postcard 34: little things
salty sammies, patio hangs and plastic jug wine.
It’s midday by the time we start the short hike to our favorite wild beach, homemade sandwiches nestled in our packs. The sun beats down and we see more people on the trail than usual and I think, summer must be almost here.
Through the campground, past the fishing shacks, inching our way across the marina's wall. Into the woods and along the coast—the water achingly blue today—to the end of a little peninsula covered in wildflowers. Our sandwiches get a little salty, thanks to a soggy dog.
I wade and Topher naps in the sun while Hazelnut chases lizards. She gets brave enough to join me where the water is up to her shoulders and boops my legs to make sure I notice before racing back to dry land, scaring the tiny fish away.
By the time we wander back, the whole afternoon has slipped away in a saltwater haze. We stop in the small town on the way home for ice cream, picking a cafe in the shade. The patio is totally empty despite the one across the street being full, and after five minutes we realize why. The waiter is blasting the world’s saddest breakup playlist and we try not to giggle as we drink our milkshakes to Pink and Beyonce. He stands by the entrance, halfheartedly trying to entice people to sit down while he chainsmokes and a German couple gets pulled in. They stand uncertainly on the deck for a few moments before crossing the street again. We pay quickly and leave.
Hazelnut’s paw is sore from zooming on the rough beach rocks so we skip our hike and instead head to a ghost town I found on Google Maps. I’ve been on Topher to work on his manifesting skills, so he hopes aloud for there to be hot dogs. Low and behold, there’s a little snack shack right next to the ruins and we bust out laughing. The town was built in the first century and abandoned sometime in the 18th, and I don’t know what I’m expecting, but it’s the same layout as every other town in Istria, just crumbling and empty. The foliage has taken over and the whole thing is open for people to explore. It's amazing. We climb the cobblestone streets and walk through the church, giving the dilapidated tombs in the floor a wide berth.
Hazelnut is on a mission and we follow her up onto the walls and along their length as they get narrower and narrower. We climb around a tree and I pull her back quickly, fighting a wave of dizziness. She’s led us to the top of the tower, with a several story drop to the ground below. She’s mad when we don’t let her peer over the edge to survey her climb and I inch back, keeping my hands on the ground.
We’re down to pocket change cash wise, so we skip the snack shack in favor of a bakery on the way home. We scrounge up enough 20¢ pieces to buy a loaf of bread and a pastry wrapped hot dog for Topher. At home, we dunk the bread in olive oil and drink spritzes on the patio.
It might not be quite summer yet, but it certainly feels like it. The markets are full of strawberries and early cherries, and we take evening strolls around the neighborhood after I get off work, the sun finally holding on past 8pm. Gardens are bursting with roses and the fields are full of bright red poppies. The tomatoes aren’t quite ready yet but I can’t help it so we eat tomato salads with fresh cheese and gnocchi with pesto we brought back from Italy. Out of necessity, we’re growing herbs on our balcony and despite my erratic watering skills and a constant battle with the gnats, I’m proud to harvest cilantro and basil as I prepare dinner.
It’s one of those days when everything that could go wrong at work does, and it’s a Friday to boot. I spend hours on the phone until my out of practice voice is raw. As soon as I shut my laptop we walk down the street to the wine seller we’ve yet to try. We buy a five euro bottle of rose and some three buck white in a plastic jug. It shows, but we drink it anyways and queue up Bridgerton while curry ramen simmers on the stove.
-Mikaela