All My Troubles Seem So Hvar Away
From a country with one of the shortest coastlines in Europe in Slovenia to another with one of the longest; that’s if you’re including its seven hundred and eighteen islands, three hundred and eighty-nine islets (whatever they are), and seventy-eight reefs and why on earth wouldn’t you? A historic maritime nation inseparable from the Adriatic forged on naval tradition, trading, and warfare; we had arrived in the great Balkan nation of Hrvatska, otherwise known as Croatia. Despite disembarking in an entirely new country, the Istrian Peninsula, on which we would be settling for the next couple of weeks, shares a great deal in common with its Italian and Slovenian neighbours. The Venetian culture, of which we have been growing increasingly enthralled, is at its height here and its exalted influence could easily be identified in our first destination: Poreč.
With Lowri our guide, having ‘visited’ the town ‘on tour’ with her university sports clan many moons ago and causing a right ruckus by the sounds of things, we began our own mild-mannered tour with a salubrious stroll through its sun-drenched streets and along its pristine promenade. Upon hearing of the many tales of wild, water-polo-player antics, I immediately felt sorry for the poor people of Poreč. However, they haven’t in any way let the endless British student tour groups ruin their pleasant, waterside township; except in terms of price, that is, with everything from a glass of water seeming to start at €10.
A short booze cruise down the pricey peninsula brings you to Pula. A centre of culture not only originating from Venice but also Rome. The Pula Arena, in the heart of the city, is a quite remarkable Roman amphitheatre that makes Carmarthen’s own version look like a disordered mound of rubble which, I suppose, is exactly what it is. It also holds a number of Roman-based records including being the only amphitheatre with all four surviving side towers as well as the sixth largest that remains anywhere in the former empire. You also get a banging view of it from the top of Pula Castle, a star-shaped fortress that also overlooks the bustling harbour and modern-day city centre.
Remarkable though it is, it pales in comparison to my favourite Pulan attraction: James Joyce. Yes, you did read that correctly; the magnificently eccentric Irish author, rather strangely, has a connection with Pula that is far from tenuous. Angered when one of his novels was refused publication in his homeland, primarily for slagging off the Catholic Church, Joyce exiled himself across Europe all the way to Pula. He then lived and taught in the town for several months, with his former classroom now a caffe-cum-shrine to his existence. Caffe Uliks (or Ulysses) has all manner of Joyce memorabilia adorning its interior including manuscripts, monuments, and even a selection of beers made in his honour. However, I do wonder if the proud people of Pula have ever read this delightful Joyce quote on his time there which I must include in its full, unbridled glory:
“I am trying to move on to Italy as soon as possible as I hate this Catholic country with its hundred races and thousand languages. Pula is a back-of-God-speed place—a naval Siberia. Istria is a long boring place wedged into the Adriatic peopled by ignorant Slavs who wear little red caps and colossal breeches.” (Joyce, 1905)
It’s a shame he didn’t make his feelings clearer. Moving swiftly on, we relocated ten minutes south of Pula to the small seaside village of Banjole. Desperately needing to charge Vishnu in order to teach, and with little to no sun powering our barely used panels, we swiftly checked in to a family’s prodigiously muddy front lawn for the ensuing week and had it all to ourselves. Although located in fairly touristy part of the country, it is clear that November is not the most popular time to be van-lifing, which suits us just fine.
And we were also on our lonesome at our next stop: Hum. Although, there’s a good chance of that any time of year you visit. Officially regarded as the ‘smallest town in the world’ due to its minuscule population of thirty and the fact they have an elected mayor, which is still voted for “the old-fashioned way” through the carving of votes into a wooden stick called a raboš, they still manage to maintain a delectable deli, Balkan bistro, and a magnificent microbrewery along its single, slender street. I’m sure you can calculate in which of these three we decided to complete our Istrian adventure. Although, we require all the Dutch courage we can muster as our next leg takes us deep inside Croatia’s rapidly freezing interior.
J
