Mljet National Park & Korcula, Croatia
The colors of the morning are changeable and always unpredictable. They serve to remind us that each and every day is new and worth waking up to. Was it the humidity in the air or smoke from distant places filtering out the warm tones of light today? Whichever, the world took on a blue cast this morning until the rosy ball of the sun erupted from the clouds.
No longer was our horizon edged with tilted limestone cliffs. The land had flatten out, the bedding planes still gently folded or angled here and there, but now the topography was more like a placidly rolling sea. Clusters of red roofed houses were guarded by sharp palisades of jade Italian cypress trees. But these were not the focus of the morning. It was the pines that created the backdrop for day. Mljet National Park was carpeted by pines but not the tall, erect single stalked conifers we find back home. If one strips the emerald needles from the branches of these Aleppo pines the shape would be more akin to a large deciduous tree. The understory was lush with shrubs of many kinds and the paths we followed edged with pale magenta cyclamen flowers. We explored alone and in tiny groups, by foot or bike. The wind played sounds like rushing water in the tree tops and carried the harsh rasping call of a crow to our ears. By boat we traversed the bay, Veliko Jezero, to investigate Sveti Marija, the Isle of St. Mary and its twelfth century monastery.
From wooded Mljet we journeyed to Korkyra Melaina (Korcula), crowned not by trees but ancient city walls. How wise were these architects from five hundred or so years ago! They not only knew which way the wind would blow but how to control its flow. Winter gales, icy and wild would blast through the city gates but their progress was halted there for curving streets are obstacles to the flow. When summer comes, the prevailing breezes come from the opposite direction and here the gates lead to streets that are perfectly straight, the plaza thus naturally air conditioned. Privacy too was a concern in the design of the ancient city. Where now three hundred residents dwell, three thousand or so might have been crowded. Homes were multistoried, separated by only narrow alleys. And yet by offsetting the windows both horizontally and vertically, no one could peer into the quarters of their next door neighbor.
Traditions are as long lasting as the city walls. As in countries everywhere, myths describe conflicts in both love and war. Since the sixteenth century the Moreska sword dance has portrayed these same themes. Iron weapons crashed tonight. Sparks flew and youthful bodies whorled in perfect coordination until the red, the good, conquered the black and evil king who had stolen the fair queen. The skill of the dancers was admirable but maybe even more heartwarming was the demonstration of the strength of family and community coexisting with busy tourism.
The colors of the morning are changeable and always unpredictable. They serve to remind us that each and every day is new and worth waking up to. Was it the humidity in the air or smoke from distant places filtering out the warm tones of light today? Whichever, the world took on a blue cast this morning until the rosy ball of the sun erupted from the clouds.
No longer was our horizon edged with tilted limestone cliffs. The land had flatten out, the bedding planes still gently folded or angled here and there, but now the topography was more like a placidly rolling sea. Clusters of red roofed houses were guarded by sharp palisades of jade Italian cypress trees. But these were not the focus of the morning. It was the pines that created the backdrop for day. Mljet National Park was carpeted by pines but not the tall, erect single stalked conifers we find back home. If one strips the emerald needles from the branches of these Aleppo pines the shape would be more akin to a large deciduous tree. The understory was lush with shrubs of many kinds and the paths we followed edged with pale magenta cyclamen flowers. We explored alone and in tiny groups, by foot or bike. The wind played sounds like rushing water in the tree tops and carried the harsh rasping call of a crow to our ears. By boat we traversed the bay, Veliko Jezero, to investigate Sveti Marija, the Isle of St. Mary and its twelfth century monastery.
From wooded Mljet we journeyed to Korkyra Melaina (Korcula), crowned not by trees but ancient city walls. How wise were these architects from five hundred or so years ago! They not only knew which way the wind would blow but how to control its flow. Winter gales, icy and wild would blast through the city gates but their progress was halted there for curving streets are obstacles to the flow. When summer comes, the prevailing breezes come from the opposite direction and here the gates lead to streets that are perfectly straight, the plaza thus naturally air conditioned. Privacy too was a concern in the design of the ancient city. Where now three hundred residents dwell, three thousand or so might have been crowded. Homes were multistoried, separated by only narrow alleys. And yet by offsetting the windows both horizontally and vertically, no one could peer into the quarters of their next door neighbor.
Traditions are as long lasting as the city walls. As in countries everywhere, myths describe conflicts in both love and war. Since the sixteenth century the Moreska sword dance has portrayed these same themes. Iron weapons crashed tonight. Sparks flew and youthful bodies whorled in perfect coordination until the red, the good, conquered the black and evil king who had stolen the fair queen. The skill of the dancers was admirable but maybe even more heartwarming was the demonstration of the strength of family and community coexisting with busy tourism.
