postcard 38: outdoor cats
The score of the game: Croatia 0, Spain 1; Topher 0, Urchin 1
I have to admit, I feel pretty smug as we breeze past everyone waiting for their number beginning with N to be called at the MUP’s foreigners’ desk. Our number beginning with 3, ID pick up, is called within 20 minutes and I walk away with a shiny new Croatian residence permit exactly 11 months after I first applied.
The tables at the market are piled high with shiny red cherries and apricots tinged with blush. The first tomatoes of the season have shown their faces and my favorite vegetable seller calls me “dear” in Croatian and convinces me to buy some. They’re still a bit hard and mealy, but that’s okay. There’s melon to be wrapped in prosciutto and a kohlrabi that I’m delighted I’m able to turn into a dish we had at a farm-to-table dinner the other week. I’m no food blogger, but in case you’d like to try, I included the recipe for Raw Kohlrabi Salad on a Bed of Labneh at the end of this postcard.
It’s getting hotter and we’re all drawn towards the water. We explore sections of coastline we’ve walked by every day, finding secret coves we thought were cliffs. Hazelnut splashes, getting braver and braver. We find a perfect spot for a picnic and return that evening with our cooler. As the sun fades into the ocean and and a trio of young guys fish unsuccessfully from the rocks down the coast, we eat halloumi peach salad out of Tupperware and cantaloupe liqueur out of paper cups, squeaking as a rogue wave splashes us every now and again.
After the lengthy ritual that is covering every inch of our Colorado pale bodies in SPF 50, we head out on a Saturday in the brilliant noon sun. The coast is busy and we eye a spot away from the crowds. There’s a cliff to be down climbed and I finally put on my water shoes to avoid slipping down the dirty embankment in my flip flops. The ocean is choppier than usual. Waves lap at the normally serene shore, but we’re hot and sunscreened up so we don our snorkels and masks and start wading out. I notice a huge colony (?) of sea urchin clinging to the rocks as soon as our feet touch the water. We’ve both got shoes on for this very reason, but getting past them still makes me nervous. Topher’s assuring me these aren’t the deadly kind and I’m arguing back that we still should really avoid touching them when a big wave knocks into our knees and sends Topher stumbling. Right into an urchin.
His toe is bleeding and full of little black spines, we notice, as he hobbles over to a rock. I run back up the cliff, still in my water shoes, and huff it back to the parking lot to get a pair of tweezers from the car. I wish I hadn’t left him by himself down a hidden cliff as I picture all sorts of terrible potential reactions, but he’s alive and just annoyed when I return. The tweezers don’t do much and we get him home as quickly as possible. It feels like being stung by several wasps, he reports, and still won’t let me drive. Inside, he soaks his foot in vinegar and the entire apartment smells like pickled feet. There are still spines embedded in his toe as I write this, but we’re hoping they’ll dissolve on their own and there won't be a trip to the hospital in our future.
It’s a coincidence that the first Croatia/Spain EURO soccer—I mean football—game is on when we take a seat at the local grill, but it’s a delightful surprise. We order cevapi and fries and I’m stoked when my mali pivo is a Heineken and not the usual Karlavaco. Croatia looses, but it’s fun to be surrounded by groups of passionate fans decked out in jerseys and Croatian flag bucket hats, cheering and swearing and stress smoking dozens of cigarettes.
I’m starting to understand why Croatians seemingly never go inside. The warm weather and cool breeze, the permanently blue skies, it’s impossible to sit inside in the AC for long. We’re on our little patio more often than not, drinking coffee or eating dinner and drinking a glass of wine. Hazelnut watches the world go by and we tend our herbs and laugh as the lady across the street shooes the pigeons from her windowsill every 15 minutes like clock work. Our Sunday walk takes us to a new park up the peninsula and we find a cafe to drink cappuccinos at in the sun after Hazelnut splashes. On the way home, we buy nectarines and olive oil from a roadside stand and when the sun sets we walk into town for gelato, the last of the color illuminating the colleseum.
Raw Kohlrabi Salad on a Bed of Labneh
1 kohlrabi with as many leaves as possible still attached
1/2 cup Labneh or good Greek yogurt
1 lemon
1/8 tsp smoked paprika
2 TBS chopped fresh dill, or 1 TBS dried
1 TBS toasted sesame seeds
Spread labneh in a shallow serving dish. Sprinkle with smoked paprika, dill and lots of salt and pepper. Juice half of lemon over top. Remove leaves and tough exterior of kohlrabi, cut the main bulb into thin batons and scatter over kohlrabi. Juice remaining lemon half over top, sprinkle with more salt. Drizzle good olive oil over top.
Toast kohlrabi leaves dry in low temp oven (200°) for 15-20 minutes until they get crispy. Scatter kohlrabi leaf chips and sesame seeds over top of salad. Enjoy!