So Far North

Good winds, flat seas and perfect weather come together like a well-rehearsed orchestra to make our trip up the Istras peninsula the perfect composition. We dart in and out of small bays that are linked together in the most northern part of Croatia. With the moderate weather, we are not too worried about good shelter, just good scenery. The towns have become mostly small villages. Each of them punctuated by a bell tower that soars heavenly and built on the highest point. Looking down from these celestial monoliths are red tiled roofs that step down the slope to the Adriatic Sea. The streets are more like alleys with crumbling shuttered buildings made festive by the days colorful laundry pinned to cording strung above our heads. Most of the streets are paved with stone block that have been there so long they have worn smooth to the point of being slippery. We are at the height of the tourist invasion and even in these small villages; there is a party mood that permeates the air. Loud music, dripping ice cream cones, gangly teenagers embarrassed to be with their parents fill the town square. Small children giggle with delight holding on to their parent’s hands with sticky fingers from the treats sold by vendors that line up on both sides of the strolling visitors like a corral making sure they don’t escape without emptying their wallets. Farmer markets greet us with quarter cut watermelons grinning their red smiles. Fresh vegetables are still weighed on a balance scale. The produce arrive from local farms still have the dirt that they were grown in clinging to them. We buy local breads baked that morning when the sun was just beginning to warm the day.