Split #1of2

The first time we visited Split, we arrived after dark on a ferry boat that crossed the Adriatic Sea from Pescara, Italy. We needed a Visa to enter the country, but no problem, they just stamped our passport and we were on our way.

We were assured the campground was nearby, and when we arrived, a young man used a flashlight to help us find enough space to park in about the most crowded place we have ever spent the night in an RV. We stopped within three inches of one camper, with our RV extending over someone’s tent pegs, and after other people moved their table, this was home. We plugged into electricity, and were comfortable for the night.

The next morning a large campsite restaurant was doing big business, and there was a hotel next door with tour busses in the parking lot. We found this often in Yugoslavia, a hotel with a campsite next door, all government run, of course. A large bus pulled a big trailer that contained a kitchen and beds for thirty to forty people. Looked very crowded, each bed was in a cramped, confining cubical, and each had a little window. The license plate said Poland. We’ve seen this elsewhere, too.

The old town of Split was captivating. We finally found a place to park, then found a place to buy gasoline coupons. Someone had told us to buy the coupons, but we don’t remember who told us that, what the coupons cost, how much money we saved, or even if the coupons were required.

We climbed the staircase up the old stone tower to look over the city of Split. In the outdoor market below, a variety of products were available — food and clothes, handmade craft objects, and even a few “fleas.” The market covered a large outdoor area. Oversize concrete slabs placed like tables, served as booths in the marketplace. Some elderly women had very few articles to sell, other tables were bursting with fruit and other wares. Emmy liked the brass scoops they used to weigh fruit in the Split marketplace, but no one would sell her one.

I stopped for a shoeshine. The man said he was a capitalist, in Yugoslavia no less, and had six bambinos at home. As he tied my shoe laces, one broke. I kidded him, that was how he made money. When I asked how much for the shine and one lace, he said $50, then wrote 700, and I gave him 1000 dinar, about $3, which may have been a half day’s pay.