Azure

We're crossing the Adriatic Sea on a ferry at the moment, from Dubrovnik in Croatia to Bari in Italy. It was a bit of a hard decision to make, to leave Croatia, but we're on the boat now, more than anything else on the strength of plans we made earlier.

The clear waters, empty beaches and friendly people enchanted us for the last few days, spent on the island of Korcula. It's one of about 1200 island along the Croatian coast, and locals told us we would love any of the islands. Em chose Korcula, and the place provided a very special detour.

A couple of hours by ferry to Vela Luka - big port - from Split, we landed in a landscape of postcard views and timeless character. A large man guided us towards his mate's pizzeria.

Above the town and port rise steep, rocky hills, terraced over the centuries to allow the cultivation of olives. Flat, bright rocks pulled from the earth are stacked to form walls, and in places to build tiny houses or barns. We chose a good, wide terrace, partly shaded by a grand olive tree, and matched by one across the steep little road for parking. Em set up camp, while I went for wine and pasta, fruit and beer.

A special camp, among timeless (and abandoned?) rows of olives showing the agricultural efforts of centuries. We woke late and rose still later, then let the sun touch our skin for languid hours. Breaking camp was left for the afternoon.

There'd been talk of a second night amongst the olives, but the Adriatic had it's way. We motored lazily along the smallest roads we could find, away from little Vela Luka and along the coast of Korcula. Poplat, Novi, Tri Luke - not towns as such but localities, mostly nestled deep in inlets where the azure of the Adriatic faded through turquoise to crystal clarity.

Our coastal track led us to a bay; we had been far above the jewel-laden sea, and had looked longingly at the coasts of half-a-dozen islands. Two or three little houses surrounded the inlet we'd found, and in one of them there was even and elderly couple. We exchanged greetings as the sea enticed us closer.




Alone on the beach, we swam, picknicked, swam again and lay on a seaweed mattress to our hearts' content. Gentle breeze, clear seas, best friends. A long, easy afternoon, but we moved on before our birthday suits burned.

We came to Grscica, where we had coffee and then beer with a bloke who yelled out "G'day" to us. He was from there, but called Australia home like many Croatians whose paths we crossed.

Boats, wooded headlands, sunbleached stone, and an endless sea of clear, clear water and gentle waves. We motored on, stopping, photographing, hanging out. It was dark by the time we reached Pupnatska Luka, another little settlement of a half-dozen people. We wanted to camp on the beach, but also wanted to ask someone's permission and needed local knowledge to find the track to the beach. Another timeless-looking couple showed us the way, teaching us "thankyou" and "good night" in Croatian as they did so. They offered us home-grown oranges and olive oil too, completing both our dinner and breakfast with the gesture.

A short, steep trek through the ruins of a previous village and down to the beach was made longer by the fact that I'd forgotten to refill our stove with petrol. We went back up to the bike together, not only in the name of teamwork but also because it was just a little spooky! We cooked our simple fare, set up our nylon home and slept, content.

The morning brought a swim, then the opportunity to help the people who had been generous to us the night before. Together we landed their boat - Emily carried their outboard motor and I helped pull the boat up high on the beach.



On the ferry to the mainland, a bloke called Dennis assured us we'd be back, and invited us to look him up. It seems longer than a bare few days we were on Korcula, and they are sweet memories ...