds of Latvia on my own, I'd added an extra day and a half to my stay.  I'd planned one last night of Baltic "luxury" before my early, rather expensive flight from Kaunas, Lithuania back to Croatia and so was counting my pennies in anticipation. I'd just left the best hostel of my travels for one with which I didn't really connect.  Guess I'm just not a Naughty Squirrel kind of girl.  And then I met someone who shared my great theory of getting lost.

Oh, to be sure, there was some structure, but everything evolved organically:

Sunset drinks at the Skyline Bar

Watching the changing of the guard at the Freedom Monument during a walking tour

rediscovering the beauty of Art Nouveau, not just in the city's official district

finding random photo opps outside the Russian embassy

shopping at the massive daily market, both in and around four Zeppelin hangars

Splashing in the Baltic Sea at Jurmala

watching fireworks beside the scuplture commemorating the 500th anniversary of Riga's invention of the Christmas Tree



experiencing a gorgeous sunset over a traditional Latvian meal


Even the one booked activity, an Eat Riga Beer & Balsams walking tour changed unexpectedly with the addition of three Aussies from my hostel.  A highly irreverent and unorthodox evening with our hysterical guide culminated in a beer and liqueur tasting in a tiny local pub.  Joined at first by our guide's girlfriend, our table spilled rapidly across the sidewalk until we were toasting into the wee hours with our new Latvian best friends.

If this is the end result, I should be getting lost more often.

The perfect morning in Riga

It was with an insanely good latte in hand that I stepped out onto the uneven cobblestones to begin exploring Riga's Old Town.  I couldn't have picked a better day:  August 21st was the 810th anniversary of this beleagured city, which meant music, markets and performances everywhere.  My favourite moment though, happened within five minutes of receiving my coffee.  Ducking under a narrow archway into a hidden courtyard, I was stopped dead by a women's choir, their intricate harmonies wafting out an upper window of a church.  I perched on a post and listened as their director worked with them to tighten a particularly difficult section, in awe of the resonating sound.

A family entered the courtyard from the other side, the woman's face lighting up as she raised a hand to stay her husband.  The daughter mumbled something in another language, but I clearly understood she thought it was a recording.

"No," I quietly murmured, "it's real.  They're practicing."

Just as I said it, the director stopped the song and issued instructions.  The girl's eyes widened; her mother smiled at me. 

"I get goose tingles." she said in halting English, plucking at her arms to illustrate her point.

Me too.

We stood in silence for a time, the soaring notes washing over us.  Then we smiled at each other, and walked our separate ways.

Where the boys are...

For some strange reason, backpackers hostels rely on completely unoriginal names including "backpackers" or "Old Town" in their titles.  Otherwise, the owners aim for cunning, totally unrelated to the region or even reality, animal-based names.  Case in point: I cancelled my original Riga booking at the Blue Cow Barracks once I saw their advertisements touting "for couples and quiet female groups".  (There is a reason for spelling this out - cheap Ryanair flights have made the Baltics the destination hot spot for hooligan stag parties who rip up the old town.  Literally.)  Instead, I ended up at The Naughty Squirrel.  Great location, bad name.

It probably fits the hostel culture of the Baltics, however.  My first night in Lithuania, I looked up from my email to realize I was the only female in the common room.  And when I asked guys throughout my trip why the Baltics, their eyes glazed over and I heard variations on the theme, "Dude, Baltic girls are so hot!"  And they are.  Maybe not overwhelmingly so from my perspective, but then I'm not their target market.  They are perfectly groomed, with short dresses and acres of long, tanned leg in four inch heels.  (Yet they never stumble on the ubiquitous cobblestones - must be genetic.)  Nevertheless, if you're a female traveling through this region you have to prepare yourself for the eventual turn in every conversation with male backpackers where they wax poetic on the beauty of Baltic belles.

And really, what girl carrying the bare bones basics on her back can hope to compete with the locals?  Luggage weight restrictions do not a fashion model make.  At least we don't have to worry about breaking a nail when we hoist up the AK47 in the old Soviet bunker during a more original day trip.

Helsinki or Bust!

After several days of grey, Dean and I were very happy with the clear skies and blustery feel on our early morning walk to the lindaline ferry terminal.  Until we realized the wind meant our booked catamaran wouldn't be sailing.  Directed instead to the huge cruise-like vessel across the port, we barely made it on board in time.

Yes, the seas were rocky and the sun had a slight Fall tinge in the air, but it was a gorgeous day.  We spent the morning wandering around Helsinki and eating reindeer at the beautiful harbourfront market.  Sorry Rudolph.  One of the things I loved was the sheer unapologetic people-watching focus of Helsinki's cafe culture.  While in truth, many sit outside to gaze at the people walking by, Helsinki's chairs were lined up side by side facing the street; front row seats to life, if you will.

The city is quiet and artsy, full of design shops and distinctive buildings.  Dean left at 1pm to catch his train to Tampere, I hopped from park to park, bench to bench and read in the sun.  When I was told my catamaran back was also cancelled, I was rebooked onto another ship leaving from a port a thirty minute walk from the city harbour.  It was a fantastic walk: interesting buildings, cool cafes and women with old-fashioned prams taking their toddlers for walks.

Sidewalk

And I still made it back to Tallinn for happy hour.

Lahemaa National Park, or No Beach for You!

 

Enough with cities, it was time to get back to nature.  The Lahemaa National Park is 475 square kilometres of pine forest along the northern coast of Estonia and Adam, an Aussie working at our hostel, was our knowledgeable and enthusiastic guide. 

We stopped first at some ancient Swedish graves beside the highway.  When the Russians built the highway to St. Petersburg, they unearthed these stone circular graves and moved them beside the new road.  Nothing got in the way of Russian progress . . .

We went next to the tallest waterfalls in Estonia - not much to see at this time of year, but it was nice to splash around for a bit.

The rest of the day was interspersed with: hikes and walks through a bog,

exploring two old German estates, one the essentially deserted Kolga,

The old distillery

the other Palmse manor.

The intended highlight of the trip was a swim in the Baltic Sea.  Instead, we clambered around old Soviet bunkers and rocks in the pouring rain.  Oh well.  The wild swans still paddled among the massive rocks left behind when the glacier from Finland receded.

Happy Hour in the warm hostel common room was extra happy that night.

Three Baltics in One Day



Morning coffee at Caffe Rosa


While the prospect of marking English 9 essays is almost always a cause for procrastination, I'd rather get a brutal travel day over with first.  Which is why I stumbled onto the bus from Vilnius at 6:30am, arriving in Tallinn, Estonia at 5pm, with a 1.5 hour stop in Riga, Latvia.  International train travel is pretty much non-existent in the Baltics unless you're lucky enough to score a Russian visa, so bus is the way to go.  But in my research, I discovered the key to make 9.5 hours on a bus more enjoyable: Luxe Express.  Yes my friends, for only 7 euros more, you too can enjoy free wifi, outlets for charging, free coffee and seats that not only recline substantially but slide away from your seat partner lest you touch.  Worth every penny.

A quick tram ride and I was checking into Tallinn Backpackers right in the Old Town, and it quickly proved to be my favourite hostel of the summer.  A huge, comfy common room, fun staff, great day trips and a cheap communal dinner that enabled everyone to meet and mingle.  The dorms were spotless and the bathrooms brand new.  As a home base for the next four nights, I couldn't have asked for anything better.  And the people were wonderful.  Locals were friendly and welcoming (except for a rude bike tour guide) and I met great people to hang out with, like Dean and Abi - even if Abi was responsible for the most expensive dinner of my time in Europe so far.  At least it was Indian and it had spice, something sorely lacking in the Italian diet.  Abi - I'm expecting even better fare at yours in Madrid this Fall!

Tallinn itself has a pristine 14th and 15th century Old Town with distinctive architecture, moldings and squares.  Wandering aimlessly, as I'm wont to do while traveling, was a joy . . . except for the surprise thunderstorm.  I was literally sopping wet within 30 seconds.  The Estonian language itself is a bit of a muddle, but English is so widely spoken in the Baltics it's almost too easy to be that tourist.  While I'd love to pretend I'm a grown-up, Dean and I were doubled over in hysterics over some of the signs. 

Forgive me, I'm no better than my students.