Body Language

As we travel I can't help waiting to meet someone from home. It's always happened. We're also looking for genetic clues to Mark's heritage so we notice body and face structure. But it was the body language that got me. A simple gesture that you'd never in a million years expect to be a giveaway to nationality. A deckie on a large and luxurious yacht (read: LARGE and LUXURIOUS in considerably bolder and larger font size than my computer is capable of) washing the transom down(at the far end of this picture). It was just the way he flicked the hose, of all things; maybe other, unnoticed details completed the picture, I don't know. My subconscious must have stored memories of that gesture over my lifetime and immediately I nudged Mark "that guy's a Kiwi, I'm sure". We debated the issue as we walked down the promenade in Trogir, then forgot all about it for a while.

We got to Trogir accidentally. Our good friend Phil had talked about it and it sounded wonderful but it hadn't seriously been on the agenda when we left Sucuraj. We'd planned to stop at Split. The drive in on the bus did nothing for us and after debating our plans with one of the many zimmerwomen offering accommodation at the bus station, Mark went off to get more information. He arrived back with our tickets already booked to Trogir. The bus left in about 15 mins. It's a UNESCO world heritage site, another old city that is still used in everyday life. As someone said to me "if we don't use these buildings, where would we go? And what would happen to them?" There are only so many museums you can create obviously. To our delight we easily got accommodation for the night in the Old Town, and at a very reasonable price. Most of the buildings have been refurbished inside to create modern comfortable accommodation for visitors. Trogir trades on it's tourism. And port charges I imagine - the large and luxurious yacht was only one of about 4 in port. And they kept coming. 

Daniel, our guide, led us as we wove our way through the old cobbled and narrow streets up the stairs to our first story accommodation. The walls were at least 500mm thick. A really old building. The town was fascinating, the streets so narrow and the houses so high that it was like walking in a maze, although hard to get lost because eventually you got to water, it's a small island. Shops everywhere, of course more souvenir shops than you could poke a stick at, but more hairdressers per square meter than anywhere. In fact this was the first time I'd stumbled across a hairdresser, so, being continually hot with my mop of hair, I took full advantage of this finding and had all my hair chopped off. Not quite as short as Mark's, but shorter than I've had it since Uni, so many years ago. Don't think I've had to brush it since!

The place felt just right, so we booked another night which meant packing up and moving, but we enjoyed a similar standard of comfort in this apartment so it was worth it to be able to make the most of our stay.

Up the ruins of the old castle was a real test for my fear of heights, especially the walk up the unsupported steps to the battlements, and around the wall. Luckily it was so small that it was over before I knew it, like one of those fairground rides you can't help but climb onto, knowing that as soon as it starts you'll be wanting it to stop. Wondering why you paid all that money to scare yourself silly. But we did get our faces on a postcard. "...Included in the price". Must put that on the list of tacky things to do for tourists in Rotorua. 

Wandering up the promenade the next morning, Mark suddenly said "he is from NZ, he's got a map tattooed under his arm!" so we stopped for a chat. Was really good to talk to someone from home and it wasn't until afterwards that we appreciated some of the reasons. We could talk fast; we hadn't realised how slowly we'd been talking to people to make ourselves understood until then. We could use vernacular and be understood. We laughed at the same things. We laughed even without finishing sentences because we all knew what came next. We understood the culture without it having to be explained. He's living a Kiwi guy's dream - perpetual summer, cruising the Adriatic and Aegean in the northern summer and back home to Dunedin for the NZ summer. No ties. Sees a whole different world than we do and is having a great time. So are we.