Post from Tim:
My train hummed through Hungary towards the Croatian border yesterday evening while a captivating sunset played across the ripe summer crops of the countryside.
I poked my head out of the compartment window to smell the freshly mowed hay and to watch the floating wisps of milkweeds dance in circles down the side of the carriage. The endless rows of corn created a strange visual trick, seeming to wave me on to my next destination as if they knew it was my time to leave.
When night arrived I slept well, but awoke to find that yesterday's lush landscape had been replaced by the arid scrub land of coastal Croatia - a climate filled with stunted pine trees, rocky soil, farmhouses, olive trees, grape vines, and hard scratchy desert vegetation as found on the Greek islands.
I stepped off the train in Split and was approached by a middle-aged woman with a lazy eye and leathery tanned skin who offered me a great deal on a "private room" - the area's choice budget accommodation. The owner of the room was a laughing old man with a beer gut and a knack for talking to me in Croatian despite the fact that I clearly didn't understand what he was saying. I unpacked my bags and after a well-deserved shower, walked around town exploring all day.
Out by the waterfront, an old Roman facade impressively lined the street and overlooked cafes, palm trees, and manicured grass. Little boutiques and restaurants filled the labyrinthine alleys of the old city, catering to the many tourists who holiday here in the summer.
The area attracts an international crowd, I learned quickly, overhearing conversations between Hungarians, Bosnians, Germans, Austrians, Slovenians, and Croatians simultaneously.
I walked leisurely though town and then stopped at an umbrella-covered table for a coffee and some peaceful time to write. As evening came, the streets swelled with people eating ice cream to the sound of hundreds of sparrows flitting above the city.
I poked my head out of the compartment window to smell the freshly mowed hay and to watch the floating wisps of milkweeds dance in circles down the side of the carriage. The endless rows of corn created a strange visual trick, seeming to wave me on to my next destination as if they knew it was my time to leave.
When night arrived I slept well, but awoke to find that yesterday's lush landscape had been replaced by the arid scrub land of coastal Croatia - a climate filled with stunted pine trees, rocky soil, farmhouses, olive trees, grape vines, and hard scratchy desert vegetation as found on the Greek islands.
I stepped off the train in Split and was approached by a middle-aged woman with a lazy eye and leathery tanned skin who offered me a great deal on a "private room" - the area's choice budget accommodation. The owner of the room was a laughing old man with a beer gut and a knack for talking to me in Croatian despite the fact that I clearly didn't understand what he was saying. I unpacked my bags and after a well-deserved shower, walked around town exploring all day.
Out by the waterfront, an old Roman facade impressively lined the street and overlooked cafes, palm trees, and manicured grass. Little boutiques and restaurants filled the labyrinthine alleys of the old city, catering to the many tourists who holiday here in the summer.
The area attracts an international crowd, I learned quickly, overhearing conversations between Hungarians, Bosnians, Germans, Austrians, Slovenians, and Croatians simultaneously.
I walked leisurely though town and then stopped at an umbrella-covered table for a coffee and some peaceful time to write. As evening came, the streets swelled with people eating ice cream to the sound of hundreds of sparrows flitting above the city.
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