Part One: The Novel
Before I read The Fountainhead, by Ayn Rand, I thought that there was only one way a book could be “bad”, and that was if it exhibited bad writing in some form or other. Hideous mangling of the English language, unbelievable or miraculous turns of events, bad characterization, stilted dialogue; these are the things which usually cause me to direct my wrath toward some volume. I am pleased, if that’s the right word, to report that The Fountainhead has given me the need to invent a second category of “bad”, since purely literary qualifications cannot completely explain my dislike of this book. It is true that there is one literary aspect of the book which I look upon with the utmost contempt, but that part can only explain at most half of my aversion to the novel.
The book is a long runner, and it would be quite difficult for me to express my opinion in a few sentences, so I decided to review it, in two parts. The first is purely my opinion of the novel as a novel. This is what I think the best literary criticism is: purely personal opinion and evaluation, rather than an exhaustive and as in so many, many cases, misdirected analysis. The second part is my consideration and criticism (lots of that) on Mrs. Rand’s philosophy of Objectivism, as set forth in The Fountainhead. This part will, I fear, be quite a technical piece of work, in that a reader not versed in basic philosophical terms and concepts will probably find himself or herself lost in it. You have been warned. You are also warned that this review assumes that you’ve read the novel, since I will be discussing characters and events therein, although I will try to remain as vague as I can.
The novel’s protagonist is a young man named Howard Roark, recently expelled from an architectural school for refusing to conform to its “old-fashioned” ideas. While all the other architects in the book are worshipers of the accomplishments of past architects (the Greeks, the Romans, the Renaissance Italians, and so on), Roark believes that each individual building or project should be a unique and unrepeated phenomenon. The plot concerns his struggles against the establishment and its clientele as he tries to succeed by doing nothing that anyone has ever done before. His adversaries in the struggle are the traditionalist architects, as well as a critic named Ellsworth Toohey, who pit their full might against him and his ideas. In the end, Roark rises like the phoenix triumphant, his foes are cast down and trampled beneath his feet, and he gets the girl.
As a novel, then, I found The Fountainhead to be functional, and in many respects quite good, with one or two howling exceptions. I should like to emphasize once more that this paragraph is the last time you, dear reader, will hear me say anything good about the book. Mrs. Rand is at her best in her descriptive prose; she has a poet’s knack for using adjectives in strange and unfamiliar ways, and the good sense not to overuse this particular technique. The dialogue is, for the most part, quick and snappy, although towards the end of the book certain characters, particularly Roark, have a tendency to give long, cumbersome speeches lasting some 10 paperback pages or more.
There is one main criticism I should like to make of the novel as a reader, and that is my broad dislike of the characters, both in terms of their qualities and their development. Briefly speaking, all their qualities are repugnant and they do not develop. None of her characters, not even the protagonist, are likeable in any sense, a lack of quality which is especially striking in the protagonist. Howard Roark is an egotistical, uncaring man, as blunt as a sledgehammer; he lacks the wit which makes the antihero (Captain Jack Sparrow and all of his prodigious relations and progeny) so popular in our day and age, and any relationship the reader thinks that he or she has with Roark is usually dashed a few pages after the reader forms the idea. Roark is aware of his repugnance, it seems, and he reminds others that he doesn’t ever give a damn about what they think. In fact, Roark’s emotions are truncated to dislike, and nothing more. He is incapable of feeling love, affection, or any other emotion which connects him to his fellow human beings. He is a separatist in and of himself.
The other characters are hardly more likable. They are either the villains of the piece, with no redeeming qualities (Ellsworth Toohey and his ilk, who are all straw representations of novelists, painters, playwrights, and other artists), or they are those who aspire to be like Roark in all his supremely detached glory, but fail because they still retain the human (dare I say altruistic) connections which Roark so gleefully disdains. Not one of them can be liked. I am an altruist, and yet I found none of the altruists likeable, although I attribute this to their incredibly skewed characterizations, which cause them to revert to the other end of the spectrum as selfish bastards. Thus, the struggles between characters, which is the important part of any novel, comes down to those who are selfish and who acknowledge it, and those who are selfish and don’t acknowledge it.
It’s even a struggle for me to talk about the men and women that populate The Fountainhead as characters rather than as cardboard cutouts, because you would be hard-pressed to call them anything other than the slightly stiffer cousins of paper dolls. They do not develop in any way at all. They remain the same as they do when they are introduced, without even a qualm of reconsideration in times of dire need. This is not how real people behave! Real people struggle with their beliefs; they have, as Saint John of the Cross puts it, “dark nights of the soul”, when all is despair and there is no light at the end of the tunnel because Satan has absconded with it. The people of The Fountainhead do not change one iota in their beliefs from when they are introduced to us, to when they are shuffled off the novel’s mortal coil. They are like Newtonian billiard balls, bouncing off each other and the walls of the story in entirely predictable fashions. They are not interesting at all. They are not likeable, and they are not human.
The characters are what ultimately turn The Fountainhead from what would have been a perfectly enjoyable tale of the swashbuckling hero partaking in struggles against the establishment into a perfectly hateful novel. This is magnified by the character’s strange vulnerability to possession by the author, which causes them to give long philosophical speeches which in no way relate to their positions as they have expressed them earlier in the book. This strange phenomenon occurs only in the last 100 pages of the book, and it was what in the end clinched my decision. Before then I had hopes that Roark would be touched by the milk of human kindness, and undergo some kind of character development before the book’s climax and outworking. These hopes were dashed against the cliffs of despair when Roark embarked on a long, out-of-character monologue, and I put down the book to utter a howl of despair. But I shall speak more of this philosophical firestorm in my next installment.
In summation: The Fountainhead might have been enjoyable, if its characters had not been so utterly hateful and repugnant. Any person who believes in a God of any kind, and any person who believes that we should care about our fellow human beings, will read this book and enjoy it up until the last 100 pages, when it abandons being a novel for being a megaphone for Ayn Rand to blare her philosophies into our ears. I do not encourage you to read it, unless you wish to do so only to understand exactly what she believes. I have found that Atlas Shrugged, which is much the same as The Fountainhead but far less subtle and far more idiotic, is one of the best-selling American novels ever written. Such things boggle the mind, but perhaps one day I shall be brave enough (or drunk enough) to read Atlas Shrugged. Until that fateful day, I take a solemn vow to forswear Ayn Rand, except as an object of my most severe emnity.
-John Ashley
Friday, June 5, 2009
Wednesday, June 3, 2009
Croatian Chronicle (Part II)
Wednesday, May 20, 2009 (Day Four)
Much of my suffering during this day could have been avoided had I known how hot Dubrovnik is, and thus taken appropriate precautions such as a hat, sandals or flip-flops, and enough water to drown a thirsty camel. The heat climbed into the high 90s today, something I in my casual Innsbruck outfit (button-down shortsleever, jean pants, and comfortable brown casual shoes) neither expected nor was prepared for. Couple that with carrying around a camera back and bulky backpack, and you have a recipe for pure and unrelenting misery. Despite this, I still think the day was a good one, and well-spent, but had I known what I was getting into I think I would have enjoyed it much more.
Day began at around 5:30, with my disgruntled and reluctant awakening, followed by a truly glorious buffet breakfast at 6. The hotel provided eggs scrambled with ham, sausages, thick rashers of bacon (each no less that a quarter-inch in breadth), plus all of the usual Continental staples, all washed down with freshly squeezed orange juice and strong black coffee. I was feeling understandably pleased when we took the ferry back to the port of Dubrovnik, followed by a bus to the outskirts of the old town. This feeling vanished promptly when the sun climbed high into the sky, the clouds vanished, and the stones began to warm to the day’s beginning.
Our time in the Dubrovnik old town began with a history lesson, followed by a walking tour, then lunch, then a tour of the city walls, then more free time, then a lecture, and finally our return to the island. Since I assume that you, dear reader, are pleasantly unaware of the history and layout of Dubrovnik, allow me to inundate you with that information like a bucket of cold water poured over the head.
Dubrovnik began its life as a Greek colony, Epidoros, which was taken over by the Romans in the 1st century BC and Latinized to Epidaurum. It was at this time that the city began to acquire its first Croat inhabitants in the form of native workers hired to help expand the city. It acquired Christianity in the 4th century AD, and evolved over the course of the Dark and Middle Ages into the Republic of Ragusa, which was not really a republic, more of an oligarchy, and a maritime trading power which rivaled Venice and Genoa. The city acquired its fortifications at this time: thick city walls and moats, two fortresses built into the walls, and two outside the walls. In the 17th century an earthquake leveled most of the buildings inside the city, which were rebuilt in the Baroque style. At about this time, Ragusa reached the height of its power, its dockyards churning out warships and merchantmen, and its trading fleets reaching far into the Indian Ocean and South China Sea.
Like so much of Europe, Ragusa was snatched by Napoleon, and after the end of the Napoleonic Wars was assigned to the hegemony of Austria. It was later integrated into Croatia, and became part of that nation in the late 19th century. It fell under siege during the Croatian War of Independence in the 1990s, when the Serb army occupied the mountains nearby and bombarded it with rockets and artillery fire for about four months. The city’s fortifications, though, remained steadfast throughout the ordeal, and Dubrovnik was never captured, while the Serbian army withdrew to shell Sarajevo and massacre Bosnians.
The old town of Dubrovnik is limited on all sides either by its walls or its harbor. The walls are immense, although not constructed on quite such an epic scale as those of Valletta in Malta. The walls and battlements of Valletta are easily three times as thick as those of Dubrovnik, but Dubrovnik’s are respectable set of fortifications nonetheless. Ragusa had the good sense to remain neutral the conflict between Europe and the Ottomans, and thus never needed to repel a Turkish expeditionary force of tens of thousands.
The interior of the city is laid out in a grid, with an east-west axis of the main street. There are three squares, several churches, and an infestation of overpriced restaurants and souvenir shops. All in all Dubrovnik’s old town reminded me strongly of Malta, especially Valletta, although the stone used in Dubrovnik is white rather than the Maltese tan.
Our tour began outside of the western gate, then crossed over the bridge and drawbridge and into the forecourt, where we inspected a map of the damages caused by the Serbs during their siege. Then we were through the forecourt and into the Square of the Fountain. The fountain here dispenses cool drinking water for all comers, an amenity I was to take advantage of throughout the day. Nearby is the main street and a Franciscan monastery which is now a museum. It wasn’t yet open, so we walked down the main street to the Square of Orlando, so named after a large statue of the legendary knight erected on a column in the center of the square. If this is confusing, it’s only because a map is a wonderful guide to understanding, and it’s impossible to communicate a map through the written word. I’ll try to include one in the webalbum for the day.
Our tour went down the main street, to the Column of Orlando, a place where in medieval times criers would stand to proclaim the news, and to which heretics were tied to be burned. Nearby the church, and our next destination, is the Church of St. Blaise, the patron saint of Dubrovnik. It’s said in local legend that in the Middle Ages St. Blaise appeared to a local priest in a vision, warning him that the Venetians had launched an invasion fleet. The priest went to the town governor, who readied Dubrovnik’s navy, which then defeated the Venetians in a bloody battle. Thereafter the city of Dubrovnik was dedicated to Blaise.
After the Church of St. Blaise we visited the Cathedral, a tolerably Baroque structure, which nonetheless pales in comparison to similar churches like the Innsbruck cathedral. The Dubrovnik cathedral contains an impressive collection of relics and reliquaries, which was assembled over the centuries by Ragusan traders, priests, and monks. Highlights include the requisite piece of the True Cross, the arm and leg of St. Blaise (naturally), the jawbone of St. Ursula, and the swaddling clothes of the infant Christ.
Next stop was the harbor, followed by the Jesuit Church. This church is built at the top of a staircase remarkably like the Spanish Steps in Rome, because the Dubrovnik Jesuits hired the same architect to duplicate the steps in the local stone. The church itself was built by Andrea Pozzo, the architect of the Jesuit Church in Rome, and the two share a great deal of similarities: the same size, same facade, same ornately decorated interior. Apart from that, nothing much to remark upon, except for the church’s relieving, cool interior (the result, along with a moisture problem, of a reservoir built underneath the church).
The last stop on the tour was the Franciscan monastery I mentioned earlier. Only the cloister, its frescoes, and the pharmacy museum are open to the public. This last is contained in the space where Dubrovnik’s first apothecary was located. Some of the old apothecary has been preserved: two work-desks, shelves full of porcelain jars, old instruments of alchemy (alembics, retorts, calcinators, and so on), and the window through which customers would name their symptoms and receive the appropriate cure.
This was the end of the first phase of the tour. We had a half-hour, which I spent eating ice cream in the shade of a tree near the fountain. The second phase of the tour wasn’t so much a tour as it was a walk around the city walls and fortifications. As I’ve said before, the defenses are not quite as impressive as those of Malta, but they are rather better preserved. The walls encompass all of Dubrovnik without exception, dipping in elevation along the length of the harbor but otherwise remaining at a towering height. They are punctuated by two fortresses, the fortress of St. John on the edge of the harbor, and a tower whose name I didn’t catch on the one fully landward corner. Each wall is built in the fashion of 17th and 18th century citadels: not particularly tall, but thick and massive, to resist cannon fire. The walls are punctuated, periodically, with bastions for artillery.
Of the tour of the walls, I’ll not speak overmuch. I did take a goodly deal of pictures, but since I was quite dehydrated and hot I don’t actually remember much of it. I’m content to let the pictures speak for themselves.
The rest of the day after the walls was a period of mostly free time, with an interruption around 3 to hear an elderly Croatian diplomat talk about the history of Croatia. Most of the details I already knew, having researched them for my paper, but it was nice to ask him some of the questions I hadn’t been able to answer for myself in the course of my work.
After the lecture I read for awhile in the shadow of the fountain, and then returned to the island for a lot of water, a shower, and dinner. I wrote for awhile in this very journal, and then went to sleep.
Thursday, May 21, 2009 (Day Five)
A day of blessed relaxation, although you’d not have guessed it from the way I spent it. I rose late, at around 8am, breakfasted, then hiked around the island of Koločep until 4. It was a long and at times grueling hike, made worse by poorly marked and inadequate trails. Once again, I’m going to let my pictures do the talking, since they can explain the stunning beauty of this place far, far better than I can.
Friday, May 22, 2009 (Day Six)
Another day, another crushingly early wake-up time. We got the ferry back to Dubrovnik, then took our bus north along the coast toward Split. All the students fell asleep as soon as they settled into their seats, much to the disappointment of my history professor who wanted us all to experience the landscape. We all woke up when we reached Split at about 11:30am. Split (don’t ask me to explain the name, I don’t know) is an ancient city dating back to the late Roman Empire when the entire city was the palace of the Emperor Diocletian. After he died, the locals took over the palace and inhabited it, gradually expanding outwards and building their own apartments, palazzos, and houses, although the palace walls remain as they were, along with the Mausoleum (now a church) and the Temple to Jupiter (now a baptistry). The city was under Venetian domination for a long while, which explains much of the Italian architecture in the newer parts of the city.
We took a tour which lead us through the basements of the palace, then through church and baptistry, in and out of the maze of streets which join the former palace to the city, and finally back to the waterfront. One thing I did find quite pleasing about Split was that the city seems to have amassed a collection of sculpture by Ivan Mestrović, a 20th century Croat sculpture who taught at Notre Dame for a great deal of time. The most impressive sculpture by far is that of Bishop Gregory of Nice, which is at least 20 feet tall and terribly imposing. The good bishop seems to look more like Gandalf the Grey than a Catholic cleric.
The next part of the journey ran us up along the coastline to Opatija, the last stop. Opatija is a tourist town, plain and simple. It began that function under the dominion of the Habsburgs and continues in the same way today. It is filled with hotels, bars, and restaurants, all over-priced with a tendency to seediness. The hotel we stayed the night at rather unwisely boasted its two-star rating (goes to show you the opinion ND has of the Innsbruck students), a badge whose existence was swiftly validated by the hotel’s bland, tasteless food, rooms which smelled alternately of cigarette smoke or sauerkraut, and a horde of visiting Russian youths who seemed to think that it was a capital idea indeed to consume large quantities of vodka and smokes, and then shout and sing all night so as to blast their voices into the next millennium. I will not dignify the hotel with further description, save to say that I shall never set foot within its premises again.
Saturday, May 23, 2009 (Day Seven)
The last day. We woke up at the usually early time, broke our fast on the expected bland mix of granola, bread, and lunchmeat, then drove north all day. We stopped once or twice in Italy, but made good time nonetheless, and arrived back in Innsbruck at 4:30.
Much of my suffering during this day could have been avoided had I known how hot Dubrovnik is, and thus taken appropriate precautions such as a hat, sandals or flip-flops, and enough water to drown a thirsty camel. The heat climbed into the high 90s today, something I in my casual Innsbruck outfit (button-down shortsleever, jean pants, and comfortable brown casual shoes) neither expected nor was prepared for. Couple that with carrying around a camera back and bulky backpack, and you have a recipe for pure and unrelenting misery. Despite this, I still think the day was a good one, and well-spent, but had I known what I was getting into I think I would have enjoyed it much more.
Day began at around 5:30, with my disgruntled and reluctant awakening, followed by a truly glorious buffet breakfast at 6. The hotel provided eggs scrambled with ham, sausages, thick rashers of bacon (each no less that a quarter-inch in breadth), plus all of the usual Continental staples, all washed down with freshly squeezed orange juice and strong black coffee. I was feeling understandably pleased when we took the ferry back to the port of Dubrovnik, followed by a bus to the outskirts of the old town. This feeling vanished promptly when the sun climbed high into the sky, the clouds vanished, and the stones began to warm to the day’s beginning.
Our time in the Dubrovnik old town began with a history lesson, followed by a walking tour, then lunch, then a tour of the city walls, then more free time, then a lecture, and finally our return to the island. Since I assume that you, dear reader, are pleasantly unaware of the history and layout of Dubrovnik, allow me to inundate you with that information like a bucket of cold water poured over the head.
Dubrovnik began its life as a Greek colony, Epidoros, which was taken over by the Romans in the 1st century BC and Latinized to Epidaurum. It was at this time that the city began to acquire its first Croat inhabitants in the form of native workers hired to help expand the city. It acquired Christianity in the 4th century AD, and evolved over the course of the Dark and Middle Ages into the Republic of Ragusa, which was not really a republic, more of an oligarchy, and a maritime trading power which rivaled Venice and Genoa. The city acquired its fortifications at this time: thick city walls and moats, two fortresses built into the walls, and two outside the walls. In the 17th century an earthquake leveled most of the buildings inside the city, which were rebuilt in the Baroque style. At about this time, Ragusa reached the height of its power, its dockyards churning out warships and merchantmen, and its trading fleets reaching far into the Indian Ocean and South China Sea.
Like so much of Europe, Ragusa was snatched by Napoleon, and after the end of the Napoleonic Wars was assigned to the hegemony of Austria. It was later integrated into Croatia, and became part of that nation in the late 19th century. It fell under siege during the Croatian War of Independence in the 1990s, when the Serb army occupied the mountains nearby and bombarded it with rockets and artillery fire for about four months. The city’s fortifications, though, remained steadfast throughout the ordeal, and Dubrovnik was never captured, while the Serbian army withdrew to shell Sarajevo and massacre Bosnians.
The old town of Dubrovnik is limited on all sides either by its walls or its harbor. The walls are immense, although not constructed on quite such an epic scale as those of Valletta in Malta. The walls and battlements of Valletta are easily three times as thick as those of Dubrovnik, but Dubrovnik’s are respectable set of fortifications nonetheless. Ragusa had the good sense to remain neutral the conflict between Europe and the Ottomans, and thus never needed to repel a Turkish expeditionary force of tens of thousands.
The interior of the city is laid out in a grid, with an east-west axis of the main street. There are three squares, several churches, and an infestation of overpriced restaurants and souvenir shops. All in all Dubrovnik’s old town reminded me strongly of Malta, especially Valletta, although the stone used in Dubrovnik is white rather than the Maltese tan.
Our tour began outside of the western gate, then crossed over the bridge and drawbridge and into the forecourt, where we inspected a map of the damages caused by the Serbs during their siege. Then we were through the forecourt and into the Square of the Fountain. The fountain here dispenses cool drinking water for all comers, an amenity I was to take advantage of throughout the day. Nearby is the main street and a Franciscan monastery which is now a museum. It wasn’t yet open, so we walked down the main street to the Square of Orlando, so named after a large statue of the legendary knight erected on a column in the center of the square. If this is confusing, it’s only because a map is a wonderful guide to understanding, and it’s impossible to communicate a map through the written word. I’ll try to include one in the webalbum for the day.
Our tour went down the main street, to the Column of Orlando, a place where in medieval times criers would stand to proclaim the news, and to which heretics were tied to be burned. Nearby the church, and our next destination, is the Church of St. Blaise, the patron saint of Dubrovnik. It’s said in local legend that in the Middle Ages St. Blaise appeared to a local priest in a vision, warning him that the Venetians had launched an invasion fleet. The priest went to the town governor, who readied Dubrovnik’s navy, which then defeated the Venetians in a bloody battle. Thereafter the city of Dubrovnik was dedicated to Blaise.
After the Church of St. Blaise we visited the Cathedral, a tolerably Baroque structure, which nonetheless pales in comparison to similar churches like the Innsbruck cathedral. The Dubrovnik cathedral contains an impressive collection of relics and reliquaries, which was assembled over the centuries by Ragusan traders, priests, and monks. Highlights include the requisite piece of the True Cross, the arm and leg of St. Blaise (naturally), the jawbone of St. Ursula, and the swaddling clothes of the infant Christ.
Next stop was the harbor, followed by the Jesuit Church. This church is built at the top of a staircase remarkably like the Spanish Steps in Rome, because the Dubrovnik Jesuits hired the same architect to duplicate the steps in the local stone. The church itself was built by Andrea Pozzo, the architect of the Jesuit Church in Rome, and the two share a great deal of similarities: the same size, same facade, same ornately decorated interior. Apart from that, nothing much to remark upon, except for the church’s relieving, cool interior (the result, along with a moisture problem, of a reservoir built underneath the church).
The last stop on the tour was the Franciscan monastery I mentioned earlier. Only the cloister, its frescoes, and the pharmacy museum are open to the public. This last is contained in the space where Dubrovnik’s first apothecary was located. Some of the old apothecary has been preserved: two work-desks, shelves full of porcelain jars, old instruments of alchemy (alembics, retorts, calcinators, and so on), and the window through which customers would name their symptoms and receive the appropriate cure.
This was the end of the first phase of the tour. We had a half-hour, which I spent eating ice cream in the shade of a tree near the fountain. The second phase of the tour wasn’t so much a tour as it was a walk around the city walls and fortifications. As I’ve said before, the defenses are not quite as impressive as those of Malta, but they are rather better preserved. The walls encompass all of Dubrovnik without exception, dipping in elevation along the length of the harbor but otherwise remaining at a towering height. They are punctuated by two fortresses, the fortress of St. John on the edge of the harbor, and a tower whose name I didn’t catch on the one fully landward corner. Each wall is built in the fashion of 17th and 18th century citadels: not particularly tall, but thick and massive, to resist cannon fire. The walls are punctuated, periodically, with bastions for artillery.
Of the tour of the walls, I’ll not speak overmuch. I did take a goodly deal of pictures, but since I was quite dehydrated and hot I don’t actually remember much of it. I’m content to let the pictures speak for themselves.
The rest of the day after the walls was a period of mostly free time, with an interruption around 3 to hear an elderly Croatian diplomat talk about the history of Croatia. Most of the details I already knew, having researched them for my paper, but it was nice to ask him some of the questions I hadn’t been able to answer for myself in the course of my work.
After the lecture I read for awhile in the shadow of the fountain, and then returned to the island for a lot of water, a shower, and dinner. I wrote for awhile in this very journal, and then went to sleep.
Thursday, May 21, 2009 (Day Five)
A day of blessed relaxation, although you’d not have guessed it from the way I spent it. I rose late, at around 8am, breakfasted, then hiked around the island of Koločep until 4. It was a long and at times grueling hike, made worse by poorly marked and inadequate trails. Once again, I’m going to let my pictures do the talking, since they can explain the stunning beauty of this place far, far better than I can.
Friday, May 22, 2009 (Day Six)
Another day, another crushingly early wake-up time. We got the ferry back to Dubrovnik, then took our bus north along the coast toward Split. All the students fell asleep as soon as they settled into their seats, much to the disappointment of my history professor who wanted us all to experience the landscape. We all woke up when we reached Split at about 11:30am. Split (don’t ask me to explain the name, I don’t know) is an ancient city dating back to the late Roman Empire when the entire city was the palace of the Emperor Diocletian. After he died, the locals took over the palace and inhabited it, gradually expanding outwards and building their own apartments, palazzos, and houses, although the palace walls remain as they were, along with the Mausoleum (now a church) and the Temple to Jupiter (now a baptistry). The city was under Venetian domination for a long while, which explains much of the Italian architecture in the newer parts of the city.
We took a tour which lead us through the basements of the palace, then through church and baptistry, in and out of the maze of streets which join the former palace to the city, and finally back to the waterfront. One thing I did find quite pleasing about Split was that the city seems to have amassed a collection of sculpture by Ivan Mestrović, a 20th century Croat sculpture who taught at Notre Dame for a great deal of time. The most impressive sculpture by far is that of Bishop Gregory of Nice, which is at least 20 feet tall and terribly imposing. The good bishop seems to look more like Gandalf the Grey than a Catholic cleric.
The next part of the journey ran us up along the coastline to Opatija, the last stop. Opatija is a tourist town, plain and simple. It began that function under the dominion of the Habsburgs and continues in the same way today. It is filled with hotels, bars, and restaurants, all over-priced with a tendency to seediness. The hotel we stayed the night at rather unwisely boasted its two-star rating (goes to show you the opinion ND has of the Innsbruck students), a badge whose existence was swiftly validated by the hotel’s bland, tasteless food, rooms which smelled alternately of cigarette smoke or sauerkraut, and a horde of visiting Russian youths who seemed to think that it was a capital idea indeed to consume large quantities of vodka and smokes, and then shout and sing all night so as to blast their voices into the next millennium. I will not dignify the hotel with further description, save to say that I shall never set foot within its premises again.
Saturday, May 23, 2009 (Day Seven)
The last day. We woke up at the usually early time, broke our fast on the expected bland mix of granola, bread, and lunchmeat, then drove north all day. We stopped once or twice in Italy, but made good time nonetheless, and arrived back in Innsbruck at 4:30.
Monday, June 1, 2009
Croatian Chronicle (Part I)
Sunday, May 17, 2009 (Day One)
Today marks the first day of the Innsbruck Program’s academic field trip to Croatia. I will admit, this trip was one of the reasons why I signed on to the program. I couldn’t miss a chance to explore my ancestral homelands in the Balkans.
Our trip is a seven-day affair, which began today with a bus ride from Innsbruck to Zagreb, followed by a reception given by the students and professors of the Philosophical Faculty of the Society of Jesus at the University of Zagreb. Tomorrow, day two, will consist of two lectures given by the Faculty and a tour of Zagreb, punctuated by free time in the early afternoon and evening. Tuesday, day three, is another day of travel. We go south by bus to the medieval fortress-city of Dubrovnik, stopping along the way at Plitvića National Park. Days four and five will be spent in Dubrovnik and its environs. Day six is the first step of the return journey to Innsbruck, as we travel by bus from Dubrovnik to Opačije (a town on the Croatian-Slovenian border) via the city of Split. Day seven is a day of unrelenting travel through Slovenia and Italy back to Innsbruck.
To chronicle this odyssey, I’ll be keeping a journal of sorts on my computer, to be posted to my blog when I get back to Innsbruck. So, I begin.
Today began at the uncomfortable crack of dawn, with our departure from Innsbruck at 6:00am. I arose at 4:30, showered and breakfasted, made a last-minute check of my luggage, then walked to the arranged meeting-point. We traveled by charter bus, as we will this entire trip, a necessity when one realizes that well-organized railways (our program director’s favorite means of travel) do not exist south of Hungary.
The bus ride proceeded by several stages. The first was from Innsbruck to a rest stop located somewhere in Styria (one of the provinces of Austria), then from there to the city of Maribor (known as Marburg in German). We took an hour and a half to wander through the city and idly pass the time throwing bread to the ducks in the Drau River. I’ve seen the Drau at a point near its source in the Austrian Alps, and while it was there a rushing torrent, it is in Slovenia a fat, slow, and disgustingly brown body of water.
Our final leg of the journey took us through Slovenia and into Croatia, through a landscape which started out looking much like the Appalachian Mountains, but slowly became more and more like northern Indiana/southern Michigan. We finally came to a halt in front of the Philosophical Faculty building in Zagreb at 4:45pm. It is located in one of the nicer parts of the city, and is itself quite a new building, its exterior built of plain tan stone and the interior furnished with sleek metal and polished Slavonian oak. We had some time here for refreshments, as well as to meet the students enrolled at the faculty. It was for me a bit surprising, since all of them study philosophy, and I’ve not spoken to other fellow philosophy student since I left the US all those months ago. The conversations were pleasant, as all of them were fluent in English, as well as German, so a middle ground could easily be reached.
At 6pm, we repaired to the auditorium for a series of presentations by the students of the Philosophical Faculty to showcase Croatian culture and talent. A pair of singers performed a duet from a Croatian opera; a string quartet played a piece by a Czech composer written for a wealthy Croat in the 18th century, and one student performed as a mime. These pieces were coupled with a presentation about Croatian culture, and the usual addresses of overture by various potentates of the Faculty.
Directly afterwards was dinner, a pleasant buffet affair which lasted until 8:45, with singing and music by three students playing guitar. I met and talked with more students of the Philosophical Faculty, discussing various things under the general order to have a “cultural exchange.” After the dinner, we boarded our bus which took us to our lodgings, a convent and spiritual center outside Zagreb, where I sit now writing this.
Thus is the first day concluded. Good night to you all; I shall furnish further reports when there is more to report.
Monday, May 18, 2009 (Day Two)
Our second day in Croatia was also our only full day in Zagreb, and as such it was packed to the proverbial gills. I rose once more at dawn’s break (6 am in this particular case), and breakfasted with the rest of my group, a simple, continental affair of bread, spreads, cheeses and meats, washed down with coffee and a sweet raspberry tea. We left our lodgings at the convent at 8:45, arriving in Zagreb at 9:30 outside the Philosophical Faculty building, where we were to have our first lecture. This was on the economy of Croatia, and was given by the Dean of the Zagreb School of Economics and Management. His English was not what might be called the best, filled through with forgotten articles and a thick Slavic accent. He was fortunately assisted by a graduate student who spoke English with a pronounced American accent, certainly a strange thing to hear after all of my time in Europe.
The presentation was an overview of the Croatian economy since 1945, but it was designed with an audience of economic students in mind. The students of economics number two in our group, which made for some amusing moments as the lecturer would declare “as you have learned in your macroeconomics classes”, a phrase which would invariably be followed by a stream of financial technobabble which might have been uttered in Swahili for all of the understanding I had of it. Still, when it was not enveloped in technicalities, the lecture was enlightening enough to make it worth its while. I recently gave a presentation in my Economics class in Innsbruck on the very same subject, so it was very nice to hear the matter treated by experts in the field, rather than a student of philosophy who doesn’t know the difference between macro- and micro-economics, and who couldn’t care less.
This lecture was followed by a walking tour of Zagreb, or at least of the older parts (the “upper town” as it is known to the locals). We began at the Cathedral of Saint Steven and the Assumption of Mary, standing outside to hear a lecture in art history which I have known for three years now, and then a more interesting tour of the church itself. The cathedral has been through many different phases of architectural existence: it started out as a basilica. That burnt down and was replaced by a church in the Romanesque style. That too burnt down, and was replaced by a Baroque church. That one fell down in an earthquake and was replaced with the present neo-Gothic building. As is to be expected from any cathedral of a capital city, the Zagreb cathedral contains the tombs of various Croatian heroes and holy people, along with relics, copious small chapels and altars, and tour groups.
After the cathedral we walked through the city market, which was redolent with the smell of fresh fruits and vegetables. It’s much like a US farmers’ market, although perhaps somewhat cheaper. We then walked down a small alleyway crammed with the tables and umbrellas of its cafes, to find ourselves on a street which was built over a river which once flowed through Zagreb. It marked the border of the old “Bishop’s Town” and the “Duke’s Town”, that part of Zagreb which was given a charter (and hence tax-free status) by its local ruler sometime in the 14th century, as I recall. Our route into the Duke’s town took us through the old eastern gate, now a shrine to Mary which is often frequented by the townspeople, who on their way past stop to offer a quick prayer and bow. The interior of the gate is covered with stone plaques hung by the faithful in thanks for prayers heard and assistance granted.
We then arrived in the main square of the Duke’s Town, which contains the church of St. Mark, a building much like the Stefansdom in Vienna in construction, with a roof made of brightly lacquered tiles. Unlike the roof of the Stefansdom, the roof of this church displays not the black eagle of Austria but the coats of arms of Croatia and Zagreb on a red and white checked field.
This square also holds Zagreb’s government offices and the building of the Croatia Parliament, and it is here in front of the cathedral that the president takes his oath of office, an act done in commemoration of the square’s medieval functions as place of declaration and execution. Next to the square is the Jesuit Square, which holds Zagreb’s Jesuit Church (an essential to any properly Catholic European city) as well as the buildings which held the novitiate and the Jesuit-run high school, both established in the very early 17th century.
Nearby is a panoramic view over the “Lower City”, that part of Zagreb which was built during the 19th centuries. In the centuries before that the ground of the “Lower City” was a field which was often the sight of great battles as the Croats clashed against the invading Ottoman empire. Now it is a place where skyscrapers and the revived architectural styles of the 19th century rub shoulders and hobnob amid a profusion of cars, pedestrians, and streetcars.
Our way down from this panorama lead us into Trg Bana Josipa Jelačića, or, in English, Josip Jelačić Square. It is named after Josip Jelačić, a 19th century Ban (or governor) of Croatia, who lead the Croats to victory over the Hungarians in 1848. A statue of Jelačić now resides in the square, depicting the general astride his charger with sabre pointed at the invisible ranks of his adversaries. The statue, when originally built, pointed northwest toward Hungary, but it was removed when Yugoslavia was created. It was restored in the 1990s after Croatia’s independence, but Jelačić now levels his gaze southwards, toward Serbia, as a reminder of the Croatian War of Independence.
Here our tour ended, and we were given 3 hours’ free time to explore Zagreb. I and some friends repaired to the nearest ice cream store, and having refreshed ourselves walked southwards into the “Lower City”. We passed by the National Theater, and several other galleries and buildings of pompous presentation, before turning east at the Botanical Gardens. We walked east for about 10 minutes before coming to a halt at a park much like the Mall in Washington D.C. in its form. We rested in the grass at the base of a monument depicting King Tomislav, the 6th century ruler who was also the first king of the first independent Croatian state.
After resting for a goodly while we turned northwards and walked back to the square in front of the cathedral, where our bus was waiting to pick us up an return us to the Philosophical Faculty. When we arrived we attended a lecture given by our philosophy professor from the University of Innsbruck. The lecture was the first of three he will give this week, all on the subject of Political Ethics. While I personally found the subject matter fascinating, the lecture was over before my professor could satisfactorily get to the point, although I’m told that he will continue the lecture in my next philosophy class on Tuesday the 26th.
After the lecture we went into Zagreb again, to enjoy a glass of beer and some food with the students at the faculty. The point of this time was supposed to be to “build cultural connections”, although most of my conversation with the Croatian students was spend roundly abusing Serbs, Slovenians, and all other nationalities who spoke ill of Croatia. It seems that the famous Balkan pride is still alive and quite vigorously well.
At 8:30, we got back on our bus and traveled to our lodgings for our last night in Croatia. Here I’m going to end this day, since I have to wake up at 4am tomorrow morning, a prospect which I find wonderfully dreadful.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009 (Day Three)
If I wasn’t writing this on Wednesday evening, I would say that Tuesday was the most grueling day of the trip so far. Fortunately, if that’s the right word, it wasn’t, but it gives Wednesday a run for its money. The day started when I slept through my alarm, to be awoken ten minutes before our bus left for Dubrovnik. I had had the foresight to pack the night before and to lay out my clothes for the next day, so I threw those on, almost forgot my watch, toothbrush, and toothpaste, and bolted out of the building, stopping briefly to turn in my room key and thank the nuns in hurried German (the only language in which we could communicate). I got on the bus, found a seat, and settled in for a 10-hour bus ride to Dubrovnik. I felt rather like Bilbo at the beginning of his adventure, rushing out of the front door without pocket-handkerchief, coat, or especially breakfast.
Like all of out bus rides, this one was broken up into stages, three of them in this case. The first was a stop at Plitviča National Park, which I would not have missed for a mint of money. I could best describe it as a canyon filled with uncountable waterfalls, but broad enough for the water to form a series of small, fjord-like lakes, each connect to each other by yet more waterfalls. The lakes were clear as fine glass, and where the water did not sit placidly it rushed out and into open space. I made, then and there, a resolution to come back with a few days’ time at my disposal rather than ninety minutes.
The second phase of the trip was made up of reading and napping, and I awoke from my nap to find that our bus was traveling not through the Michigan-like countryside of northern Croatia, a landscape full of fields and forested hills. Our highway wended its way through a countryside that looked like Wyoming highlands, a desolate place filled with stark low mountains, sparse clumps of buildings, and the Croatian equivalent of sagebrush. We stopped at a rest stop in the middle of this expanse, and the heat that met me as I left the bus hit me like a punch, and then roasted me like an oven. My travail was alleviated by cool water and a sit-down in the shade, followed by a walk to a breezy promontory overlooking a startling blue lake. It was quite large, and I think connected in some fashion to the Adriatic, for I could see from my vantage point docks and wharves crowded with sailing ships and yachts too large for a mere lake.
The third leg of our journey took us through this desolate country, up and down and through the mountains, on a small two-lane road which seemed to cling with all of its strength to the mountainside. From it we could see the new, four-lane highway which is under construction, and which traverses the distance much more easily with a series of long tunnels through the mountains and longer bridges over the valley.
This third phase ended when we crossed into Herzegovina. This might sound a bit strange, but the interlocking of Croatia and Bosnia/Herzegovina means that there is a small, three kilometer stretch of Bosnia which cuts straight through Croatia to the Adriatic. It is a relic from the 15th century, when Dubrovnik (which owned the land at the time), was in fierce commercial and even military competition with Venice. While Dubrovnik was impervious from the sea, it was somewhat less invulnerable on its landward sides. Thus, the city rulers gave a small piece of their land to the Ottomans (who controlled much of the Balkans at that time), a piece of land which was in between Dubrovnik and the Venetian-controlled region of Dalmatia, the same piece which we drove through. Thus, if the Venetians wanted to march an army down toward Dubrovnik, they would have to land in Venetian-controlled Dalmatia, and then march through Ottoman territory to reach Dubrovnik. The Ottoman Empire would not have taken kindly to a large body of armed men gallivanting through its territory, and thus did the buffer zone function. It remained part of Bosnia and Herzegovina throughout the rest of history, up to the present day, where it represents a tiresome delay on the drive to Dubrovnik, although I hear that Croatia is building a series of bridges between outlying islands in order to route the new motorway I spoke of around this strange little Bosnian interjection.
Our passage into Bosnia was lax and straightforward, without even so much as a passport check. We rested in Bosnia for half an hour, then drove back into Croatia and along the coast to Dubrovnik, or rather the port of Dubrovnik, since for our time here we are staying at a hotel on the island of Koločep. We disembarked from our bus, boarded a ferry, and arrived at the hotel at 8:30. After check-in I ate at the hotel’s restaurant, since I was nearly fainting with hunger (having had no breakfast and only bread and water for my lunch). After dinner, which was an excellent salad with grilled turkey, I showered and went straight to bed, which is why I’m writing this on Wednesday and not on Tuesday.
Today marks the first day of the Innsbruck Program’s academic field trip to Croatia. I will admit, this trip was one of the reasons why I signed on to the program. I couldn’t miss a chance to explore my ancestral homelands in the Balkans.
Our trip is a seven-day affair, which began today with a bus ride from Innsbruck to Zagreb, followed by a reception given by the students and professors of the Philosophical Faculty of the Society of Jesus at the University of Zagreb. Tomorrow, day two, will consist of two lectures given by the Faculty and a tour of Zagreb, punctuated by free time in the early afternoon and evening. Tuesday, day three, is another day of travel. We go south by bus to the medieval fortress-city of Dubrovnik, stopping along the way at Plitvića National Park. Days four and five will be spent in Dubrovnik and its environs. Day six is the first step of the return journey to Innsbruck, as we travel by bus from Dubrovnik to Opačije (a town on the Croatian-Slovenian border) via the city of Split. Day seven is a day of unrelenting travel through Slovenia and Italy back to Innsbruck.
To chronicle this odyssey, I’ll be keeping a journal of sorts on my computer, to be posted to my blog when I get back to Innsbruck. So, I begin.
Today began at the uncomfortable crack of dawn, with our departure from Innsbruck at 6:00am. I arose at 4:30, showered and breakfasted, made a last-minute check of my luggage, then walked to the arranged meeting-point. We traveled by charter bus, as we will this entire trip, a necessity when one realizes that well-organized railways (our program director’s favorite means of travel) do not exist south of Hungary.
The bus ride proceeded by several stages. The first was from Innsbruck to a rest stop located somewhere in Styria (one of the provinces of Austria), then from there to the city of Maribor (known as Marburg in German). We took an hour and a half to wander through the city and idly pass the time throwing bread to the ducks in the Drau River. I’ve seen the Drau at a point near its source in the Austrian Alps, and while it was there a rushing torrent, it is in Slovenia a fat, slow, and disgustingly brown body of water.
Our final leg of the journey took us through Slovenia and into Croatia, through a landscape which started out looking much like the Appalachian Mountains, but slowly became more and more like northern Indiana/southern Michigan. We finally came to a halt in front of the Philosophical Faculty building in Zagreb at 4:45pm. It is located in one of the nicer parts of the city, and is itself quite a new building, its exterior built of plain tan stone and the interior furnished with sleek metal and polished Slavonian oak. We had some time here for refreshments, as well as to meet the students enrolled at the faculty. It was for me a bit surprising, since all of them study philosophy, and I’ve not spoken to other fellow philosophy student since I left the US all those months ago. The conversations were pleasant, as all of them were fluent in English, as well as German, so a middle ground could easily be reached.
At 6pm, we repaired to the auditorium for a series of presentations by the students of the Philosophical Faculty to showcase Croatian culture and talent. A pair of singers performed a duet from a Croatian opera; a string quartet played a piece by a Czech composer written for a wealthy Croat in the 18th century, and one student performed as a mime. These pieces were coupled with a presentation about Croatian culture, and the usual addresses of overture by various potentates of the Faculty.
Directly afterwards was dinner, a pleasant buffet affair which lasted until 8:45, with singing and music by three students playing guitar. I met and talked with more students of the Philosophical Faculty, discussing various things under the general order to have a “cultural exchange.” After the dinner, we boarded our bus which took us to our lodgings, a convent and spiritual center outside Zagreb, where I sit now writing this.
Thus is the first day concluded. Good night to you all; I shall furnish further reports when there is more to report.
Monday, May 18, 2009 (Day Two)
Our second day in Croatia was also our only full day in Zagreb, and as such it was packed to the proverbial gills. I rose once more at dawn’s break (6 am in this particular case), and breakfasted with the rest of my group, a simple, continental affair of bread, spreads, cheeses and meats, washed down with coffee and a sweet raspberry tea. We left our lodgings at the convent at 8:45, arriving in Zagreb at 9:30 outside the Philosophical Faculty building, where we were to have our first lecture. This was on the economy of Croatia, and was given by the Dean of the Zagreb School of Economics and Management. His English was not what might be called the best, filled through with forgotten articles and a thick Slavic accent. He was fortunately assisted by a graduate student who spoke English with a pronounced American accent, certainly a strange thing to hear after all of my time in Europe.
The presentation was an overview of the Croatian economy since 1945, but it was designed with an audience of economic students in mind. The students of economics number two in our group, which made for some amusing moments as the lecturer would declare “as you have learned in your macroeconomics classes”, a phrase which would invariably be followed by a stream of financial technobabble which might have been uttered in Swahili for all of the understanding I had of it. Still, when it was not enveloped in technicalities, the lecture was enlightening enough to make it worth its while. I recently gave a presentation in my Economics class in Innsbruck on the very same subject, so it was very nice to hear the matter treated by experts in the field, rather than a student of philosophy who doesn’t know the difference between macro- and micro-economics, and who couldn’t care less.
This lecture was followed by a walking tour of Zagreb, or at least of the older parts (the “upper town” as it is known to the locals). We began at the Cathedral of Saint Steven and the Assumption of Mary, standing outside to hear a lecture in art history which I have known for three years now, and then a more interesting tour of the church itself. The cathedral has been through many different phases of architectural existence: it started out as a basilica. That burnt down and was replaced by a church in the Romanesque style. That too burnt down, and was replaced by a Baroque church. That one fell down in an earthquake and was replaced with the present neo-Gothic building. As is to be expected from any cathedral of a capital city, the Zagreb cathedral contains the tombs of various Croatian heroes and holy people, along with relics, copious small chapels and altars, and tour groups.
After the cathedral we walked through the city market, which was redolent with the smell of fresh fruits and vegetables. It’s much like a US farmers’ market, although perhaps somewhat cheaper. We then walked down a small alleyway crammed with the tables and umbrellas of its cafes, to find ourselves on a street which was built over a river which once flowed through Zagreb. It marked the border of the old “Bishop’s Town” and the “Duke’s Town”, that part of Zagreb which was given a charter (and hence tax-free status) by its local ruler sometime in the 14th century, as I recall. Our route into the Duke’s town took us through the old eastern gate, now a shrine to Mary which is often frequented by the townspeople, who on their way past stop to offer a quick prayer and bow. The interior of the gate is covered with stone plaques hung by the faithful in thanks for prayers heard and assistance granted.
We then arrived in the main square of the Duke’s Town, which contains the church of St. Mark, a building much like the Stefansdom in Vienna in construction, with a roof made of brightly lacquered tiles. Unlike the roof of the Stefansdom, the roof of this church displays not the black eagle of Austria but the coats of arms of Croatia and Zagreb on a red and white checked field.
This square also holds Zagreb’s government offices and the building of the Croatia Parliament, and it is here in front of the cathedral that the president takes his oath of office, an act done in commemoration of the square’s medieval functions as place of declaration and execution. Next to the square is the Jesuit Square, which holds Zagreb’s Jesuit Church (an essential to any properly Catholic European city) as well as the buildings which held the novitiate and the Jesuit-run high school, both established in the very early 17th century.
Nearby is a panoramic view over the “Lower City”, that part of Zagreb which was built during the 19th centuries. In the centuries before that the ground of the “Lower City” was a field which was often the sight of great battles as the Croats clashed against the invading Ottoman empire. Now it is a place where skyscrapers and the revived architectural styles of the 19th century rub shoulders and hobnob amid a profusion of cars, pedestrians, and streetcars.
Our way down from this panorama lead us into Trg Bana Josipa Jelačića, or, in English, Josip Jelačić Square. It is named after Josip Jelačić, a 19th century Ban (or governor) of Croatia, who lead the Croats to victory over the Hungarians in 1848. A statue of Jelačić now resides in the square, depicting the general astride his charger with sabre pointed at the invisible ranks of his adversaries. The statue, when originally built, pointed northwest toward Hungary, but it was removed when Yugoslavia was created. It was restored in the 1990s after Croatia’s independence, but Jelačić now levels his gaze southwards, toward Serbia, as a reminder of the Croatian War of Independence.
Here our tour ended, and we were given 3 hours’ free time to explore Zagreb. I and some friends repaired to the nearest ice cream store, and having refreshed ourselves walked southwards into the “Lower City”. We passed by the National Theater, and several other galleries and buildings of pompous presentation, before turning east at the Botanical Gardens. We walked east for about 10 minutes before coming to a halt at a park much like the Mall in Washington D.C. in its form. We rested in the grass at the base of a monument depicting King Tomislav, the 6th century ruler who was also the first king of the first independent Croatian state.
After resting for a goodly while we turned northwards and walked back to the square in front of the cathedral, where our bus was waiting to pick us up an return us to the Philosophical Faculty. When we arrived we attended a lecture given by our philosophy professor from the University of Innsbruck. The lecture was the first of three he will give this week, all on the subject of Political Ethics. While I personally found the subject matter fascinating, the lecture was over before my professor could satisfactorily get to the point, although I’m told that he will continue the lecture in my next philosophy class on Tuesday the 26th.
After the lecture we went into Zagreb again, to enjoy a glass of beer and some food with the students at the faculty. The point of this time was supposed to be to “build cultural connections”, although most of my conversation with the Croatian students was spend roundly abusing Serbs, Slovenians, and all other nationalities who spoke ill of Croatia. It seems that the famous Balkan pride is still alive and quite vigorously well.
At 8:30, we got back on our bus and traveled to our lodgings for our last night in Croatia. Here I’m going to end this day, since I have to wake up at 4am tomorrow morning, a prospect which I find wonderfully dreadful.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009 (Day Three)
If I wasn’t writing this on Wednesday evening, I would say that Tuesday was the most grueling day of the trip so far. Fortunately, if that’s the right word, it wasn’t, but it gives Wednesday a run for its money. The day started when I slept through my alarm, to be awoken ten minutes before our bus left for Dubrovnik. I had had the foresight to pack the night before and to lay out my clothes for the next day, so I threw those on, almost forgot my watch, toothbrush, and toothpaste, and bolted out of the building, stopping briefly to turn in my room key and thank the nuns in hurried German (the only language in which we could communicate). I got on the bus, found a seat, and settled in for a 10-hour bus ride to Dubrovnik. I felt rather like Bilbo at the beginning of his adventure, rushing out of the front door without pocket-handkerchief, coat, or especially breakfast.
Like all of out bus rides, this one was broken up into stages, three of them in this case. The first was a stop at Plitviča National Park, which I would not have missed for a mint of money. I could best describe it as a canyon filled with uncountable waterfalls, but broad enough for the water to form a series of small, fjord-like lakes, each connect to each other by yet more waterfalls. The lakes were clear as fine glass, and where the water did not sit placidly it rushed out and into open space. I made, then and there, a resolution to come back with a few days’ time at my disposal rather than ninety minutes.
The second phase of the trip was made up of reading and napping, and I awoke from my nap to find that our bus was traveling not through the Michigan-like countryside of northern Croatia, a landscape full of fields and forested hills. Our highway wended its way through a countryside that looked like Wyoming highlands, a desolate place filled with stark low mountains, sparse clumps of buildings, and the Croatian equivalent of sagebrush. We stopped at a rest stop in the middle of this expanse, and the heat that met me as I left the bus hit me like a punch, and then roasted me like an oven. My travail was alleviated by cool water and a sit-down in the shade, followed by a walk to a breezy promontory overlooking a startling blue lake. It was quite large, and I think connected in some fashion to the Adriatic, for I could see from my vantage point docks and wharves crowded with sailing ships and yachts too large for a mere lake.
The third leg of our journey took us through this desolate country, up and down and through the mountains, on a small two-lane road which seemed to cling with all of its strength to the mountainside. From it we could see the new, four-lane highway which is under construction, and which traverses the distance much more easily with a series of long tunnels through the mountains and longer bridges over the valley.
This third phase ended when we crossed into Herzegovina. This might sound a bit strange, but the interlocking of Croatia and Bosnia/Herzegovina means that there is a small, three kilometer stretch of Bosnia which cuts straight through Croatia to the Adriatic. It is a relic from the 15th century, when Dubrovnik (which owned the land at the time), was in fierce commercial and even military competition with Venice. While Dubrovnik was impervious from the sea, it was somewhat less invulnerable on its landward sides. Thus, the city rulers gave a small piece of their land to the Ottomans (who controlled much of the Balkans at that time), a piece of land which was in between Dubrovnik and the Venetian-controlled region of Dalmatia, the same piece which we drove through. Thus, if the Venetians wanted to march an army down toward Dubrovnik, they would have to land in Venetian-controlled Dalmatia, and then march through Ottoman territory to reach Dubrovnik. The Ottoman Empire would not have taken kindly to a large body of armed men gallivanting through its territory, and thus did the buffer zone function. It remained part of Bosnia and Herzegovina throughout the rest of history, up to the present day, where it represents a tiresome delay on the drive to Dubrovnik, although I hear that Croatia is building a series of bridges between outlying islands in order to route the new motorway I spoke of around this strange little Bosnian interjection.
Our passage into Bosnia was lax and straightforward, without even so much as a passport check. We rested in Bosnia for half an hour, then drove back into Croatia and along the coast to Dubrovnik, or rather the port of Dubrovnik, since for our time here we are staying at a hotel on the island of Koločep. We disembarked from our bus, boarded a ferry, and arrived at the hotel at 8:30. After check-in I ate at the hotel’s restaurant, since I was nearly fainting with hunger (having had no breakfast and only bread and water for my lunch). After dinner, which was an excellent salad with grilled turkey, I showered and went straight to bed, which is why I’m writing this on Wednesday and not on Tuesday.
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