Ugljan Island

Ugljan is the closest and most easily accessible island from Zadar - and since all the islands have their draws and we only have so much time to go 'sploring, we figured we might as well hop on the ferry and head on over. It has the densest population of any island in Zadar's archipelago, almost entirely apportioned to its eastern coast. This is a view from the Saint Michael fortress ruin out over the northern tip of its mostly deserted western side. Nary a rooftop could be spotted, just green shrubbery as far as the eye could see. Like an enormous moss covering. We could see why it's referred to as "the green island."
It's a very fertile island, but on our hike up to Sveti Mihovil (St. Michael), we felt like we were in the desert. The sun beat down hard and we joked about sucking on one of our wet water shoes. I would have joked about how 'sveti' I was, but my pun recognition was greatly dimmed by the trudge. Testament to the heat. We were joined halfway by a family of four, who stopped for a rest and were never seen again. Alongside the trail were these collections of stones, resembling inscriptionless graveyards.
Saint Michael is at the highest peak of the island, which makes sense for a fortress site. Unfortunately, it also makes sense for tv tower placement and one has been erected smack dab in the middle of the ruin. On the upside, we can make out the tower in the distance from our home on the mainland, and we now point and go "we were up there!" Still, it's a shame. Apparently, there is another historic castle on Ugljan which has been nicely restored - and renamed after a Croatian basketball star. It's like both ruins on the island are tongue-in-cheek statements about ancient icons and modern icons.
Down on lower land, we lounged in the town of Preko. It was surprisingly calm compared to the bustle we'd sailed away from on the other side. A number of older men filled large plastic pitchers with water from a well and then bicycled them back up toward home. (This man has more precious cargo: ice cream). The agricultural settlements are mostly inland, uphill from the coast. Vegetable gardens and vineyards join the namesake olive groves (Ugljan comes from the word for oil) on a list of the island's bounty. I wondered if the old woman we'd bought greens from at the Zadar market had ferried her produce over from here. She waved goodbye to us with a mutated carrot - it looked like a demented orange chicken foot - and then handed it to me as a gift.
Of course, there's also fishing. Everyone else at this outdoor restaurant next to the fish market dined on pizza and pasta, but we ordered the special on the chalkboard. We were served twelve grilled sardines each with a garlicky swiss chard/potato mash (a Dalmation specialty called 'blitva'). They were the best sardines of our very sardine-heavy trip so far - and not just because they didn't come out of a can.
Right across from Preko's semi-sandy, mostly stone beach was the island of Galovac. We considered swimming over to it, but weren't sure we could balance all of our belongings on our heads. So, instead, we walked along the coast until we found a cove and took a dip. A small cluster of pine trees shaded us from the direct sun. They say the water in the channel between Ugljan and Zadar is some of the cleanest and clearest in the Adriatic, because of the constantly shifting currents. If I weren't wearing my sexy new watershoes, I could probably have counted my toes.
As the afternoon rolled on, more people began to come over on the ferry. Beaching begins late here, as it's still hot and bright at 8pm. Ugljan gets an average of twelve hours of sunlight per day all year round. That's a statistic that will be repeating in my head come February. Most of the teenage boys that came over were cologned and shaved for the evening, but these guys were content to play (standing) water polo until the sunset.
And here is Preko and Galovac from the ruin. We thought the large building on the islet was a hotel, but it's actually a Francescan monastery from the 15th century. Not surprising. So far, traveling in this country has seemed like a pick your own adventure book. We pick a region, then an island, then a town, and even that story can have a multitude of endings. There's just treasure upon treasure, natural and historic. Welcome to Croatia.

Lago Trasimeno

If you've noticed something different about the blog, it's not a formatting or font change - it's that we've been taking pictures under a clear, blue, Mediterranean sky for the past few days. We are about to leave the shores of Lago Trasimeno, where we've stayed for two nights.

The lake is in Umbria, not far from the Tuscan border, and the food is influenced by both regions. There is more fish available here than we found in the hills of Tuscany, and a real emphasis on beans and legumes.
The waters of the lake are a deep green - warm, fertile runoff collects here, washed down from the mountains surrounding it. Surprisingly, it isn't very crowded and has escaped over-development. We walked by the water almost completely alone, and took a ferry with only one other person on it.
The town we are staying in, Castiglione Del Lago, has a magnificent, 12th century castle, a pretty view out over the lake and a bustling Wednesday market.
A picnic Rebecca and Maggi put together: greens, squares of tomato and onion bread and a thick slice of Porchetta that we agreed was among the best pork dishes we'd ever tasted. The skin was crisp and golden and the meat beneath was beautifully moist and herbaceous. We ate hastily, putting meat on top of bread with not much else. Our fingers got very greasy, but that wasn't too much of a problem.
There are a few islands in the lake; we visited the largest of them, Isola Magiore. A crew of people were slowly going about replacing the pilings at the dock, working with two cranes and a chainsaw.
Being the offseason, the island was mostly deserted, though a few people were still around. A small street runs down one side of the coast, and the houses crowd together in the lee of the wind. On top of the small hill, an 11th century church stood, closed up and silent. We saw dozens of rabbits in the underbrush and a few pheasant-like birds which I couldn't identify. This was a favorite haunt of Saint Francis of Assisi, according to legend, and it feels very much the same as it must have when he was alive.

We're setting off for Rome this morning, and are having a tough time leaving behind the quiet and relative solitude that we've found here. On the ferry back to shore yesterday, we sat without talking for most of the ride, enjoying the sun and the still waters.

Bus Stop/ Post Office

As we drove down the Sõrve peninsula, we noticed that each bus stop was different. We literally did not see a single bus stop that was the same as the next. After a few interesting designs, we spotted this one with lace curtains. We stopped the car and went to take some closer pictures.
Up close, we realized that it was not simply a bus stop, but a post office. Inside the house were a row of mailboxes for the surrounding houses, making it easier for the postman to come by with a delivery.
It was so sweet, the way the neighbors had gussied up the place. There were fresh flowers in a teeny vase and a small coffee table with reading materials next to the seats. It seems perfectly natural, yet perfectly delightful that they would want the spot visit daily, to get their mail and to catch their ride to work/school/etc, to be as comfortable and pleasant as possible.
After that, we decided to drive back to a few interesting looking bus stops we had passed to see if they, too, doubled as post centers. We had both remembered seeing a really colorful one some miles back and were glad to find it again.
I loved the big chunks of log used as seats. It wasn't as cute as the first, but just as unique. It's interesting to think about the different towns' personalities, judging by their decor choices.
As we moved closer to Kuressaare, the bus stops became more modern. Still, they were each different from one another. We were hoping to spot another bus stop/post office combo, but they all appeared to be bench/ceiling structures built solely for waiting.
As we drove passed this one, we noticed the mailboxes affixed to its right side. Definitely much more modern than the rest, but a bus stop/post office all the same! We had initially decided to drive around the Sõrve peninsula, because it was the site of some really bitterly-fought battles between the Soviets and the Germans during WWII. Apparently, most of the fighting happened at night, which means the two sides blindly fought at each other for hours. We had thought we may be able to get a good battlefield blog post out of it, but were so glad to have found, instead, this little piece of Saaremaa life that was completely endearing, unique, memorable, and outside of any guidebook reference.

The Kaali Craters

On a colorless, overcast day on the island of Saaremaa, we traveled up from Kuressaare to the tiny hamlet of Kaali. The town is unremarkable except for one feature - the Kaali meteorite craters. There are nine of them, in all, with one major crater in the center. It is one of the last - if not the last - major meteorite collisions in Earth's history and has inspired a number of legends and tales. The impact was comparable to the Hiroshima atomic bomb, and flattened the forest in a four mile radius around the blast. The Finnish national epic, the Kalevala, mentions the blast and the island - it became known as "the sun's grave." It is apparently a huge attraction, but when we visited we found an empty village and almost virgin snow surrounding the impact site. Walking up to the edge of the crater, it was obvious that less than a handful of people had been there in the past week or so. The picture above is of Rebecca scaling the crater's edge, through deep, powdery snow.

The exact moment of impact is a debatable fact - people believe that it occurred sometime between 7,500 and 4,000 years ago. Between 600 BC and 100 AD, a wall was constructed around the lake (part of which is shown above), and the remains of ritual sacrifices dating from that period were uncovered in the 1970's. The sacrifices apparently continued until the eighteenth century. The place has retained an important significance in local mythology up until the present.
The actual crater was smaller, perhaps, than we were expecting. It was such a dismal day, with so little color, that the patch of ice where the crater sits appeared to be little more than a stretch of treeless snow in the flat light. It was deserted and quiet.
After a while in the woods, we followed the simple track back to the village where our car was parked. Along the way we saw few people - though we did see an old lady on one of these push-sleighs, which is something like a pair of skis attached to a chair. One foot remains on the track while the other pushes. We've seen them a few times on Saaremaa, and they seem like a great way to get around.

The Ferry to Muhu

On our way from the pretty lake town of Viljandi out to the island of Saaremaa, we had to take a ferry from Virtsu, on the coast, to Muhu island.
The crossing took a little over half an hour - a straight shot out into the sea ice, across the channel. The land was difficult to distinguish on the horizon because it's so flat. The sea was dead calm and the ice lay still on the surface. Even behind us, in the wake of the boat, the water seemed barely disturbed, the floes sliding heavily into place around the stern.
We left the car on the lower deck and went up for a bite to eat in the cafe. Rebecca had a piece of bread adorned with these small, silvery fish that she believes are Estonian "räim," or Baltic dwarf herring. They were barely cured, without much salt, and she said that they were delicious.
I had this blood sausage wrapped in bacon, which was much heavier. I had intended to have just one of them, but the serving-lady put two on my plate alongside a huge pile of sauerkraut. They were good, but it was more food than I really wanted on our short crossing. Around us, passengers sat without talking and looked out the windows. Something about the blankness of the ocean space and the low sound of the engines made conversation seem frivolous. Being on a boat - even for a short amount of time - always seems to bring out a contemplative quietness in people.
After we ate, we went out onto the forward deck to watch the port drawing nearer. The ferries had tracked a path in the ice (which you can see in the photo). The air was surprisingly still, which was nice because the temperature was hovering around 10° fahrenheit.