The memory of an event is a strange thing. It gets stored. Then often, secretly distorted. Then restored. Pretends to be the original. When on closer inspection it’s clearly not.
We allow Paul & Kath some space to go exploring the Babin Kuk peninsula that we’re both staying on. Arrange to meet for dinner again. We charge off in the opposite direction. It’s been fifteen years since Mary-Ann and Laura holidayed in Cavtat. We’re curious to visit – for different reasons. A short water ferry’s ride away, Mrs S informs me.
I’m good in water. I’m not good on water. I can just about cope with a fifteen minute trip though. I’m up for it. However, fifteen minutes turns to thirty, then to forty-five. We eventually dock into Cavtat fifty-eight minutes later. It’s choppy and the engine’s diesel smells, mixed and shaken with the rock and roll, do nothing to whet my appetite, even though it’s lunchtime. In fact quite the opposite. A short breathy sea-side walk cures my queeze.
We go in search of the hotel they stayed in. It’s round the next bay. Everything looks slightly different to how Mary-Ann remembers. Live streaming images not quite tallying with those stored ones. Nothing matches anymore. It’s the same, but somehow not. We stop off for a selfie on a short jetty. Run out of time. Leg it back. Make it last on board the returning ferry. Where’s it off to? This isn’t the way. It makes a detour. Back to the jetty we’ve just left. Picks up two final passengers . . . doh!
We travel back on a different boat. Larger and more open. Take a smoother course. I relax . . .
Lovely picture of you both☺
Gee thanks – you’re making us blush . . .