Orebic is Pronounced Or-uh-Beech

Trip Start Aug 01, 2006
Trip End Dec 29, 2006

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Flag of Croatia  ,
Monday, September 25, 2006

**Saying no to a toddler has the same effect as a yellow light to drivers. Both groups try to complete their task more quickly before getting in trouble. **

Paying the bus driver 20 Kunas for storing our luggage we boarded the bus with a young German couple and left for the coastal town of Orebic. This is Croatian wine country and the dry rocky landscape was dotted with small grape vineyards and pine trees. As we threaded through a high mountain pass we looked down and saw a harbor town nestled in the crevice of a two ominous cliffs. Excited with curiosity we vowed to try going back to this town to explore it.

With the hiss of the air breaks the bus pulled into the harbor and we headed to the phone to confirm our lodging plans. The tour guy was obliging and picked us up at the harbor and we drove out to the edge of town in a struggling, luggage-filled Ford Fiesta. Along the way I questioned him about the town we had seen but the conversation was as fruitful as Julia Robert's brain during a calculus exam.1 Giving up on any excursion outside the city limits we checked the internet cafes for bad financial news from home and decided to spend the rest of the day at the beach. This turned out to be relaxing and refreshing. It was a long sandy beach that in Croatia gets 4 sand stars but in California would only get 2. My boys and I also got to test drive my new Speedos.2 Collette met a local friend and immediately pirated his inflatable raft and water tube. They spent a good hour trying to hurt/play with each other and the other father and me bid our time by reprimanding our respective kid each time they tried to do some inappropriate act to the other. With a hefty throw the other kid sent a stick whizzing by Collette's head. The other father barked his disapproval and the only thought that occurred to me was that I was glad his kid had done it and not Collette because it could have easily gone either way. It is easier to take care of a boo-boo, which can easily be dispatched with a well placed kiss, than a misbehaving kid.

The town has a long road that follows the coastline and is sprinkled with the usual assortment of churches, nick knack stores and restaurants. One afternoon we spent eating lunch at a restaurant while watching a novice windsurfer continuously fall, get up and try again. I noticed others were watching him because when he fell an "ahh" of sympathy would pulse through the tables. After leaving we smelled something like poo and it was. One member of our party had gone poo in their diaper.3 We picked a small umbrella-filled outside bar to violate their bathroom and to have our afternoon beer. We were in luck because the windsurfer under no other propulsion than the current had drifted in front of the bar. The bartender and I discussed the merits of learning something new and the strength of the wind. Like most beer conversations I felt we were discussing some profound philosophy that somebody had to write down due to its importance and depth and that we had formed some type of bond. In the end I think the windsurfer entertained half the waterfront without ever standing up.
Our spirits were rejuvenated partly because of the weather improving and partly because it was a relaxing town offering nothing that we absolutely had to see.

1. As an arrogant American I expected him to speak perfect English while I only spoke two words of Croatian and one of them not too well.
2. If we don't get any feedback to the log I will post a picture.
3. Collette.
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