Beside the Seaside

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In Which I Get Tongue-Tied

August 22, 2008 by Mike

Mošcenička Draga

Route: PoreC - Rovinj - Pula - Medulin - Labin - Mošcenička Draga

I awoke this morning with an unfeasibly clear head, but only after I'd woken a handful of times with 50 Hells' Angels riding their bikes around my skull.

Dragen spotted me. The campsite owner ambled sown the hill to where I had started to strike the tent.

"You must be thirsty," he grinned, holding out a bottle of water. Clearly, he could remember last night even if I couldn't. (And I couldn't: I'd slept though much of it.)

I smiled as broadly as I could, and reached out for the bottle. This was going to be a life-saver.. but what *actually* saved my life was catching a whiff of the 'water' before I downed the bottle in one go. I coughed and dry-retched in one swift and unsightly movement: moonshine.

If I'd actually swallowed the stuff I have no idea what would have happened. It wouldn't have been pretty. I managed to thank Dragen for his kind gesture and -- because I'd managed not to start drinking again at ten in the morning, I was able to leave by midday. Yes, it took me two hours to pack the tent away. It hadn't taken me that long to put away half a bottle of moonshine last night.

--

Sadly, on this form, I was never going to be a terribly good witness to the unfolding Istrian landscape. The Roman amphitheatre at Pula was magnificent, but the idea of walking around it was enough to make me queasy all over again.

I wasn't much better at navigating away from the town. Perhaps my subconscious wanted me to stay so that, well slept and refreshed, I could explore the city that has been a sort of mini-me to Trieste for centuries. But as I didn't think much of Trieste, why should I? That was my winning argument (nb: I'm not daft enough to call it 'logic') as I pulled away. Even when I passed Pula airport for the third time, trying to find the coast road, I didn't cave in and find somewhere to stop.

Besides, I have, for the second time in less than a thousand miles, a friendly face to meet up with. I need to press on. I eventually called it a night at a friendly little resort on the northeast Istrian coast with the unfriendly name (if like me you type on a Western keyboard) of Mošcenička Draga.

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