#Keep on being silly till your rotten remainings and beyond!
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Let Nothing Ever Kill Your Spirit!💪
#my art#quick sketch#silly skeleton#skeleton#silly#traditional art#I actually had that idea for a while. once I saw a fragment of an old church relief with skeleton blowing bubbles.#but how? don't you need soft tissues to make soft things?#but on the other hand#is having neither eyeballs eyelids nor tongue enough to stop your rebelious spirit?#Keep on being silly till your rotten remainings and beyond!#positivity#I guess it'd be good on t-shirt🤔#rebelious
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The City is Strange
I think Split was the first big city I'd visited since Torino (Turin) in Italy. I just wasn't ready for it.
You see, I'd been travelling mostly by smaller roads, through smaller places and although, yeah you've got Venice and Mistra and Verona and Trieste (Trst) and Ljubljana and Rijeka (Fiume), none of them compare to Split for size and infrastructure. Verona is too venerable, Mistra you skip for Venice which is unique beyond any comparison, Ljubljana is actually quite compact (they've pedestrianised a lot since 2006), and Rijeka is beyond the nightmares of any sane cyclist. Split has the dubious distinction of all the roads going in being dual carriageway motorways. So I had to risk it and join one of these nightmarish things at the end of my descent, still bit wasted, then after find my hostel.
And of course, beyond the traffic problems and battery issues, the street of the hostel is not properly signposted, it being a weird little kind of stepped cul-de-sac running parallel with the main road to the harbour. I spent a half hour going up and down, till I saw two chaps with bulging rucksacks that screamed backpacker to me. So I stopped and spoke to them and yes, we were all looking for the same place. And eventually we found it together.
In real Slavic style, outside was a small table around which a wee group were casually drinking. The lovely friendly receptionist, Anna, checked me in and I put myself into the mindset of 'let's get unladen, get food, get sleep!' I meant business. However one of the drinking party, an attractive dark-haired woman of perhaps mid to late thirties, took it upon herself to get me to play instead. Damn, I was torn between my head and my hips. Now, people who know me know I have a surfeit of energy which comes from oversized balls (and ego), which can often lead me astray; however in this case, utter fatigue from the previous days' cycling, plus all the booze etc, made me desperate to just finish the chores before I collapsed completely. Also, with this woman becoming ever more handsy, I was more than a little embarrassed as to my state: not having washed or changed my clothes for three days I could smell myself (and it was not good).
Nope, I had to be firm but polite, I had to get shit battened down stowed away, and wash, before I could even consider food, let alone romance! And I doubt she would have been terribly 'romantic', to paraphrase Van Halen: she ain't talking about love, her love was rotten to the core [insert suitable emoticon]
Well, I said I'd be at her disposal just as soon as I'd taken care of everything. Despite it all, I was still just another silly male following the divining rod. Unpacking became a whirlwind of activity, my new friend even lending a hand. Then I went for a nice hot shower, telling her we could go for food together after, and maybe more later.
Well I came out the shower feeling fresh and clean and potent. But my new friend had just disappeared. No-one knew where she'd gone, or even if she was staying at the hostel that night. With hindsight, I think I dodged a bullet, much awkwardness, and a reason to stay any longer than necessary in Split. The whole thing left an impression on me though, I am not used to this kind of upfront 'affection' from the fairer sex, and I have to say I was quite flattered. We Brits (and the French too) are kinda repressed. Or not enough so when we drink: there seems to be no happy medium (or endings), for anybody.
Anyway, that was merely the first weird thing I experienced in Split. I decided to just dress up nice anyways and have a good meal down by the sea. Got a recommendation from helpful Anna at reception and freewheeled down to the port where the restaurant was located. Well, the unsavoury vibe I'd had in Novalja returned. The whole place was packed with every type of western tourist you can imagine, and indeed it follows that the more *ahem* coarse elements seemed to predominate, what with them being louder and more obnoxious. I saw the roads to the harbour jammed with taxis and adverts for '8 day party boats to the Islands', which is a red flag for me (and not the good socialist kind). And everywhere the clamour of clumsy drunken Brits bawling to each other and discussing cocaine and booze supplies from across the street. So crass, especially as I hadn't heard anything like it since Novalja, or seen the like, well ever. I missed the tranquility of an open road, these roads were a honking mass of unhappy metal.
I found my restaurant, and asked nicely for the outside table (to keep an eye on my bike). Well they were kind of ok about it, less than accommodating seeing as I was alone and anglophone. They then asked I move my bike under the table cos it was blocking the pavement. I obliged. And then the food came, oh man. It was slow-cooked beef cheeks in a red wine reduction with mushrooms and caramelised onion, fresh bread and salad on side. With a half-litre of red to accompany. All quite delicious.
But spoilt by the surroundings. As it got later I saw more and more party people who I just was not in the mood for. If only I could've somehow 'muted' not just their voices, but their clothes and 'theatre'. I was rather tired and fed-up, but the good food and fine wine helped. Until the bill came.
It was rather more expensive than nice Anna had led me to believe. About 38€ - they charged not just for side salad but also the freaking bread! Yes you pay for quality, and yes it was a treat, but 38€ is like three or four day's of decent living for me travelling. I'd eaten just as well for far cheaper in Pavia, Ljubljana and just north in Ražanac. Ach, I took it on the chin (or in the wallet).
Another strange thing happened before I went to bed. When I returned to the hostel, I was finally able to meet those folks sharing my dorm. Which had a lightswitch to change from normal to green lighting. Bizzare. Anyhow, under these green lights a young lady was just about in tears as she tried to wrestle open her secure locker. These lockers were just like the ones you see on American high-school shows, and come with your bed at the hostel. But this poor girl's locker had jammed, her key would turn but nothing would move or open! And she needed her wallet from inside to pay something urgent (I think was booking flights home, or train or something). So I went and kindly asked Anna to make up some tea and I brought it to the girl, while I got my tools out and started probing the lock (I wish I could make this sound less sexual, but mechanics know how hot it is to delve right into a problem). Eventually I managed to move the interior catch and open the door. Oh man I rarely get the opportunity to see such joy! Especially transmuted from such misery.
She grabbed her wallet and went to close and lock the door again, but I stayed her hand. I wanted to make sure it was functioning smoothly before we tried locking it. She passed over the key and I started fiddling with the mechanism and catch, realising quickly that it was the door itself that had been deformed. All I had to do was bend it back into shape with my spanner, and voila! After demonstrating it to her and giving back the key she gave me a crushing hug and I saw she was again close to tears. It was kinda adorable.
Well I needed a smoke to unwind after the day and night I'd had, so I started to skin up. During this time, the locker girl, another girl, and I had a very interesting conversation, about racism in different countries, and travelling and future plans, all that jazz. Now the second girl was interesting, she sounded not quite London, and not quite Alabama, was dark-skinned and holding a Canadian passport. Quite a background. So she had some fascinating insights to share (Canadians hate blacks too it seems). The locker girl was a tiny cute blonde from Finland (oh man those Finnish girls: terrifyingly clever and all too often also intimidatingly beautiful... *sigh*), and this was her first time abroad as she wasn't even 16 yet! I felt quite glad I'd been able to keep it 'professional' during our interaction, mind you that day I think it was a case of the flesh being willing but disgusting, and the mind had turned to some kind of lumpy but helpful sludge. My inner creep had been anaesthetised. Yup Split was a weird one. Was likely best I'd remained unentangled. The most (nay only) normal part was my bedtime spliff!
Even though I wanted to see the impressive historic sites of Split, I knew I did not want to stay any more time than strictly necessary among such distractions and within earshot of the rude hoi poloi. I would leave the next day. Fit-in sight-seeing as a detour before I hit that awful motorway once more.
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