When the alarm crackles at 4:30, I don’t hit snooze or grumble. It’s the Easter weekend and we are heading to Viś. Not that we need an excuse to make our way there, but the island manages to make a long weekend seem longer.
It’s a full house at the marina. Modest fishing boats share the water with fancier ones. When a strong wave rolls around, they each gently nudge one another, like an early morning school assembly.
For a long time this is the only vessel drawing white lines on the blue. It moves quickly, tearing at the water, inching closer to the pinkish horizon.
The beach is limestone. The stone is smooth, rounded and very white. It frames the water beautifully; the white sets off the shimmering blue-green.
Rain water has collected in the boats in the parking lot. It’s brown and stagnant, but the yellow flowers manage to hide the water stains and rust for the time being.
Some have the right gear, others grab some string and a bit of bait and settle down. It’s as uncomplicated as it gets.
A little boy followed these three into the water. He dived in without fear. When he hit the cold water, he howled. His mates, though amused, didn’t follow his lead.
Our time on Viś is usually divided between food and wine, and everything else. There’s never a shortage of food or wine. It’s time that always seems to run out.
Here’s the thing: nothing I write can match up to this image, so I’m leaving it at that.