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This morning at daybreak, as I stood at the waterline, I was overcome by an intense feeling of well being. Light surf agitating pebbles on this beach in Croatia is like none other that I have experienced anywhere else in the world. It is not like California, not like Texas' gulf coast, not like the beaches of Cancun or Puerto Vallarta. Tranquility overcomes me as I look out into the Adriatic Sea and wonder how long I'd have to swim in order to reach Italy.
Maybe I could swim out and south along the Italian shoreline so that I could visit my old friend working in Sicily. That epic journey would be grand and is a fun way to pass the time considering all of the variables I'd have to prepare for. A wetsuit and fins would definitely be required to even attempt it. Of course I'd have to work on the occasional rush of fear that hits me like a freight train when swimming in the ocean. It happens when I reach the point past warm shallow waters and catch the first dose of cold water welling up to the surface from deeper areas. The panic is strong and I have to force myself to breath deeply while continuing to swim so as to avoid being paralyzed with fear. It has taken time but I think I am past it.
I like to skip rocks across the water since there is such an innocent joy about doing it. Kids and men both enjoy the simple pleasure of selecting the best rock to achieve the maximum amount of hops over the water. Under my bare feet, I have the luxury of millions of massaging stones at my disposal. The one that is somewhat flat, smooth and shaped like the last bit of a bar of soap will be the winner.
Looking up at the blue sky that has not a hint of cloud cover, I take a deep breath of the warm, still air. Clean, pure and unpolluted, it fills my lungs as I look right, left and behind me. The water is nearly motionless for a moment, almost achieving that serene glassy appearance you get on the coldest nights, but only for an instant.
My right arm instinctively leads my torso back, twisting it for more reach. The tension in my muscles increases and I swing my arm with as much force that finesse will allow. The stone leaves my grasp and flies across the air striking the water with a shallow angle of attack. It bounces releasing a spray that I would love to capture with a steady hand and a high speed camera. It bounces again, each time decreasing the interval that it remains in the air. The count reaches seven before the stone sinks below the calm water's surface.
"Nice one" is what I think aloud as I call out and whistle for little Dona which has scampered off to explore the driftwood piled along the rocky shore. What could she be up to? Probably the usual, stop, sniff, examine, lick, walk, spot, stop, sniff, examine, lick routine that keeps her so pleasantly occupied for what seem to be hours.
Dona responds to my call and enthusiastically runs towards me with all of the fury her little terrier legs can develop. She charges me and I meet her with all the love I have; I give her a tummy rub and pet her on the ears as she yawns showing me big white teeth.
It really is not necessary to take the boat to the mainland just to buy bread and groceries for the day as we have a very competent baker on the island, but this is my style. The trip takes just longer than ten minutes over water at a relaxed pace and lets me mingle and have a coffee with the other like minded people dotting the outdoor cafés at such an early hour near the water in Biograd. Besides it helps me sharpen my affinity for languages since there are plenty of Germans, Poles and Czechs waiting to catch the car ferry across the strait.
The nice thing about this crowd is that unlike the locals, they tend to smoke much less. Nothing wrong with smokers but I prefer to enjoy my warm morning breeze without the odor of cigarette smoke permeating it.
Little Dona jumps off the pier right into our small power boat without missing a beat. She sits in the boat panting with excitement and is ready to get back to the house on the island as her meal is waiting not to mention her playmates that are the alley cats living nearby. The funny thing is that she used to run like a bat out of hell when a cat would whack her across the nose with a sharp claw. Now, it seems that she yearns for the excitement, almost like she craves the adrenaline rush that comes with creeping just a wee bit closer to the unpredictable cats. She may have the cat go buck-wild and prance around as she gives chase. She might get swatted away. It is "hit and miss" and she loves the interaction. Supposing I have become boring to her, I only offer her a soothing belly rub and fresh meals along with the morning boat-ride to pick-up baked goods and groceries.
We are a team and she travels with me rain or shine. The life-preserver I found online fits her well in the case of a possible capsizing of our little vessel. I tried getting her to wear a little rain slicker with a yellow hat like that of a fisherman but she just did not like that arrangement very much.
The shore looms near and Dona perks up leaning into the breeze to catch the smell of breakfasts being prepared across the island. I wonder what it must be like to be able to detect and differentiate all of those odors into specific ingredients. Must be like walking past the neighbors window as they are frying bacon for breakfast and the next house that smells of hot coffee and warm rolls.
Reaching our berth, I tie down the boat and lift Dona over the side so that she can run ahead as usual now that we are on home turf.
Just then I hear somebody shouting at me. "Jose, we need you inside, one of the trunks is down and we have to restore communication service."
Back to reality, I look down at my small paper cup holding the Green Beans Coffee Espresso that started me on this daydream and realize that I am still in Baghdad. I am ready to go home.
Maybe I could swim out and south along the Italian shoreline so that I could visit my old friend working in Sicily. That epic journey would be grand and is a fun way to pass the time considering all of the variables I'd have to prepare for. A wetsuit and fins would definitely be required to even attempt it. Of course I'd have to work on the occasional rush of fear that hits me like a freight train when swimming in the ocean. It happens when I reach the point past warm shallow waters and catch the first dose of cold water welling up to the surface from deeper areas. The panic is strong and I have to force myself to breath deeply while continuing to swim so as to avoid being paralyzed with fear. It has taken time but I think I am past it.
I like to skip rocks across the water since there is such an innocent joy about doing it. Kids and men both enjoy the simple pleasure of selecting the best rock to achieve the maximum amount of hops over the water. Under my bare feet, I have the luxury of millions of massaging stones at my disposal. The one that is somewhat flat, smooth and shaped like the last bit of a bar of soap will be the winner.
Looking up at the blue sky that has not a hint of cloud cover, I take a deep breath of the warm, still air. Clean, pure and unpolluted, it fills my lungs as I look right, left and behind me. The water is nearly motionless for a moment, almost achieving that serene glassy appearance you get on the coldest nights, but only for an instant.
My right arm instinctively leads my torso back, twisting it for more reach. The tension in my muscles increases and I swing my arm with as much force that finesse will allow. The stone leaves my grasp and flies across the air striking the water with a shallow angle of attack. It bounces releasing a spray that I would love to capture with a steady hand and a high speed camera. It bounces again, each time decreasing the interval that it remains in the air. The count reaches seven before the stone sinks below the calm water's surface.
"Nice one" is what I think aloud as I call out and whistle for little Dona which has scampered off to explore the driftwood piled along the rocky shore. What could she be up to? Probably the usual, stop, sniff, examine, lick, walk, spot, stop, sniff, examine, lick routine that keeps her so pleasantly occupied for what seem to be hours.
Dona responds to my call and enthusiastically runs towards me with all of the fury her little terrier legs can develop. She charges me and I meet her with all the love I have; I give her a tummy rub and pet her on the ears as she yawns showing me big white teeth.
It really is not necessary to take the boat to the mainland just to buy bread and groceries for the day as we have a very competent baker on the island, but this is my style. The trip takes just longer than ten minutes over water at a relaxed pace and lets me mingle and have a coffee with the other like minded people dotting the outdoor cafés at such an early hour near the water in Biograd. Besides it helps me sharpen my affinity for languages since there are plenty of Germans, Poles and Czechs waiting to catch the car ferry across the strait.
The nice thing about this crowd is that unlike the locals, they tend to smoke much less. Nothing wrong with smokers but I prefer to enjoy my warm morning breeze without the odor of cigarette smoke permeating it.
Little Dona jumps off the pier right into our small power boat without missing a beat. She sits in the boat panting with excitement and is ready to get back to the house on the island as her meal is waiting not to mention her playmates that are the alley cats living nearby. The funny thing is that she used to run like a bat out of hell when a cat would whack her across the nose with a sharp claw. Now, it seems that she yearns for the excitement, almost like she craves the adrenaline rush that comes with creeping just a wee bit closer to the unpredictable cats. She may have the cat go buck-wild and prance around as she gives chase. She might get swatted away. It is "hit and miss" and she loves the interaction. Supposing I have become boring to her, I only offer her a soothing belly rub and fresh meals along with the morning boat-ride to pick-up baked goods and groceries.
We are a team and she travels with me rain or shine. The life-preserver I found online fits her well in the case of a possible capsizing of our little vessel. I tried getting her to wear a little rain slicker with a yellow hat like that of a fisherman but she just did not like that arrangement very much.
The shore looms near and Dona perks up leaning into the breeze to catch the smell of breakfasts being prepared across the island. I wonder what it must be like to be able to detect and differentiate all of those odors into specific ingredients. Must be like walking past the neighbors window as they are frying bacon for breakfast and the next house that smells of hot coffee and warm rolls.
Reaching our berth, I tie down the boat and lift Dona over the side so that she can run ahead as usual now that we are on home turf.
Just then I hear somebody shouting at me. "Jose, we need you inside, one of the trunks is down and we have to restore communication service."
Back to reality, I look down at my small paper cup holding the Green Beans Coffee Espresso that started me on this daydream and realize that I am still in Baghdad. I am ready to go home.
