postcard 29: walk the border collie
a ferry ride to a national park filled with zebras
Topher jokes that he has two dogs he needs to walk and it’s undeniably true. Some days, I am the border collie who will eat the couch without enough mental stimulation and exercise. Topher on the other hand, is a Newfie. His idea of recharging is an entire weekend spent in bed. Mine is climbing a mountain. Most weekends, we balance the two. A few adventures, most of a day spent leisurely drinking coffee. But some weekends, my inner border collie wins.
It’s 10am on Saturday and we have nothing planned, which is my worst nightmare. Luckily, living in a new place means finding something new and exciting to do is quick and easy. It takes half an hour and we’ve got a plan. A plan that doesn’t involve any time resting, but Topher promises he doesn’t mind. By 11, we’re at the grocery store picking up breakfast and on the road to a new trail.
It’s the first weekend where the thermostat climbs above 70° and the sun beating down feels delicious as we come through a drafty old railroad tunnel, water dripping from the ceiling, to the path in front of us. We’re on one of Istria’s most classic routes, the Parenzana, a refurbished rail trail that stretches from Italy, through Slovenia and into Croatia. We’re high up on a hill above the valley below, hugging the ridgeline that connects two small towns. Below us, vineyards spill down the hillsides and olive trees grow along the path. There’s no shade and it’s warm, by Hazelnut’s standards, but she distracts herself by chasing the lizards that sun themselves along the way. Hopefully this will help her throw the last of her winter coat. A runner, deep in the pain cave, passes us early on. Then another. When we hit our turnaround and start heading back towards the car, they start appearing more and more frequently and we realize we’ve joined an ultra marathon. Back in town, the cobblestone streets are teaming with racers and their families cheering them on. We find a patio tucked back among the buildings with ample shade and enough distance from the cowbells to be relaxing. Hazelnut sprawls across the cold stone and we drink spritzes and beers under the shade of a London plane.
Our daily walking path by the sea looks different in the evening light. The sun glints off the metal railings and one of our feral cat friends is sunning herself on top of the restaurant we have coffee at. We made reservations earlier this week on one of our morning breaks and the same waiter shows us to our table overlooking the turquoise water. We watch the sun melt into the sea, sailboats passing by, as we eat burrata and truffle pasta and the most decadent desserts made of lemon and basil. The waiter says our accents on “Hvala” (thank you) are so good he thought we spoke Croatian. We look at him blankly when he says literally anything else and he switches to English. The stars come out one by one.
When our alarms go off the next morning, I know Topher is regretting this plan, but we take Hazelnut on an early romp before tucking her in with all her toys at home and rushing to catch the first ferry to Brijuni National Park. It’s a 15 minute drive and a 15 minute boat ride, but it feels worlds away. I cling to the railing and watch the water sparkle in the sun and Topher notes that boats are fun because you don’t have to play it cool, everyone is stoked on how awesome they are.
These barrier islands we can see from the coast have a long and complex history, like most things in Europe. The Romans and Byzantines lived here, making olive oil and wine. Malaria was eradicated first on the population of the big island and Tito, Yugoslavia’s first leader, had his private summer residence here.
We opt out of the cheesy train tour and instead rent rickety bikes that have probably been on this island longer than Croatia has been an independent country. They’re single speed and I’m struggling immediately as we hit our first little hill. We ride through a golf course, pedaling fast past a couple getting ready to tee off, and along the coast, pointing out the towns we recognize on the mainland in the distance. Peacocks call out from the trees and Topher skids to a stop and points out a group of massive rabbits frolicking in a meadow. It’s a little surreal and then we get to the zebras. They graze on florescent green spring grass mere feet from us. We can clearly see every stripe and the way their little noses wrinkle. They are adorable. The zebras, along with the peacocks, some ostriches and an elephant, are leftover from Tito’s zoo. We get close enough to see the ostrich’s dinosaur feet and find one of the rabbits, a hare I think, lounging in the shade. He lets us take his picture.
We battle the bikes through groves of oak trees and wander among the ruins of churches built in 400 A.D. and Roman compounds where lizards and snakes now sun themselves. By the time we pull up in front of what is very likely the Mediterranean’s oldest olive tree at 1600 years, I am very over the biking endeavor. We return the clunkers and collapse into chairs at the hotel patio overlooking the water and order spritzes in ornate goblets. Much of my world revolves around my love of American national parks so don’t get me wrong, but the NPS could never, I think as we board the ferry back to the mainland. There’s kebab and an afternoon of reading in our future and I feel confident I will not eat the couch.
Topher goes biking with a guy he met on Facebook and decides maybe he’ll enter a mountain bike race this year. I strength train and do yoga and try not to miss my little orange mountain bike too much. Hazelnut zooms through flower perfumed woods and we all try not to sneeze.
-Mikaela