We left Dubrovnik around 11am on Friday, hoping to catch the 13:00 ferry. It was hardly an early start, but hey, we’re on vacation after all. Owing to road construction and border crossings (the Croatian coastline is interrupted by about 10km of Bosnia-Herzogovina) we missed the ferry by about 15 minutes. So we relaxed in the small town of Drvenik and waited four hours for the next ferry. It was hardly a difficult wait, eating seafood, drinking local white wine and soaking up some Adriatic sunshine.
The ferry crossing took only 30 minutes, plus about another half an hour for loading (waiting) and unloading. Soon we were speeding along the steep and winding two lane road from the far south end of Hvar island to the North end. This is a wild, bucolic, beautiful island, with many, many small vineyards, olive groves, villages and vegetable patches. The road is barely wide enough for two cars – in places not at all. In many places the drop-offs are frighteningly steep. After more than an hour of bouncing along in third gear, Melissa has had enough and declares that we won’t be coming back this way. What the road lacked in the way of guardrails, shoulders and smooth pavement, it made up for with spectacular views of the green, rocky hillsides, blue skies and sparkling waters all around us. Hvar is a long, narrow island, with one prominent, high ridge flanked by many valleys full of red soil framing green cultivated plants and wildflowers – red poppies, yellow daises and so on. There are a few small tractors but mostly the plots are worked by hand and small roto-tillers. Farmers define a weed as a plant out of place. Those wildflowers may look nice, but not in your corn field. The same thing goes for thistles in your pasture. By this definition Hvar may not have a single weed – everything looks arranged. In between rows of olive trees you might see grape vines, and in between those you might find potatoes.
We arrived in Hvar town close to dusk. Like so many of the Mediterranean towns we’ve seen, it is a beautiful old town below a hilltop castle. We found lodging with a friendly, talkative, energetic grey-mustached fellow named Luka. This man is the Croatian counterpart to Melissa’s dad. He can’t seem to sit still, and goes out of his way to make you feel at home.
After finishing an excellent meal of fresh seafood and Dalmatian beef, three guys carried a yellow-fin tuna through the restaurant and into the kitchen. This beautiful fish was bigger than Melissa.
There are many beautiful islands to visit in Croatia. We were drawn to Hvar by the prospect of climbing some limestone cliffs. OK, I was drawn by the climbing…but this island also has shops, restaurants, old towns and beautiful coastline for my better half. I only have my rock shoes with me. That is all I need for bouldering, and on Hvar they have the deep water variety. You can climb higher with no rope because of the soft water landing. There is also plenty of roped climbing.
I searched online for a climbing partner. Only one guy responded – a local named ‘Rocky’. I had inadvertently contacted him with Melissa’s email, so he might have expected to climb with ‘persephone’ instead of Preston. We finally connected on skype and made plans to meet at 14:30. Melissa and I headed out for a quick lunch (other than travel days we very rarely rush anything) by the small port full of yachts, sailboats and small fishing boats. When we got back Rocky had to cancel because he had to pick up his brother at the ferry. Life on these islands revolves around these ferry schedules, and they don’t travel often outside of the summer months. He asked if tomorrow was an option. I didn’t have a ton of motivation to head to the cliffs alone, and told him tomorrow morning would be the best bet. Melissa and I hadn’t really seen the town yet during the daytime.
The next day, Rocky was nowhere to be found. We got a late start, owing to having a good time the night before. I could feel that I didn’t have good energy. I was nervous, anxious about catching the ferry, frustrated, etc. The mental aspect of climbing is often the most challenging and rewarding part. Anxiety, frustration, anger, hesitation, doubt, fear…these do not form the emotional foundation for a good day climbing rocks.
I dropped Melissa off in Stari Grad, one of the oldest cities in Dalmatia and all of Europe. It was right around 12:30. The road to my destination, The village of Sveta Nedilja, took me up more narrow, winding, ancient roads, through incredibly picturesque villages, fields and orchards. From a distance it looked like the road might follow a cleft up and over the main central ridge. The road wound higher and higher through the trees until I came to a one lane tunnel. There were some instructions I couldn’t understand about the correct and incorrect way through, and a non functioning stoplight. Looking ahead I saw taillights and went for it. Inside the tunnel seemed barely big enough for my rented Volkswagen. Weak headlights provided the only, inadequate illumination. The first section had a lot of running water, with puddles hiding deep potholes. This would not be a fun place to meet an oncoming car. The length of the tunnel on such a sparsely populated island surprised me. There is an overland route (dirt road) to the other side of the island, after all.
Finally emerging on the other side, I was once again stunned by the isolation and beauty of this island, right in the middle of densely populated Europe, where wilderness barely exists. Overhead the ridge formed many cliff faces of clean grey rock – climbing country. Just below these cliffs, and running all the way down steep hillsides to the ocean, the vineyards began. This farmland is so steep, remote, wild and magnificent…I wouldn’t believe it possible had I not seen it firsthand. The road turned northwest, winding through several villages and steep bowls of valleys before I reached the dead-ends of my destination. The last half kilometer was a rough trail along the beaches and rocky coastline. Imagine my surprise at finding yet more vines and olive trees here, just above the ‘treeline’ formed by high tides and storm. Like many plots in Dalmatia, Someone had laboriously built rock terraces one stone at a time. It’s no exaggeration to call The wine produced here a labor of love.
By 13:30 I had finally arrived. I had only two hours before I would have to turn around to meet Melissa, catch the ferry and start the long journey back to Dubrovnik. So there I was, literally half way around the world, on a beautiful sunny day, looking at amazing cliffs right along the Adriatic. I hesitated and paused, trying to gain the requisite composure and intention. I looked around a little, walked around a little, and eventually put on my climbing shoes. It felt good to move over the rock, but I wasn’t relaxed. In theory the prospect of falling into the beautiful blue water was inviting…but I didn’t feel like falling. We had yet to swim in these waters, as they were not quite warm enough. I sat down to take stock of the situation. I’d come a long way to climb these particular rocks. Several times I started out again, and balked. In those moments of hesitation, I heard my friends back home shouting encouragement: “you got it!” “nice ptown!”. Inside my head, their support was falling on deaf ears. I was thinking too much about my weak body, the cold water, the trip home. Athletes talk about being in the ‘zone’, when the mind is quieted and the body takes over – muscle memory, training, will, mojo. I had no mojo! thought about how different things would be if my friends were there. I thought about what a mess I’d be in if I managed to injure myself just then. I took off my shoes, took in the scenery, talked briefly to a couple from Salt Lake City, and left early.
From this experience I was reminded of the importance of climbing partners. In theory I didn’t need partners to deep water solo, but I really felt y’all’s absence.
To add insult to injury, we lost our camera on the same island where my mojo showed up missing. We lost three days of (spectacular) photos, and we really liked that camera.
. My favorites were Maceo for Nuevo French, Cafe Breizh for the most delicious gallette, and Semilla. Semilla is new and created by the owners of La Bouissenerie, a very well known restaurant by locals and tourists alike. For macarons and the most amazing rose, lychee, and almond croissant, try Pierre Herme, he also has locations in Tokyo and one location in London. I one day will try to recreate his awesome and creative macarons flavors like campari with pamplemousse, and chocolat w maracuya…tres magnifique! http://www.pierreherme.com/
