It can be easy to not understand a conversation, even when spoken in your own language. Mrs S is often left flabbergasted when I don’t comprehend her spoken words. Likes to remind me that she thinks I’m from another planet. Mars?
Yesterday I was in reception. Waiting behind a French couple who are checking in. The Croats (along with the Slovenes) are highly fluent in a multitude of languages. They slip in and out seamlessly from one guest to another. As if it’s completely normal. French is my second language (Ha!), so I like to think. Love the chance to practise what very little I know. Welcome the opportunity to eavesdrop too. They ask if there’s a bus service into Split. “Yes, you take the number 60. The stop is over the road from the site. It runs on the hour and every half hour, even tomorrow which is a holiday.” Something else is said, but I don’t catch it.
So we get to the stop ‘over the road’ at 10.55am. By twenty past a bus had not been seen – in either direction. I’m not too fussed, oddly. That’s because a clay court tennis match is going to start fifty metres away. I watch them knock up. Dreamily imagine how I would assess each of their strengths and weaknesses if I were on the other side of the net. A bygone time now with my useless knees. Both men look as if they can ‘play’. Mary-Ann is being very, very patient. Trusts my linguistic skill. By the time it’s coming up to noon I’m doubting mine. Dash back to reception. Discover we’re waiting on the number 25 route. It runs every couple of hours. The 60 runs along the road at right angles to this one!
The 6o drops us within curtsying distance of the palace’s Golden Gate. It’s fourth century. Built for the roman emperor Diocletian. Gregory of Nin’s shiny big toe invites us to make a wish and enter. It’s not really a palace. Never was. Just a place to hang out. Have a beer or two. Do a bit of shopping. Grab some lunch. Seems it’s not changed much.
Our first stop is going to be the top of the bell tower. Its narrow steps are ginormous. Mary-Ann feels like a Lilliputian as she treads upwards
The existing enclosed old town feels cosy. Touristy, but a working one too. Lots of narrow alleyways to explore. Lunch taken in one such place. All on our own.
Then it’s time to visit the only other building of note. The tiny cathedral. We pay our money and are in and out before any one of these hedonists drop a spinning plate. As Brucy would say “Good game, good game” . . .
