So, not my best day, today. It started nicely enough, at the Sistiana marina amongst boats and blue skies.
I’ve been on a bit of a mission lately, trying to send my uncle a thank you note. You’d think the most difficult part of this would be the language barrier, but Mum has helpfully translated a letter I’ve written. What’s completely stumped me is trying to find a card to write it in. In Croatia, newsagents don’t seem to exist, they’re replaced with tisak stands, which don’t stock cards. I’ve scoured endless supermarkets and tourist shops: nothing. I almost had success at a florist, but the cards were all for births, birthdays or deaths. The florist suggested a Post Office, which might have worked, had it not been Sunday and our last day in Croatia. No problem – we’ll sort it in Italy, we say, when the working week commences.
In an effort to gain distance we hit the Italian freeway, which other than the game of “spot all the countries the endless trucks come from” is utterly boring – there is literally nothing to see.
It’s when we come off the freeway that the games begin. At least there’s farmland to look at now.
Stop 1, Italian post office. Now unbeknownst to me, Italian post offices are serious affairs. They have limited, timed entry and exit through bullet proof glass, and once I manage to get in, I can see they sell nothing other than postage. So much for that plan. The security apparently is because they also cash cheques and government benefits.
Stop 2, we try another supermarket, reasoning that if this fails, we’ll buy paper and envelopes instead. It’s here my day goes terribly wrong. I step down, out of the car, into a drain, rolling my ankle on such an extreme angle, I feel like vomiting. The pain is intense – it’s all I can can do to crawl back into the car and beg for ice.
Chris goes on a card reconnaissance while I stay put, alternatingly between crying and swearing. Very cross with myself – an injury that prevents me from walking is the last thing we need. Eventually I catch my breath and hop in after Chris. Paper and envelopes it is. Perhaps cards just aren’t part of the culture here.
We make our way towards Bologna in what’s left of the day, through farmland and large scale orchards, me with ankle elevated, on ice, worried about walking tomorrow. Good times.😢