Korčla, Croatia

I have only been on the Adriatic for two days and the Croats are already teaching me that the truest players don't even play the game.

If you don't know what Croats are like, just imagine an Italian with a little Greek in them.

Friday I took a speed pontoon from Split to the island of Cortula in the archipeligo of the Dalmatian Islands. During the ride I watched a family let their boy play up and down the isle. The mother was beautiful with striking features and soft skin. However the father appeared to be the perfection of man. He would pick up his boy like a bronze sculpture of Lenin supporting the next generation.

Fresh off the boat, home owners try to rent rooms to passengers. I decided to stay with a young man, Ante, and his father. The father had wind swept eye brows. A few brazen wirey hairs made it up to his mid forhead.

I went out for a local's dinner, and had mixed bean salad swimming in olive oil, fish in white wine, a large draught and an espresso. My server would sit with his friends and occationally check the kitchen. Passersby would walk by, wave and often join their conversation.

A nun that looked like a shorter Robert Duval walked by on her days last errands.

I walked through the whole town twice in no time at all and headed for my room. Night time sounds were cats hissing and fighting, foot steps on stone, keys opening doors and single bell clank on the hour. Though, at six in the morning there were far too many full bell rings.

In the morning I asked my host where I could find a few things. He showed me an ariel photo on the town and pointed to buildings and their doors saying, "Enter here. Mister Janplak will help you". It seemed he knew everyone and their entire family his whole life. It felt that he could take apart the whole town stone by stone and rebuild it from memory.

Stepping out on to wet stones, the overnight rain clouds were clearing and hugging the distant island's hills as if they were reluctant to leave.

I walked down to the farmers market, which only had three stalls. An old woman stood right at the entrance and repeatedly said, "hello" as she stabbed the air with a knife that had a slice of cheese on it. I tried her sample and told her, "one moment" and walked on. I bought figs, apples and bananas from a reserved woman in the back. As I left I decided to buy some cheese from the old woman, who's face looked like the wrinkly figs I just bought. "Hello, hello" and again with the knife. This is when I realized the woman only knew one Engrish word, "hello", and would announciate it differently to communicate. I pointed at a small brick of cheese. She put it in a bag, handed it to me, said "hello" and showed me her whole hand of five fingers. I thought it was a deal, then I accidentally opened my wallet in front of her. She pointed at the fifty Kuna bill. I shook my head and tried to hand her back the cheese. She brushed my hand aside and showed me five fingers, which would make for a $11 peice of cheese. We disagreed. A man that spoke Engrish tried to help, but didn't. I tried to give her back the cheese, but she pushed my hand away. I showed two fingers, like a peace symbol, and was corrected and was showed two fingers: the thumb and pointer finger. Here, you count with "one" with the thumb. Finally, she accepted the 20 and a man next to her made face at her to acknowledge that at least she tried. On my return, I should plan to start a business selling widgets and hire this woman for director of sales.

For breakfast I sat on a patio, sipped esspresso, checked the internets, and listened to the old men behind me. Again, locals would talk to customers as they passed as if they already knew the conversation. At one point, one of the old men made a racket, "bang, bang, bang". He was pointing his umbrella like a gun at a little girl as she passed with her father. She let the old man know he missed her by taunting, "nanny neh neh neh". The children here are cute and well behaved, but dogs are more so. I rarely heard a dog bark, and owners don't need or use leashes.

Later, the little girl passed again, and shot her imaginary gun at the old man. Her toungue stuck out her gapped teeth as she lisped, "ning, ning, ning". The old man appeared happier to play than the girl.

I paid my bill and got less change than expected. Perhaps everyone here rounds to the closest bill.

I went back to me room, grabbed my swim suit and camera and went to rent a scooter.

Riding around the island, I would stop to take snaps of blue bays, green hills, half finished stone work, white houses and empty towns. The saturated colors made it easy to take photographs.

Locals turned their curious heads as I passed at 50 kilometers an hour.

For lunch I stopped in a sleepy bay and ate my bag lunch. In the time I sat there only two men walked through the town. In the distance, I watched an old woman walking up a steep road. She was having a hard time and walked as if she was using an invisible banaster that kept giving way.

In the afternoon I rode on gravel roads through wineries and shared the road with children on bikes.

A caravan of cars filled with dressed up locals passed making a racket with non stop horn honking.

For an afternoon snack I ate a beer and watched two boys shuttle girls on their scooters two at a time (for a total of three on each scooter) in order to more their party across the bay.

I feel like America has it's leg bound to the chains of convinience, inconvinience of suburbs and fear of litigation. Perhaps I will be able to continue this dream on my return, chew my foot free and walk around on a peg leg having forgotten how to play the game.