08-VII-1975.: until about 24th

The big vacation in Borik. I guess we got drunk a few times, and one of those times is when I started smoking. Opatija was the brand, and it said "black tobacco" on the tag. I think it was a dare, and I dared. Remained a smoker for decades after. Third day, the dutch gang (Arie and a few others from two years ago, plus a couple of new guys) taught me how to roll. I loved the smell of the samson tobacco when someone would light it nearby, but when inhaled it was something else. Reminds me of dried plums a little. I didn't tell my folks that I'm smoking, not for a few months. But when I did, dad said "now that I see you roll your own, I can consider you a real smoker". Though I never got to his level of three packs a day - when he was getting to fourth, he quit. I don't remember ever seeing him with a cigarette.

Rudolf and Rosanne appeared with some big fat friend (who took "have a drink on me" literally, he'd just get you on his shoulders, if you were a girl, and would pass you the bottle). I remember saying to Rudolf, "can you imagine me, smoking?". And this guy said "I can't imagine you NOT smoking".

It was all fun and games (well, no games, just beach and beer), with regular visit to the city market to get provisions. Because as a camper you really can eat at restaurants, but then it costs almost too much and you're limited to what's popular. So you cook for yourself and can stay much longer. This vacation lasted whole month. And yes, we had grilled fish a few times. There was also a bottle of Ballantines, making rounds. Dad drank too, despite his disdain for that kind of spirit - he forever made a mockery of trying to pronounce w (which doesn't exist in serbian, we translate that as v). He'd always try to make a point of somehow showing that brandy is better (it is, when done right).

The nearest supermarket was about 300m down the road. They knew all the tricks how to skin the foreigners (and those generally had the hard currency which made everything here incredibly cheap for them, so they didn't even feel cheated), but brothers, don't do that to us. We once told the butcher to slice 200g of salami (an alpska or parizer aka baloney), he sliced 300g, wrote 400 and calculated the amount as if it were 500g. We complained at the register, and they took it to be weighed again, and sure, took off about half of the skim. Aha, ok. Next time we came, bought about the same, and then dropped it somewhere behind the dustiest bottles of wine. You'll find it by the smell.

She stepped on a half-dead bee and got stung in the sole. It swelled a bit, and then it was itching for days. She found a suitable scrubbing stone and enjoyed the relief. "It's supposed to be painful, and you made it a source of pleasure".

One day we took a trip to Skradinski Buk, near Šibenik. Two cars - Rudolf's spaček and one more. Visited some friends of Veca and Sneca along the way (they went inside, the rest of us waited outside). Nice swim on the cascades. One expects the water to be cold, but after skipping over so many limestones and being thoroughly thrashed and oxygenated at each fall, it's actually warmer than sea water.

From the pics I see Aranka was there with her mom. Lajna was also there, and I think she paired with Arpi for a few evenings. Also Kid and Mongol. Lajna was also with some bi norwegian guy - an epileptic and generally confused guy, but otherwise fun and good company to have beer with. He was elected Mister Leg once on a beach, where the guys would walk mostly hidden by a long blanket, and the female žiri would appraise their legs. So this shot was made to honor the legs.

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Mentions: Aranka Gnajs, Ariejan Verschoor (Arie), Arpad Gunaroši (Arpi), Borik, Melanija Merćep (Lajna), Rosanne, Rudolf Ochsner, Snežana Stojanović (Sneca), spaček, Vera Stojanović (Veca), Zoltan Kadar (Kid), Žika Šašić (Mongol), žiri, in serbian