Thursday, May 21, 2015:
While I got our bags organized, Grace went out to buy us breakfast. Even that short separation made me realize how totally dependent we are on cell phones. I’d arranged for a data plan for my phone but not hers. That morning she took mine for the GPS, just in case she got lost (not a crazy thought in the old city of Zagreb with its endless alleys), but there was no way we could contact each other. Fortunately she was back before my mom-anxiety had a chance to fester too much.
We got out of Zagreb and onto the excellent highway with no trouble – so far so good with the driving. It was raining, however, which made our first stop, in Karlovac at a small memorial to the Homeland War, a very short stop. It wasn’t much fun walking around in the pouring rain, viewing old tanks. Likewise, our next stop, in the town of Rastoke (above), was not the pretty interlude that I planned. It was still pouring, so we grabbed a capuccino in a little café, but honestly things were looking slightly grim.
Passing through consonant-heavy towns like Grabovac Krnjacki, Pavlovac Blagjski, and Cuic Brdo (and my personal favorite — because I could pronounce it — Slunj), we found the national park with no problems at all. After having hurried to get there, we sat in the parking lot for a good half hour hoping that the torrential downpour would slow. Eventually we got up the nerve to make a mad dash to the entrance area. Remembering a time not too long ago (i.e. last August in Alaska) when I found myself unprepared in a national park in the pouring rain, I asked the person at the ticket office about buying rain ponchos. Sure enough, they had them at the gift shop, but you had to ask a surly cashier (perhaps the only surly Croat we met the whole trip, and she should have been doing cartwheels over the number of rain ponchos she was selling that day). Grace also bought a Plitvice National Park sweatshirt (made in Honduras, which amuses me for some reason) because she was freezing. I was wearing five layers of clothes, including both my sweaters, so I wasn’t a bit chilly.
Grace announced more than once that I looked like a turtle, with my backpack under the poncho. I did not care. I was happy with my poncho and five layers.
Now appropriately attired for rain (as they say in Alaska, there is no bad weather – just inappropriate clothing), we set out along the paths. Even in the rain and fog, Plitvice is pretty spectacular.
I can imagine that it must get very crowded in the sunshine, given that there were quite a few people there in the rain (but not so many that I couldn’t take these photos).
They’ve done an outstanding job with the walkways between the 16 lakes, including many wooden stairways. Some of it was pretty slick and treacherous, but we did have proper footgear (unlike the British lady we saw wearing leather mules). As you can see below, the water was just gushing around, through and under the walkways.
Below, Grace inspecting the flooding walkway.
There’s a boat that takes you between the lower and upper lakes. Grace looking at the sky in dismay.
Ideally we would have taken the long route back along the other side of the lakes, but we were soaked – Grace’s sneakers never dried for the rest of the trip (i.e. another 9 days). We took the park tram partway back, then walked the rest of the way to the car.
The drive to Split was pretty easy – really, is there anywhere left in the world to which you can’t navigate with Google maps? Before our trip I had purchased a huge and impressive Michelin map of Croatia, Slovenia, and Bosnia-Herzegovina, figuring that Grace would use it for navigating. I learned that paper maps are completely wasted on Millenials. On this first day of travel she studied the paper map for a while but could not find the country of Croatia. So she gave up. In her defense, the country of Croatia was called Hrvatska on the map, BUT STILL! It seems like one could find an entire country on a map of only three countries.
I digress. When we arrived in Split, the proprietor of our sobe gave slightly complicated directions to a parking lot near the railroad tracks where we could park for free overnight – definitely not something one would find without local guidance. When we got there I was dubious, as it was a sketchy neighborhood and the lot was completely full, but he had assured us that if we waited a few minutes a space would open up. Sure enough, a space did open up, albeit a tight one that I had to back into. This was where I backed into a small pole…our little diesel Ford Fiesta’s first encounter with a solid object on my watch. Suddenly a droll – or slightly scary and toothless, depending on one’s perspective — little Croat appeared, apparently desiring to assist us in parking. Unlike most Croats, he spoke very little English, but he was extremely pleased to test his few words on us. When he heard that we were from the United States, he exclaimed with a big grin, “Florida! Everyone negras!” He was very happy to share this observation, so it didn’t seem racist at all. We thought, based on his accompanying hand gestures, that he might be trying to tell us that people in Florida have suntans.
Although I harbored some doubts about whether it would be there in the morning, we left the car and went back to our sobe, called BASE Rooms. Like our sobe in Zagreb, this one was very centrally located — right inside Diocletian’s Palace, which makes up the center of old Split. The location was perfect (I applaud myself heartily for nailing location in all of our Croatia rooms). The room itself was slightly less appealing than the one in Zagreb, primarily because it was painted a vivid purple, but it was fine. Reasonably big, clean, with a large bathroom. On a trip like this, I really don’t care about the accommodations beyond that.
The proprietor recommended the restaurant across the “street” (just an alleyway), and we did have a good meal – seafood, of course, because we were by the sea. Then we walked around and about Diocletian’s Palace. Below, Split at night, just outside the Palace.
Below, a band playing inside the Palace grounds (on the steps) with a crowd watching. My favorite thing about Split was the way Diocletian’s Palace has been repurposed for modern life.
We ended the night at a hopping bar with a wild lightshow on display on a neighboring building wall.
We drank Margaritas, and I told Grace stories from my youth that I probably should not have shared.