Dubrovnik, in memory of John

My family is worried that I will bring the parents back piece by piece! So herewith a true story: on the islands in Greece there is no space for burials, so when it is your time to leave the planet, you get decapitated, for a good reason. The skull is removed out of the coffin after two years and the rest of the bones get thrown in the sea. An old Englishman's wife was buried on the island and after 2 years he came to fetch the remains, or rather her skull, to take back to England. He carried the neat little box on the plane and at Heathrow, he tripped and fell, and his wife came rolling down the aisle! My father has been taunting my mother about the neat little box as she doesn't want a coffin. My father made
Mom a coffin out of Soetdoring, but she gave her coffin away!

But now about Dubrovnik! A dear friend, John, now in spirit, sailed with his beloved Lee to Croatia. They both just loved it. On their coffee table was a book about the Plitvice Lakes. That's where I first saw it, and decided that Croatia is a place that is on my list to see. Apart from the fact that many, many moons ago, more than 22 years ago, I had a Croatian boyfriend, called Saša Bach. He was beautiful, a real Adonis, and his granny used to crotchet lovely lace for my kitchen shelves.

This morning we took the bus to the old city! Oh boy it was hot! My pa sê: bliksem maar dis warm! En hy loop weg vir die auntie, en sy sê: ek kan nie help as die duiwel hom jaag nie! Even the auntie broke out in a sweat and she claims she has never ever perspired!

The sandstone walls glisten gold in the morning sun. There are tour bus upon tour bus full of first timers to Croatia. Everyone is hugging the fountains! The water there is ice cold! The Chinese arrive with their tiny suitcases, and they wheel it through the old city. The auntie can definitely learn from them! Ma sê: man hulle is 'n vuurhoutjie hoog en hulle het nie baie goed nodig nie!

We also hugged the fountain, and the restaurant next door. We came back so many times, that the waitress gave mom a free beer, and also a 10% discount on our final bill!

We first go to the Franciscan monastery, at the entrance, we meet Pieter, hy groet ons in suiwer Afrikaans. Mom gives him a kiss, and he only charge us entrance for 1 person. He was born in Croatia, but during the war his parents fled to South Africa. He went to school in SA, and returned to his homeland after the war. He just loves the Afrikaans language, and still keeps it up! He is the gatekeeper at the Monastery, two people from the US try to sneak past, and he says: Haai julle snotkoppe; kom hierso! Pa sê: dis nou my gat se deksel dat ons nou vir jou hier kry!

The monastery is a cool respite and a little oasis on this boiling day. We look at the fragments of war, icons with gunshot holes and burn marks, holes in the walls made by missiles. Human beings can be so destructive!

We stroll through this marvelous and intact walled city, that survived an earth quake and several wars. It's busy, thousands of tourists are everywhere. It's too hot to walk on the wall although it comes highly recommended. A sales lady says that 13 cruise liners stop here in summer, every day!

I spot a shop in a side street, and the auntie and I indulge in old Croatian silver with porcelain beads. Dad made a contribution to my purchase because I am so patient. Dad is sitting next to the fountain...PATIENTLY waiting.

Mom sees a sign and declares, they have ostrich on the menu! Turns out to be oysters, very big difference!

We then decide to walk back to our guesthouse, we wanted to take some pictures, this is around 5pm. Oh my, we are crazy! The auntie complains like hell! She says that it's worse than the hike at the lakes. We sit on the bench under the shade at every bus stop. I fetch the washing on the way and forget my sunglasses! I have to walk back again! And I did the same trip this morning too! I am sure I have lost 5 kilos today!

We are now lying in bed watching the soccer match between Croatia and Spain. Every Croat is wearing red and white check shirts today, they are flying their flag and their cars are all dressed up, and I hear Vuvuzelas blowing in our suburb.

The word Vuvuzela is how we identify where we come from! It's a universal symbol for South Africa! Vuvuzela and Mandela are our key words!