To Korcula (10/13)

The next morning, we arise to the birth of a rainy day, but determined to visit one of the “must sees” of Mjlet. Undaunted by the rain, the Company opts to hike about three clicks to catch a boat to the Benedictine monastery, built in the 12^th century on its own little island in what appears to be an inland lake, but is actually connected by a narrow channel to the sea. It’s a wet adventure. By time we return to Hera, the rain has abated, and the crew is anxious to motor on.

Photo: http://www.photocroatia.com/GALLERY/photo.php?photo=12180&u=43|0

For much of the trip we parallel a long peninsula paralleling the mainland and pass several seemingly uninhabited islands, though several of them prominently display rows of mature olive trees marching straight up steep hills and rooted in stone. Many are several hundred years old, Dimar tells us, and then he relaxes into one of his few smiles as he prepares to tell a joke.

“They say that a vineyard is like a wife and an olive grove like a mother. The wife takes and takes and maybe will give something back, but a mother requires nothing and gives always.”

The mothers look at each other with knowing smiles. The husbands look at each other with knowing smiles. Mike and I look at each other grinning, perhaps grateful to have only known olive groves.

Around a bend and there is Korcula protruding from the northeastern tip of the island. Korcula is the name of both the capital city and the island itself. It’s often referred to as “little Dubrovnik”, which becomes obvious as soon as you approach it from the sea, for like Dubrovnik, Korcula is built around an old fortress that one upon a time (it was built in the 15^th century) protected everyone hereabout.

We tie up right next to an entrance into the old city, disembark and start exploring. Each person has his own agenda for dinner. Mine, again, is with the crew. Ivan tells me that he will take me to meet his cousin who owns a nearby tavern. After dinner we go to find the cousin, and along the way, I see a boy yank a fishing line and flying from the water is a fat squid about 18 inches long that hits the stone promenade with a thud, and immediately spews black inky liquid.

We can’t find the cousin, but we can find beer. I buy both of us a large one and listen to island stories.