Monday, July 11: "Rovinj is a dream for me"
As we were saying goodbye to Bruno and Blaga in Trogir a couple days ago, Bruno asked where we were headed to next. I told him we were going to Rijeka, Opatija, and several cities in Istrija including Rovinj.
"Rovinj!" he said nostalgically, "Rovinj is a dream for me."
Well, after that ringing endorsement for travel, I just couldn't wait to visit!
We got kind of a late start today. Steven is dragging every morning, so we didn't really get our act together until just after noon. We stopped first at the pharmacy in Pazin so that Steven could stock up on gauze bandage and paper tape. I finally figured out that it was best to let him out of the car close to our destinations while I go and park in order to minimize the walking he has to do. Pazin isn't that big of a place, but here, as everywhere in Croatia, parking is really tough. I found a parking lot about two blocks away and caught up with him just as he was trying out a cane he intended to buy. Steven has been using a variety of folding canes over the years to help him with his balance. The eye issues he had a few years ago has for the most part messed up his depth perception. Medical provisions in hand, I raced out in front of him to get the car and pick him up on the corner.
Rovinj is only 38 km away (about 24 miles). I wasn't concerned at all about travel time there and back. I was, however, worried about crowds. I had heard it was a popular tourist destination, and indeed, no sooner did we hit the city limits than roads were thick with cars and lined with pedestrians streaming from parking lots just outside of the old town.
One thing you notice here, as in several other towns and cities in Istrija, is the bilingual signs. They are not everywhere, but seemingly in just certain cities, most likely those where there are documented large Italian communities. I didn't ask our host Sonja about bilingualism, but I suspect she herself is Italo-Croat by the number of VHS (!) tapes in Italian stashed in her TV shelving unit. When I hear people speaking Croatian here, the cadence and speed of the language reminds me a lot of Italian. Instead of saying goodbye with "Bok, zdravo", you tend to hear "Ciao."
While I had been patting myself on the back for minimizing the amount of walking Steven has had to do, my parking choice turned out to be unnecessarily further out from the old town than I had intended. We joined the steady stream of other tourists headed down the hill to the riva, seeing the impressive church bell tower loom before us in the center of the town. Tour boats and big-ass yachts lined the pier. Combination ice cream shops and booze bars lured in the many tourists who flocked toward the old town center.
It was now early afternoon, 2:30-ish, if I recall. We decided to head for the restaurant called Zita that overlooked the pier. A charming place with an al fresco dining area under big canopy tents. The food was decidedly Italian: pizzas, pastas, gnocchi, etc. The menu was in Italian, English and German. When we finally got the eye of a waiter to order, I launched into Croatian.
"No, no, no speak Croatian. German or English," he replied.
The shock on my face must have been apparent. "Okay, then, uhm, German, I mean English."
That was the very first time I encountered wait-staff who did NOT speak the language of the country they were in. My guess is that he may have moved here from Italy and never bothered to learn the language. If you grow up in Croatia, there's no way you CAN'T learn Croatian. In a fully integrated EU, it doesn't matter what country you're from. If a language is protected under EU minority law in a country, you can use it freely without being forced to learn the dominant language. In a truly federal EU then, it really doesn't matter whether your nation consists of 3 million people or 30 million. Those rights are accorded to all.
After I finished my pizza Diavola and beer, I left Steven to sit alone at Zita while I headed up the hill to the bell tower and basilica of St. Euphemia, the patron saint of the town. I'm a sucker for the narrow, winding streets of Medieval/Renaissance towns, but nothing compares to Rovinj. "Quaint" and "charming" don't adequately describe it. The cobbles in the streets are smooth, worn down by the feet of millions of visitors over the years. The ubiquitous olive oil, honey, and truffle stands jot out in markets and small shops along with "pirate candy" stores, artisanal jewelry, and t-shirt shops. More so than elsewhere, especially the deeper you get into the town, shop owners constantly try to lure you in with "I have a question for you" or "hey, come on over."
It took me about 45 minutes to make my way to the top of the town were St. Euphemia was perched overlooking the sea. Comparisons to Venice aren't entirely unjustified, because the bell tower looks a lot like St. Mark's. The basilica is modestly Gothic on the outside, and a Baroque-explosion on the inside. The actual sixth-century sarcophagus of St. Euphemia is on display just to the left of the altar in the back of the church. The link above points to the legend of how the sarcophagus ended up here. Spoiler alert: it involves a miracle!
Mindful of Steven sitting alone back at the restaurant, I gingerly made my way down the sloped and rather slippery cobblestone pathway. I popped out on the other side of the town flanked by another pier, this one full of private sail and motor boats bobbing about in front of the other riva. I really wished Steven could have seen this. I guess this means we'll have to come back next year....
Back at Zita we made a deal that Steven would walk up about 100 feet to the turnabout while I went to fetch the car about a half mile away at the lot. Steven couldn't resist walking another 100 feet which he would now likely say was a big mistake, because later that evening his feet again were a bloody mess--not as a bad as ten days ago, but still leaving marks all over the place and leaving him a tremendous amount of pain.
So that was our brief and spectacular mini-adventure in Rovinj. Definitely check it out, if you're ever traveling in Istrija.
When we returned to Pazin, Steven made another stop at the pharmacy there. (He's starting to become besties with the pharmacist.) I went to park the car at the park we stopped at on day 1 and set off for a grocery store I remembered seeing on my hike to the castle. Damn, it felt far! Even farther coming back loaded down with groceries. To my chagrin, I discovered a grocery RIGHT NEXT to the park and less than a block from the pharmacy. Arg!
We spent the evening noshing on bread, oil, sausage and wine/beer, settling in for two episodes of The Boys. I turned in early. Steven, true to form, late in the evening.
Tomorrow, back to Zagreb. We're joining Carol at our last AirBnB of the trip.
Next post: Tuesday, July 12-Wednesday, July 13: Back in Zagreb!
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