forty five days.

rogoznica, croatia. our little town; the bay. everything is here. everything is preserved in these trees, the sea and stones. our childhood; my childhood. walking around the town, taking photographs, writing. awake at nine every day; half an hour on the terrace. then I descend down to my grandparents’ apartment. grandmother and I have a cup of coffee; a couple of cigarettes. we talk about everything and nothing. I help with little things around the house. laundry; rubbish bins; groceries. during the day I swim, walk up and down the hill, drink coffee with friends and neighbors, take afternoon naps, tan; relax. everything sinks deep in to my memory; old memories surface. I remember my injuries, experiences and games we played. I remember every stone, every pebble, every corner, every meter of the seabed; everything is just as we left it. nothing has changed yet we are older.

then I discovered an old tennis racquet, started playing every evening against the back of the house. walks to the marina and around the old town. visits to the open sea, listening to the waves and feeling salty air on my skin. my hair dry and light. my skin soft and dark. an afternoon in capostesto, photographs. feeling lonely but grateful. exploring streets that I know so well. watching the sunset, passing by the restaurant where many years ago m and I had to keep quiet, I passed by the tennis courts feeling a slight pinch at heart, walking through the playground in the centre where I used to swing as a three year old. but the swings are not there anymore.

old friends came for a visit as well. a couple of beautiful nights with the two of them; incredible seafood, plenty of wine. full moon, sky full of stars. we drove to trogir and on our way back I leaned my head back and watched the night sky through the open cabrio roof. music playing, my hair flying in all directions, warm air, soft scent of pines. a couple of days of thunders, rain and lightning. then the weather changed from summer to autumn over night. I took out warm blankets and sleeping the next morning. daylight lasts only until seven.

summer ends here and begins somewhere else.

part one, part two.

post scriptum.

thirty one days.

whole three weeks in czech republic. traveling between prague and a little town in southern bohemia on a daily basis. hours on the bus. sleeping at a friend’s house every time I miss the last one at seven. which was every day. a beer with my mother’s co-worker from a different lifetime. cafe bar velryba. I went back there almost every day for the rest of the week. meeting with my childhood gang. instead of ball games we played drinking games. seven of us; each completely different but the same. popocatepetl. first then the second one. shots. laughing. smoking a joint on a bridge; asking freaked out foreigners for a lighter. uncontrollable laughter. laughing and laughing and laughing. midnight snack at kfc. mashed potatoes because my mind won’t accept anything else. foosball. shots of hruskovica. the last bus and then a taxi. four drunk balkanks at four in the morning. the taxi driver did not look happy. breakfast in the morning. I felt at home with all of them. coffee in the garden, looking at old pictures. slowly remembering things everyone has forgotten. the youngest one old enough to prepare lunch whilst the rest just messed around. a compulsory shot of travarica before lunch. chilling out. back to the city. coffee with gavrilo. mojitos; mala sa mlijekom. back on the bus. dinners under the night sky, bottles of wine, stories of childhood. cool weather. dogs and children. sleeping in the attic. rain, thunderstorm.

my mother’s friends from university period are now my friends. more lunches, more coffees, more dinners. during the last week the weather was on crack. thirty five degrees to fifteen to twenty five. in three days. dinner back at home with my childhood gang. another old friend of ours. three of them playing guitar, the youngest one singing. a beautiful night. a bike ride through the meadows, picking apples and pears off the trees at the roadside. last minute decision to fly to croatia tomorrow. back on the bus. it took me twenty minutes to pack up, three hours to fall asleep.

alarm at quarter past five. dust; the sun hasn’t come up yet. the house is cold, everything is cold. my bus leaves at six twenty. I skip breakfast, say goodbye. an hour waiting at the bus station in prague. breakfast at mcdonald’s. airport. another hour and a half but it only took three minutes to check in. touchdown at the split domestic airport at noon. hot dry land. hot dry air. same faces, same everything. seeing my grandfather after two years. my only thought was I am home. a car drive to our little town. rogoznica. everything has remained the same. everything smells, feels and looks the same. like home. I have a whole apartment just to myself. top terrace; incredible view, my grandparents. everything is here. my activities strip down to a beautiful nothing. swimming, tanning, walking, reading summer paperbacks, sitting at the local cafe Starac watching soccer qualification games. both malta and israel lost 3-1 to croatia. everyone cheers, everyone yells. I only just smile and have another sip of bijela bevanda.

fourteen days.

arrival in istanbul at five in the morning. first cup of coffee at gloria jean’s. arriving in prague a few hours later. my home for the following week becomes the same house where my mother and later both my parents used to live more than twenty years ago. watching television at night in that small aparment downstairs knowing I used to sleep in the next room as a six month old baby is a strange but a nice feeling at the same time. going back to the airport on the same day to pick up a friend who flew down to prague from england just to visit me. but he wouldn’t admit that. dinner with friends, a couple of drinks on a balcony, watching the sunset. picking up warm baggles and bottled milk in the same fifty year old bakery. taking the tram downtown, stopping for a cup of coffee at gloria jean’s at malostranska. during the first week it became a habit. walking around, taking pictures. eating hot dogs for lunch and dinner because in prague they are just that good. taking a bus to a town a hundred kilometers away to see one of my oldest friends. and what could have been my only love, but only remained the first one. now that I’ve written it out here it seems as if I’ve broken some unspeakable something. but that’s just the way it is. he and his best friend picked me up at the bus station, we purchased the basics at a supermarket and spent the night with a group of friends at their summerhouse. it was an amazing night and I suppose a single night like that every two years is all we need really.

I took the same bus back to prague to meet with friends from aberdeen, amsterdam and decin. three white russians and a couple of hours worth of life stories and laughs. old town is beautiful at night and even more so the prague castle. it glows in its entire majesty and greatness. the first week it was cold and rained often so I spent a couple of afternoons in the cinema. horrible bosses, the lincoln lawyer, rise of the planet of the apes (twice) and conan the barbarian. somewhere in the middle of the week I gave up on buying transport tickets. many afternoons are spent with kryspin. it’s been really great knowning him. I met a poet from california in nerudova street, we had a drink together and shared thoughts on plath, yeats and capek’s literature. later as I walked up the street to prague castle I shared a few words with a boy from aruba. it was an incredible night. prague glowing, tourists taking pictures, people laughing. then there was a night of gypsy music with old friends from all over the world, visits to kafka’s birthplace, walking around vysehrad thinking how little has changed. vaclavske namesti is scary at night but nothing can surprise me anymore. as we sat behind the national theatre a drunken boy from slovakia approached us, we drank, laughed together. and then I lost him on the way home. his yellow cardigan shining in the flicker of old street lamps.

lunches, coffees, dinners around the city with various people. meeting with childhood friends after too many years. realizing how fast the time passes, realizing we’re getting old. evening on the balcony with homemade pizza, nirvana and eric clapton’s unplugged, a bottle of medovina and shisha. listening to and sitting in silence. sleeping on couches and in sleeping bags. taking the train from and to the city. listening to music, writing in a notebook spread out on my knees. beeping of the metro doors closing. spending an afternoon at letna; a park where I first held a tennis racquet. walking through kampa park every day; a park where I grew up. afternoons at shakespeare & sons. drinking mulled wine while sitting on a sidewalk looking up the charles bridge and watching people pass me by. long walks through the night, jumping on the tram at three am. glowing cathedrals and dark alleys. bike rides through the white mountain neighbourhood and through the woods of southern bohemia. reading extremely loud & incredibly close by jonathan safran foer, thinking him and nicole are the same person. loving the book, falling asleep whilst watching the stars on the night sky. which is something I haven’t witnessed for many long months.

to be continued.