AUGUST 3rd: Candy Man

When I hopped off the bus in Senj I was completely delighted by the Dalmatian coast country side I had the chance to admire from my window seat on the last row of the bus. The sun already set and there was a twilight that united in one the silver Dalmatian sea and the sky.

The only place that looked open besides “Karmen fast food” was a Candy shop that had a handwritten sign saying something kind of “tourist information”. The mouthwatering smell of candy reminded me that my stomach was as empty as my chances of finding any public transportation to Pag at that time. I walked to the end of the shop and I tried to talk to the grey haired early 50 year old guy behind the counter. He No English – Me No Croatian. Stuck again with idiomatic problems I skewed at some magazine in Italian on top of the table and from the top of my lungs I shouted “ITALIANO!” Candy man gave me a hint of a smile and said “Sí, ma solamente un po’” (“yes but only a little”). Enough to make ourselves understood. This situation made me resort to my rusty Italian and for what I understood I was pretty much fucked up. The last bus to Pag left 30 minutes before and there was no more public transportation to anywhere included in Lav’s list (Zrce, Novaoja, Pag, Zadar) until next morning.

I called Lav who overwhelmed me with 1000 words per second on the phone as usual. I hardly understood that it was such a “mission” to come to Senj to get me because all the cars were on the island and they would have to use the ferry plus drive almost one hour just to get me, but that anyways Klemen and him were offering to do it.

While I was struggling to kind of understand some words from Lav’s verbal diarrhea I was able to hear a huge bustle on the background. People having fun. My UM friends. That made my heart beat even faster than Lav’s speech and I knew that I had to make it to Pag that night at all costs. It was a priceless night of party and debauchery with my friends what was at stake!

I stared at Candy man experienced eyes and I said to him one of the most international words “TAXI!” “Ho bisogno di un TAXI”, “I need a cab”. Candy man said in his poor Italian “For 400 kuna I’ll be your taxi driver and anything you want me to be”. I plunged my hand in my “kuna pocket” and I got my 300 remaining kuna (about 40 Euro) and I said “Dude, that’s all I have”. The guy took all the kuna monopoly-like bills and even the coins and exclaimed “ANDIAMO!” while he was speeding up to lock his Candy store.

Two minutes later I was shotgun at Candy man’s 80’s Fiat with rosaries hanging from the rear view mirror and the framed photo booth pictures of Candy woman and Candy kids attached to the dash. While I was trying to get use to the rancid smell that flooded Candy man’s car I called Lav again who gave my chauffeur instructions on the phone about where to go. However Candy man had his own pre-thought strategy. He explained to me that he was friends with the bus driver that left for Pag 30 minutes before us and that he was planning to catch that bus on the way and make him pull over so I could jump in. In order to accomplish this mission Candy Man was driving like it was the end of the world, English style, always on the left lane! I was giggling most of the time and Candy man while trying to calm me down. He confessed that when he was young he always wanted to be a F1 racer and that he knew that road like the back of his hand. Very reassuring.

The road, curvier than Shakira’s body, was getting twister and twister. The hanging rosaries were swinging violently from one side to the other indicating the direction of the curve and as a pendulum counting down the time to get to Pag. Up to three times we passed between an oncoming car and the car we were passing. Candy “suicide driver” man, not pleased with honking at the poor oncoming drivers who were probably shitting their pants while trying to pull over, also insulted and yelled at them in Italian “BASTARDI!” The only thing I could come up with every time we went between cars was “BRAVO!” However most of my “bravos” were entombed by the screeching of the poor Fiat’s brakes and the noise of the engine working on the red arch of the revolution counter that could only breathe when rarely Candy man shifted one gear up.

Surprisingly Candy man couldn’t hunt his bus driver friend and even more surprisingly, against all odds, we made it safely to the docks. After all, those 300 kuna were so much worth it because I hadn’t had an adrenaline shot so strong since I ran with the bulls in Pamplona last month and this time I didn't have to wake up at painful 6 in the morning. (Click here to See pictures from Pamplona and the bulls)


While I was on the ferry I realized that in the last 48 hours I had used all kind of means of transportation: 2 planes, 2 cars, 3 trains, 1 bus and 1 boat.







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AUGUST 3rd: Ziga and the corrupted Croatian bus driver

After last summer in San Francisco I couldn’t agree more with Mark Twain when he said that “The coldest winter I have ever spent was a summer in San Francisco”. However I would bet anything that Mark Twain never spent a summer in Austria. It was so freaking cold the morning I left that I felt stupid for not having any long sleeves sweater or a rain coat. Besides all this, I still think that University of Miami Cosford Cinema is the coldest place on Earth followed closely by the Wellness Center.

After 3 trains and 2 countries (Austria and Slovenia) I arrived to Rijeka, a city by the Croatian coast. At last it was a little bit warmer but the rain was still my annoying and continuous travel partner. Celebrating my arrival a huge thunderstorm took place in downtown Rijeka. It was kind of Miami type. Even traffic stopped for some minutes and I found shelter together with other backpackers inside a tiny market that reminded me those existing in Spain 20 years ago.

Until Rijeka my trip was absolutely planned, but let’s say that once in Rijeka I was in hands of fate. So I walked the kilometer between the railway station and the bus station and I exchanged some Kunas, the Croatian currency.

At that moment I had Euros and US Dollars in my front pockets (I always carry some green money when I travel cuz sometimes comes handy). In my back pockets I had thousands of Slovenian Tollars and the 350 Kunas that I got for 50 Euro (it was probably a rip off).

I have experienced that in Europe the more South you get, the less language skills people have. Croatia was not an exception (not to mention Spain). I was trying to ask someone at Rijeka’s bus station how to get to Pag, and apparently they were trying to tell me that there were no more buses until next morning. Somehow it was not a surprise. I need to keep reminding myself that once I leave Spain people have earlier schedules. Even though I still think that 6:00 pm is way too early for not having more buses to anywhere except for SENJ.

Senj, a beautiful tiny coastal village encrusted in the rocky Croatian coast, was only half way to Pag, my final destination.

At that point I decided to call my friends, but Lav didn’t answer and Klemen’s phone was answered by this guy called Ziga. I asked him which was my best option to get to Pag that night and stammering he said that he had no idea and that he was actually pretty drunk and in his own words “he was not reliable at all to give me any helping information”.

Ziga was Klemen’s friend and the guy with the highest alcohol tolerance I have ever met. The guy was so cool and I almost ended up staying a couple of extra days with him in Pag.

I saw the bus to Senj out the corner of my eye. It was already moving. Playing “Hop Scotch” with the few dry spaces between rain puddles that were all over the place I finally landed in the way of the bus. The bus driver jammed on the brakes and stared at me. His “are you fucking crazy” gaze made me draw the best of my smiles on my face and my “please let me in” gestures, including hands in praying position, were immediately understood because the guy opened the bus door right away. He took that face to face opportunity to keep telling me off, verbally this time. The language barrier cushioned his Croatian swearwords while I was trying to explain to him that on top of all that, I didn’t have any bus ticket. Since the language barrier was becoming an insurmountable obstacle I decided to do what German tourists used to do in Spain before having Euros. I took my wad of fresh and just exchanged Kunas and extended it on the back of my hand while offering the bus driver to pick one, as if it was a card trick. The Queen of Hearts of my deck, the 50 kuna bill, was the chosen one. Completely expected. The guy didn’t give me any receipt and he put the money in his pocket right away, but considering that 50 kunas is not even 7 euros and given the circumstances, I think we were even.