Vela Luka (10/11)

Pride shows on the faces of the crew as we glide into Vela Luka, the second largest city on the island of Korcula, and their hometown. Without pretense, but with just a hint of pride, Dimar points to his beautiful stone house nestled in the hill overlooking us as we pass by in the inlet leading to the port. This town seems more oriented to its people than to tourists, though like many places in the islands, its population has diminished as

Photo: http://www.chorvatsko.cz/jidalos/pict/velalu.JPG

state-subsidized industries have stumbled beneath the march to capitalism, pushing workers to seek more prosperous places. Ivan and his older brother were unceremoniously shown the door when the boat factory he worked for was downsized after being bought by a businessman. His father’s 30 year tenure earned him no different dispensation then his sons.

Tonight is the “Captain’s Dinner”, meaning that Dimar and Francesco will treat the Company to dinner. We arrive at the appointed restaurant and sit in a courtyard beside a large open pit within which various meats and fish sizzle over a lunging fire. Once seated at the table, we are disappointed to learn that neither captain would be joining us, as we anticipated, though this disappointment soon recedes as red wine flows abundantly and platters of freshly caught and grilled fish are set up and down the long table.

Suddenly, somehow, something unusual happens. The small talk that is common in such settings, between people of good cheer and on vacation, took an abrupt turn. I didn’t see it coming and now don’t know how it was instigated, but there is Judy, next to husband George, both to my right, explaining in earnest that we’re all sinners, and, in principal, a small sin like a white lie was no less sinful than the atrocities of Saddham. A trickle of nervousness electrifies the Company, save Mike, as we each sit straighter in our chairs. George, of a decidedly different philosophical persuasion, goads his wife a bit. She takes the bait.

I didn’t know about Judy’s religiosity, though I observed her kindness and gentleness; attributes that on occasion are demonstrated by those who practice what they preach. Looking younger and fitter than her years – whatever they are – would predict, Judy, or “St. Judy” (or “Mrs. Leeper”) as husband George would often call her, is the mother type. If her arms were large enough, and if she felt comfortable enough that we wouldn’t mind, I’m sure she would hug us all together as she gave us her blessings each night before bed.