Kristen
I fell asleep slowly last night in a contented drowse. Outside the little shelter, from behind the small, rectangular window, I could see a single tree in the foreground against a sea of thousands more, above which the grey sky unfurled like a bruise. The single tree was lashed sideways by wind and rain as I lay there, unassailed by even a draft. My eyes would close, but sure enough I would open them again, just to see out.
Callum
Were I to draw an elevation profile of the Via Dinarica, and lay it out beside me, I can only imagine that it would match the ground we slept on last night. We camped on the side of a mountain, so there were two certainties we could rely on: that we’d have an uncomfortable night, and that three-hundred metres up the track there’d surely be a site that was infinitely better. Both, we discovered this morning, were true.
Callum
I.
Ahh! It’s a beautiful day. After two nights at the beach, this campsite feels like home; here the sheltered cooking spot, there the dogged clothes line – everything in its place. I could definitely have another rest day here. It was too windy to go swimming yesterday, but already this morning I’ve gone for a dip in the turbid waters of Buško jezero (a lot grosser up close, to be honest).
(Also to be known as the first day in Bosnia and Herzegovina, and Callum’s birthday!)
Kristen
Waking up in Ljut, I see that it’s become super windy again. Good lord. I’ve never been in such a windy place in my life. To be honest, I’ve never really considered ‘wind’ to be an independent weather system, always just a byproduct or herald of another more important one, like rain or thunderstorms. But not here. Here, we have beautiful sunny days and wind like it’s the middle of a cyclone. Or rather, nearer the edges of a cyclone… Wherever the windiest bit is.
Callum
Today was like one of those comic black and white films – perhaps a Chaplin – where everything moves in fast forward, and instead of dialogue there’s just a clanky piano playing circus tunes. The cops chase the robber through a door, the robber chases the cops through another, then they’re all being chased by a bear… you get the idea.
Kristen
Two cyclists sit on a bench outside a house where an old man is watering his vegetables with a hose. We’re walking along on the other side of the road. One of the cyclists, with a small beard on his chin, calls to us – where have we come from?
Callum
There are many famous winds. The Siberian High, the Southerly Buster, the Trade Winds, and the Brickfielder to name but a few. They tie the world together in great invisible knots, bringing rain, or dust, or desolation in their wake. Like the tectonic plates, or the ocean currents, they mark the invisible palm lines of the world, and, if you’re skilled enough, you can read them.
Kristen
Dinara is the highest mountain in Croatia. At only 1831 m, she’s even smaller than Kosiuszko, but quite majestic nonetheless. A huge limestone slab, lurching out from the valleys and small towns like a huge baleen whale mid-breach, barnacles crumbling off the sides. Today, we wake peacefully at Brezovac dom and head directly onto her forested slopes.
Callum
As usual, I’m feeling a little ungainly after our rest day. With my pack at its heaviest and my legs at their stiffest, it’s all I can do to waddle out of our apartment and into the blaring sunshine of the main road.
bushnuts 