Sailing

I’ve just returned from yoga – yes, it’s nearly midnight and there were drinks to be had and stories to be exchanged – this time with  a new group of women who attend one of the other fitness classes. I can hear singing nearby – not as unwelcome as the young Australian and New Zealanders down on the Riva. Apparently the ‘young’ boats arrive here on a Thursday and the locals are a bit over the drunkedness and general loudness of the music, the yelling and screaming (and vomiting and nakedness) of these particular visitors. Letters have been written to the newspapers. As I cycled through town tonight I had a small sample of the noise. Shoulders are shrugged, eyes are rolled.

Today was a gorgeous day punctuated by the sound of planes and helicopters swooping up buckets of sea water to dump on the burning Biokovo – yes, still burning: an orange glow at the top as we did yoga.

I met Branka for coffee in the morning, then rushed together a picnic for an afternoon sail to the island of Brac (with a ‘ch’).  Annette and Srjdan have a small yacht, perfect for an afternoon treat. There was absolutely no-one in the small cove we anchored in – we swam, ate, swam, read and slept in the sun. My grandfather used to rave about the colour and clarity of the water – and it’s all true. Cisto i bristo.

Perfect, absolutely perfect.