I'm on a boat!

We were thankful for our ensuite this morning even if it was a battle to access it. When the girls weren’t in there doing their makeup they were straightening their hair sitting on their bunks. I thought myself lucky Alysia had not brought her straightener on this trip. Packed, we checked out, set out for the port and our boat. Erring on the side of caution we started at the nearest line of boats.
“We’ll walk along the water toward where we saw the Katarina boats.”
We were glad we did because they do indeed dock at two different points. This saved us quite a bit of back and forward with heavy packs. The sail contractors checked our documents and directed us to our boat. We had to walk across the deck of three similar boats to find ours, all docked side by side. And not all boats being equal there was quite a step between some of them - to get onto ours Alysia had to take her pack off. The captain was sitting out the back, with his reading glass and a stern look on, going over some documents. He asked us to surrender our passports and told us to be back at 12. We left our bags and set out for brunch. The port had its own food court of sorts. Perfect. Souvlaki on pita would do the trick. As we sat and ate we watched people walking past in board shorts wearing thongs, talking like strained crows, we discovered we weren’t alone. We were not the great adventurers we thought. We were just more Aussies in this summer promised land. In fact we would discover later we numbered 17 on the vessel. Besides us there was just one other nationality, in three Italians, besides the Croatian crew of course. Still we were happy. Back on the boat we met Jono and Jowy, from Victoria, who had been based in London. With them was Ashleigh, a friend from their apartment block, and Laura (an old friend of Jowy.’s). Like most Aussie’s behaving badly abroad they smoked. We didn’t mind so much having come to expect it across Europe. Jono and Jo were holidaying their way back to Oz. Another Aussie jumped on board. We learned this tank of a man was our tour guide.
“How does an obvious gym-junkie become a tour guide?” I wondered to myself. “This could be interesting.
Our boat wasn’t the vintage sailing boat we had imagined it would be. It had three stories, the below deck cabins where we were, alongside the diesel engine and its fumes, the boarding deck, housing the saloon, the two communal toilets, two showers, the captain’s cabin, our guide’s cabin and one crew and the above deck, housing eight cabins in all plus a place to hang out the back with deck chairs.
Eventually we were allowed to drop our bags into our cabins. If we could negotiate a narrow set of stairs into the bowels of the beast. We’d saved some money doing it this way but only time would tell if it was a wise choice. On the plus side we had a cabin to ourselves, even if it didn’t have a ensuite. Everyone on board did. I grabbed the top bunk. The bottom, Alysia’s, was staggered out below mine. At my head was a porthole about 100mm in diameter. It had a glass window secured by a wing nut and a solid metal one over that. They had to be closed under “navigation”.
The group gathered in the “saloon”, where we would share many meals over the coming week. Troy, or Trojan as the tank was otherwise known, promised we’d be spoilt and brown by the end of the week. He should have said we’d be fat too. He ran through some of the rules with us but the most amusing was that the boat was “explicitly acoustic” and that all noise would have to cease at midnight. At about this point the boat started motoring toward our first port, Hvar. Following some introductions we all took a shot of Rakia (fire water). And almost everyone ordered their first beer. It was only 1pm and we would not eat for two more hours.
“This could be an interesting week.”
The group dispersed and explored the boat. People gathered on the top deck which appeared by design for this purpose. Sun chairs were quickly set out and the group settled in for some relaxation and more talk. Lunch rolled around quickly signalled by the clatter of a bell.
Seated back in the saloon our waiter quickly brought out steaming bowls of mushroom soup quickly followed by spag bol. For dessert it was ripe and tasty pear. We were all full to bursting. Done and dusted we were quickly introduced to another requisite duty. Yes, within minutes, nearly all were in the water off the side of the boat.
“What would our mothers think, swimming so soon after food?!”
The water was colder than in Greece but just as salty and well welcomed. The cloud of the morning had burned off to reveal a beautiful afternoon. Drying on deck the salt clung to our bodies occasionally itching. Water was a precious resource too so there would be no showering after swimming. By the end of the week we might all be true salt dogs. Relaxing on board the captain idled the engine back and we drifted up to the dock. Our first step off the boat we were in Hvar. After our Greek cruise and the use of tender boats I thought: “this I could get used to”. Troy put his hand on his head like a shark fin. He was not meant to lead walking tours.
“If I say kismish man everyone scatter,” he enthused.
It was almost a game. This first tour would be very rudimentary so there were little risk of conflict with professional tour leaders.
On our own, so to speak, we climbed the hill toward the Spanish-designed fortress built by the Venetians. The views of the port were well worth it. We saw little point to pay money to go in and this was soon vindicated by reports from others on our boat. Instead we took the time to find some Croatian fast food, get back to the boat, get showered before happy hour and the return of the hordes. We wished to avoid any battles for the two communal shower this week.
The draught beer was everything it should be on the boat and we had soon wiped the smile of a few pints.
“Time for Kiva Bar,” Troy announced.
It wasn’t much after 9 when we arrived, being a five minute walk from the boat. Waiting for us on the bar were some Rakia shots and they were a bit nicer than the “paint stripper” version downed art initiation. These were quickly followed by some beers. The place had a good vibe. But overall we could have been in any bar back home. The bulk of the patrons were Aussies on the Busabout tour. Busabout had three boats in dock that night and, again, they were mostly Australian. It wasn’t all bad though. Somehow being on the other side of the world made it perfectly acceptable to sing along to John Farnham’s You’re The Voice among other tragedies. At the bar people were paying the price for fun. With the customer wearing an old army helmet the bar staff would mix tequila and lemon in a glass by bashing them about the head.
“Bang, bang, bang, BANG,” the final blow a brutal glancing shot that would ring out across the room before the patron downed the shot. We just punished ourselves with the huge drinks. Metre-long straws sprung from pitchers of booze, containing eight shots, disappearing at frightening speed with the help of friends. Troy was in fine form too. Appearing at the doorway, on queue, the Baywatch them song roared from the speakers. He was “The Hoff” after all. Thoroughly enjoying this boozy evening I travelled back and forward to the bar. On my last journey I asked for another pitcher and also received six shots and another beer - all for the price of the pitcher. With the shots in one hand, the pitcher under my wing and the beer in the other hand I set off the find everyone. I did but at the final moment the pitcher slipped, smashing on the floor. Bugger. At least we had the shots and me, a beer, to console myself. This proved good company while I went to scrape the glass out of my thong-shod feet. Alysia soon found me and it was time to move to the next bar. For us though we called it a night, me staggering back to the boat, seeing double and triple.
Sam (September 11)