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While staying in Trogir, we rented a car to drive around and see various wineries as well as some sites along the way. On any map there are three different ways to go north to Šibenik from the Split/Trogir area. There is the coastal road which is the equivalent of the Pacific Coast Highway in California in that it is beautiful, but painfully slow. Then there is what people call the Old Road. And then there is the New Road or the Auto Cesta that was built basically to handle the waves of tourists that beach themselves in Croatia for the summer. We are probably one of the few groups of people who are visiting the country that have taken all three.       Like I just said, the coastal road, or perhaps the Old Old Road is impractical. Once you've been on it, that's probably the last time you need to see it. But the Old Road that runs inland is quite fast when going up to Šibenik. Sure, there is the initial winding part as you ascend up from Trogir, but after that, it's pretty straight and fast. It also happens to be rather devoid of cars because everyone is taking the New Road.       So, what about the New Road? It also happens to be quite good. It's really, really straight and very flat with two lanes in each direction (the Old Road only has one each way), but there is a toll. Now, the toll is not that expensive (although I bet the Germans still complain) and I am rather in favor of tolls, because in theory, they tax those who use the roads. In this case, tourists pay for a road that was initially built out of the pockets of the citizens in the country. So, this is good. But, overall, I have to say that I prefer the Old Road.       All the locals in the area swear by the Auto Cesta. I think this is in a large part to the fact they do anywhere from 140-180 kph on the damned thing. Here I was, stuck in a Toyota Aygo that I really had to whip hard to stay at 130kph, but usually was cruising in the 110 range or about 65 miles an hour. That's okay, considering that little bump of a car got a whopping 70 miles to the gallon! With all of this taken in to account, the Old Road was actually faster for us. You see, it's less distance than the Auto Cesta when taking this leg of it, which, when you're putting along, works out much more in your favor.       Then of course there is always the new factor that needs to be taken in to account. The Croats are mighty proud of this Auto Cesta (A1) and they should be, since it was constructed in a matter of just a few years. But, people seem to get blinded by the newness of things around here and while they are agape at having it, they're ignoring practicalities like the fact that if it is 20km longer to take this New Road than the Old Road, then the New Road maybe isn't the best choice. But, I had to be secure in my knowledge and manhood as guys in 15-year-old Yugos and Volkswagons were somehow able to fly by me like I was standing still. I can never figure out how they do that...

It was a ferry at 6AM. Six. AM! We couldn't believe that that was when the ferry left Jelsa for Split, but it really was the time. I think we even asked the ticket agent a couple of times if that was really true. I mean, what a painfully earlier time to get up to catch a boat that takes less than an hour and a half to get to Split. But, naturally, we did it because it was the only workable option. We really wanted to go to Vis or Supetar on Brač, but these options were not given to us.       We grumbled about the the time the whole way because we were that kind of tired that just hurts. But, upon arriving in to Split, we understood the logic of the time. There, our ship pulled in, surrounded by countless others, all bearing the dull, Jadrolinija letters across their sides. So, it became readily apparent that this was an attempt at giving people a hub from which they could transfer to any of the other ships that were there. This all makes sense, but in a Communist kind of sense because most people aren't transferring to another ferry line to continue their journey. If someone is in Split, then they will probably hop on to a bus, a train, or a city bus to go to the airport in Trogir. The real thing that people want to do is to hop from island to island, but this is really tricky with this company. For instance, to go to Vis, there is one or two ferries a week from the main port on Hvar to there. I think it must take something like a half hour to get there, since you can literally see Vis from the west end of Hvar. But no, if you want to get there easily, you need to go back in to Split and then take a ferry back out to Vis.       Jadrolinija has done a great job of centralizing their whole operation, but now they need to learn how to make it usable. They're certainly making enough off the cost of taking cars out to the islands (100 euros to Vis) that I would think someone could stop thinking in this "It's the customer's pleasure to use us." attitude that is thankfully, painfully, slowly dying out in these former Communist countries. The only problem with change at Jadrolinija is that they pretty have quite a monopoly over the whole coast, so you're left with little choice other than them. Yay. Way to go privatization.

Continued from November 21, 2006 ...Dubrovnik welcomed us to Dubrovnik quite a long time before we actually got into Dubrovnik, with signs announcing the city and all the attractions for what seemed like an hour prior to our arrival. But we knew for sure that we had arrived when we crossed a bridge that spanned the Rijeka Dubrovačka, this peculiar fresh water river that runs underground and suddenly punches out from the earth a little ways to the east to empty in to the Adriatic.       From there on, it was a slow descent past the ancient manors of town nobles long since dead and in to the Dubrovnik suburbs of Gruz and Lapad. For many, it is bound to be something of a let down because the bus station is very far from the old city that I had come to know in getting ready for the trip. Luckily, my friend Ivana was there waiting with a big smile as she laughed about the last time we had seen each other… on the eastern tower of Notre Dame in Paris. I asked if she had been waiting long and tried to express my frustration about the delay in the bus trip which was a little over an hour at that point. She simply shrugged and I realized it was something she had come to expect or at least not care so much about.       For others who weren't lucky enough to have a friend waiting, they were flocked upon by the ladies who were waiting at the station to rent rooms. The words, "in old city" were being said in three or four languages around me. One or two of them came up to me, but walked away discouraged when Ivana told them in Croatian that we were with her.       We hopped in to her little car that made me look like a seated camel and zipped off to the old city for a meal, some fantastic Croatian wine and the start of a lengthy stay in Dubrovnik.       This concludes the series. Hope you enjoyed it!

Continued from November 20, 2006 ...After endless stretches of the clear blue waters, I started to think, yes this is a nice sea, but wouldn't it be nice to see something else? As if to answer my question, we started to go a bit more inland, which took us from the glistening waters; to be shuttled along some of the most amazing farmlands I have even seen in my life just south of Ploče. There are these neat little rows of different crops growing next to each other at whatever angle someone felt would be good that day. It's a far cry from the large quilt-like patches of homogenous crops that we see growing across the US. It's a funny thing to think that this spot where the Neretva River forms a wetland delta used to be a massive source of malaria for the inhabitants, but is now one of the most fertile (and beautiful) areas in the whole country.       Pulling out of the Neretva delta, we ran parallel to the Peljesac Penninsula, eventually coming to the Bosnia Herzegovina border. As odd as it seems, there is this very small strip of the country that interjects into Croatia to grab a little bit of the coast, a bit to the north of Ston. Historically, I've been told by Croatian friends that this piece of land was given to the Ottoman Empire by the old city-state of Ragusa (which Dubrovnik was the capital of) in order to provide a buffer between them and the encroaching Venetians. How much truth there is to this, I've never been able to find out, although it sounds like the sensible kind of thing that the Ragusans would do. They were masters at maintaining independence for centuries despite being directly between the Ottomans and Venetians.       The border was nothing to worry about, since they checked our passports, were slightly bemused in seeing Americans, and let us on through to the 10-15 kilometers that the road runs through. We actually stopped in this little strip of land, and it was most certainly not in an official capacity. Apparently, the drivers used to pick up large piles of goods while in Bosnia Herzegovina because they got them at nearly 25% less than in Croatia due to the fact that there were no, or at the very least, were less taxes there. This explains why there were few markets in Neum, which was an otherwise barren area. We were delayed a good half hour by the drivers doing their shopping and going to multiple markets to get the best prices. It was annoying, but we had little choice. I'm sure that the temerity of the drivers was more than likely due to the fact that there were few of us on the bus at that point and they felt they could probably do as they pleased with little consequence. It turns out that in the years since my ride, the Croatian government has been cracking down on this by having police ride the buses at random. With a couple of cases of beer on board, the shopping was done and we passed back into Croatia, which was even less of an issue than passing in to BH...       Continued on November 22, 2006

Having ridden the American Greyhound line and various Amtrak connection buses that are one step away from soul-crushing in their perfunctory practicality, never would I have thought that a bus ride could be so beautiful, lulling, and inherently dangerous. These thoughts kept beating through my head as my traveling companion and I twisted down the Croatian version of California Highway 1, the E65 from Split to Dubrovnik.       Due to our ride from Zagreb to Split, we were a little cautious as to what bus line we picked. You see, after cruising along for about six of what was then an eight hour trip, the bus immediately pulled off to the side of the road somewhere within the vicinity of a major town called Knin. It heaved, sputtered, and died a rather sordid mechanical death right there in the middle of nowhere. In the flash of a second, a ball of flames erupted up the side of the bus, next to me. Naturally everyone ran off, they put out the fire, started tearing apart the bus and in a few hours, sent another one that was short a few seats which made for an uncomfortable ride for those who had been displaced by this exploding bus fiasco. Eventually though, we did arrive in Split and spent a few days there before venturing on to Dubrovnik.       Once done with Split and having departed the drab bus station, I'd have to say that the initial part of the ride is lovely. It twists and turns along the side of the Adriatic Sea, showing all the glimmering waters below. Occasionally, we'd stop in a smaller town along the way (like Omiš with its never-ending beach) to pick up more passengers or drop off some of the ones that were on board, but these were quick stops. Old stone homes were perched alongside new ones, as it is just about anywhere in Croatia. But, whatever their age, the homes, businesses, and old fortresses cling like nervous birds to the steep cliffs.       Bus drivers for these lines have a tendency to drive a bit maniacally and I'm sure it gets worse as the tourist season and coastal traffic moves into high gear. They will pass other cars on these narrow, steep roads. They will tailgate. They will curse beautiful strings of Slavic profanities in the general directions of slow drivers they feel who are not driving in a manner of which they approve. I highly recommend sitting on the side of the bus closest the mountainside if you're used to driving, or just don't feel as suicidal as the bus drivers. I say this because sitting on the side closest to the sea is much like flying. You feel as if you're hovering above the Adriatic and as romantic as that sounds, it can make you nauseous in very little time...       Continued on November 21, 2006