Abbot & Costello, Korcula & Hvar

I am writing this entry from Croatia, currently the hottest country in all Europe and I am on an island that is one of the hottest spots in this hottest country. My teeth are sweating, my eyelashes have been seared off and my cranial fluid has long since evaporated; expect this entry to be even more meandering than usual as I feel that I may be in my death throes. But, oh, what a tan.

I can never figure out why I always buy dictionaries high on vocabulary and low on priority. Mine has how to say the word "balustrade" in it. Very helpful. Everyday kind of word, really. "Stadium"? No. "Forest"? Never. "T-shirt"? Why would I ever need that? Actually, in this heat and with typically European beaches, clothing is highly optional. No complaints.

In an effort to leave the poor Croatians, whose language I was butchering, alone, my girlfriend booked us an overnight bus ride to Split, Croatia, hoping that I would be unconscious throughout the trip. However, the journey was fairly sleepless due to the windy roads. The route hugged the coast, meandering like a barroom story, constantly losing focus but somehow still making it to the final destination, dragging us into Split at 5:45 am and with the temperature already a tepid 29 degrees.

It was one recovery day in Split before taking a ferry to the island of Hvar the next day. Hvar boasts being the sunniest spot in all Croatia - they give discounts on cloudy days - and its forecast has been true to form. The days have been Maximum 35, Minimum 36 and with a below 0 percent chance of showers. The only thing to do is lie on the beach, which puts me pretty near heaven.

The water is the clearest I have seen anywhere - you feel like you could be flying a mile overhead and still be able to count the umber of rocks on the bottom. It is also very salty and I could nearly float in it. If I had breasts, I am sure I would have. Just one more reason to wish I had them. (Like I needed it) The town has no street names, there is a German Sheppard that roams about always carrying a carton of smokes in its mouth, and the church bell rigner is some kind of demented nocturnal Quasimodo with Tourrette's Syndrome, flailing at them like a madman, starting at 6:00 am and repeating his cacophonous clanging every 15 minutes all morning until we want him dead. I love the place.

However, feeling a need to shuffle my itchy feet, Stephanie and I are now on our way to the island of Korcula, the journey to which engineered an impromptu Abbott & Costello routine with a local tourist agent. The problem stemmed from the fact that Hvar has two towns, Stari Grad and Hvar, and Korcula has two towns, Vela Luka and Korcula. We wanted simply to get from Hvar (island) to Korcula (island) but didn't know the ferry schedule. We sauntered into the tourist agency:

"We'd like to get from Hvar to Korcula," we enquired.
"You can't."
"We can't?"
"No. Only from Stari Grad to Korcula."
"Stari Grad on Hvar?"
"Can we go tomorrow?"
"No. No boat tomorrow."
"Is there any way to get to Korcula tomorrow?"
"No. Only Vela Luka."
"Vela Luka on on Korcula?"
"Yes. From Hvar."
"From Stari Grad on Hvar?"
"No. From Hvar!"
"To Vela Luka?"
"On Korcula."
"Yes. But not Korcula."
"But there is one boat to Korcula tomorrow."
"Korcula town?"
NOW we were getting somewhere.
"When is the boat?"
"6:15 am."
"And what time is the bus to get to the boat?"
"11:30 am."

So, I write this, on a boat, going from somewhere to somewhere else (presumably), basking in the heat and looking forward to another week of the same. Which makes me wonder why I am putting the effort into going anywhere at all…