It’s a smug feeling being awakened in the middle of the night in our tiny bedroom (I have to curl my legs up when Rachael opens the door) by the crashing of thunder not far away and the sound of rain cascading down outside our open window. We murmur to each other about how lucky we are to have this happen in the middle of the night instead of while we’re out on the road somewhere, and then do our best to filter it out and get back to sleep as it continues for the next few hours.
The rains have stopped when I head down to the waterfront for coffee in the morning, but they look due to return soon and stick around until early afternoon. With no reason to hurry back, I sit around for a second coffee and get caught up on the journal.
The slaty sky blocks out the hills behind and highlights the buildings below.
When I make it back to the room, we check the forecast together. Rains are due to cease by two, so an afternoon ride is a theoretical possibility. Two hours later though, the rains have moved out to three; then four. No ride today, but maybe we can get a short walk in before dinner. But the rain forecast just keeps moving out, so we give up on the idea of even a walk. That’s fine. We have books.
Then, things improve. I look out the door instead of at the Weather Channel and see that the rains have ceased and the sky is breaking up a bit. We grab our jackets and step out, hoping that conditions hold long enough to get in a few miles before dinner.
Overcast, but dry at the moment. And it doesn’t matter - no matter what the weather the waterfront is still a visual delight.
Yesterday we walked around the end of the inlet and along the far side of the harbor. Today we head off in the other direction out of town, along the near side. The character on this side is much different - still a beautiful walk, but in a much different way. It’s more developed on this side, as the road is close enough to the shore to support a string of facilities: a caravan camp, several restaurants, several bathing beaches including a brief (heh, heh) naturist one, a boat rental, some campgrounds. The path along the waterfront is more like a paved seaside promenade that extends for two and a half miles before ending in a path up into the olive groves.
Five miles is just right for a leisurely before dinner walk. We arrive back about five and settle in at Luna Rossa for an appealing Italian meal, and then make our short way back to our room at about sundown. As we walk the waterfront, a boisterous and enthusiastic crowd makes its way in the other direction - an apparent wedding party, bound for the church.
Later in the evening, the day ends as it began - with us snuggled warmly in bed listening to the rain come down again.
Some sort of press. It looks like the cider press my father made when I was young.
Steve Miller/GrampiesLooks very like the press we made some 40 years ago. Long since fell apart but we have a small tabletop version thst we use each year to crank out 40 jars of apple juice each year. Or it may be used for grapes. Reply to this comment 3 years ago
I love the dense cloud formation out there in the center, in the gap between Cres and southern Istria. Also, we both like the idea of venturing out in these quiet waters in a sea kayak. One more reason to return some day.
Looking out toward southern Istria again. I like the way that that cloud formation tapers off to the right, almost like it’d putting off smoke signals.
Now here’s a bird of a different feather: by range, it’s either a European Shag or a Great Cormorant. A shag I think, and probably an immature because it’s so light. If I could get close enough I could be sure by counting tail feathers: shags allegedly have 12, the other species 14. Also, despite appearances I think it has the normal complement of legs and feet.
Jen RahnThe one foot this bird is revealing here is pretty impressive. Not quite as much as the coot's foot, but I like how different colors highlight the strength of the "toes". Reply to this comment 3 years ago
Scott AndersonTo Jen RahnYes. Hence the old mariner’s adage, as strong as a cormorant’s foot. You hear that all the time in the right circles. Reply to this comment 3 years ago
The joy of being here in such a quiet season. It must be quite busy in a normal summer though. There are signs all along the way asking people to not save spaces with their beach blankets.
