22-VII-1976.

We had Vasa and Lela drive us to Koper early in the morning. Which meant we started late at night, and then took a nap on the parking in Koper. This was the easy ride, because the roads are almost empty at night, and we didn't take the coastal route, but rather went inland, even less traffic. At some point there was an old Ford Taunus 12M (yup, remember those?) trying to pass a tristać on a hill road. Both vehicles seemed to be old buckets, and neither managed to go faster than 60 km/h. Not even on the downslope. Nor along the straight stretch of the road. They drove in parallel for several kilometers. After 2km of straight line, there was a fića, left turn signal on, in the left going lane, just standing there and flashing his turn signal. Seeing four headlights in his mirror, he probably filled his pants. The guy in the Taunus just veered into the incoming lane, so both he and the tristać passed him at the same time, on both sides. The poor guy came to before we arrived - we were perhaps 500m behind - and then drove, stage left. The guy in the Taunus drove in parallel for another kilometer and then gave up, slowed down, and then Vasa passed them one by one before we got back into the hills.

They didn't bring their passports so they just buzzed arround Koper for a while and drove back to Vrsar. We took a local bus and crossed the border. Italians don't stamp the passports, but our cops do (on exit, at least), so this is how I know the date is right. Trieste isn't far behind the border, as that was the condition of the border treaty (1946? 47? When was the Trieste crisis anyway?), that we get the surrounding villages.

I completely forgot(... 6 words...) that on that local bus we saw Zdenka Kovačiček, wearing plain jeans and obviously going to get some outfit for the stage.

We didn't have much money to start with, and the exchange rate of dinar against lira was never great, so we didn't exactly do much shopping. I know we bought a couple of those white rain jackets of such a thin material that you could squeeze them into a snowball, which then saved us later when it rained a bit. Don't remember anything else we found worth smuggling, though there sure were a few things. We ate spaghetti at some restaurant, and the few pieces of meat in it turned out to be game, which cost considerably - less shopping then. But we did understand the pricing of coffee (same place or other?), that "a tavolo" meant "served at your table" and was more expensive.

Later, when we got a bit tired from walking all day, we wanted to have a pizza. We did find a pizza joint, it was not bigger than two phone booths, at least what we could see from the street. There was a tall heater, with layered drawers, a plek in each, where the pizza was kept warm. We bought two pieces, rather cheap, and got two pieces of plain brown paper just big enough to put between the pizza and the hand - that was the serving. There was no place to sit. Not the worst pizza of my life, but surely the weirdest.

Near Upim, where we waited for the bus back, we were in front of a butcher & dairy shop, and saw that the prices of good cheese were slightly cheaper than at home, guess that's the result of those EU subsidies, they get better cheese cheaper than we do. Well, why not try some? We still had some liras... so we went in, and the guy asked how much of it, I said put the whole lump on the scale... by my calculation, it was about kilo plus some, we can take it. Then he said the amount and it was outrageously much - I rolled my eyes and saw an enormous leg of a cow suspended above the guy's head, probably fake and just decoration. The prices, it turned out, are expressed "per cento grammi". IOW, to get the price by the kilo, add a zero. We just gave up and left.

Something was off with my east-west calculation of timezones. Both Italy and SFRY are on central european time, but they had the daylight saving in effect, which I guess I've compensated in the wrong direction. When we arrived at the bus station in Koper, we were just in time to meet the cleaning lady, who has finished her job and locking the door. It was 23:00, all the buses were gone.

Luckily, we had these white jackets and the station was near a crossing, so we raised our thumbs. Rather soon we hitched a guy. His story: he's a designer from Nova Gorica, working in Koper. Trieste is geographically between, so he drives through Italy twice a day, frequently dropping by to buy some whiskey, by the crate, for the office. The customs sometimes take a fee of one bottle.

He dropped us at Portorož, at the gas station (closed). We decided we deserved a break, so we had a beer in the adjacent tavern. Črno, laško, it fit like a butt onto a potty. The place was nearly empty, there were just a couple of guys with a huge dog somewhere in the middle. I went to take a leak while she ordered, so it was a bit awkward, a lone girl ordering two mugs of beer, around midnight... but I reappeared within a minute and nothing happened.

We continued hitching, but nobody took a hint for a while. Then one guy in a fića stopped by, to check whether he could get some gas. Nope, the station is closed. He already had two passengers, but he still took us. Our knapsacks were sort of bulky (really, what did we buy - it was literally sitting on our necks). The guy was very talkative, while the passengers barely uttered a word. He kept explaining how he actually drives an eighteen wheeler for some austrian outfit, and that he may be anywhere in Europe by this time tomorrow, and while explaining that, he'd completely turn back to face us, while the car would gradually veer about 15 degrees a minute. We didn't dare say "watch! a curve!" because you don't want to distract your driver or piss him off, it was "dang how many curves did they make?", "fuck another curve, couldn't they do it straighter"? He'd yank the steering a full right angle in the required direction, and the fića would right itself and start veering in the opposite direction. The steering had at least 30 degrees free run before it would actually start steering.

We were looking for gas. Tried at Rovinj, tried at Poreč, no luck. The tank light was red all the way. When we reached Vrsar exit, the guy asked whether there's a gas station in it. Yes, I said, but this is like twice smaller than Rovinj, and I don't think they open past 20:00, doesn't pay. And, to myself, you drunken idiot would not survive zigzagging down the hill through these narrow streets. The bus getting down there is a daily miracle - there's just a couple of centimeters between his mirrors and the window frames of the surrounding houses. So we took off and had a smoke immediately, to cool down our nerves. We survived this.

We weren't finished with the cigarettes, when another fića stopped. We thought the guy was back, but no... it was the guy who works the night shift at the gas station in Vrsar, going to work.

He told us there was a far worse storm than the one few days ago. In Poreč there was a case of trash cans being accelerated down the street and smashing into a yacht, breaking both outboard engines and the hull. We walked the 300m between the center and the camp, then the 100m through the camp, looking as people were still mending their tents, tieing flaps, straightening the rods, and looked around to see whether our tent landed on a dry place, or should we fish it out in the morning.

But nope, nothing wrong with our tent. It was still in place, not a knot undone.

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Mentions: 19-IX-2014., fića, Lela, plek, tristać, Vasa Šančev, in serbian