Walking from Brela to Makarska went well so I might as well push my luck and walk down to Podgora Croatia. It’s only seven miles if I don’t do too much back tracking and what’s the odds of that. Podgora is a smaller town so finding a room might be a little harder so I plan to get an earlier start than I did in Brela.
…By the time I finally started walking it was already hot and my shirt was heavy with sweat before I even left the Makarska waterfront. In addition to that I stayed up too late the night before having a conversation on my balcony with the man in the moon about love, relationships, chronic spelling errors, punctuation dilemmas, etc. I did most of the talking but he remained bright eyed throughout the entire conversation. Ge’ez, listen to me whine about walking through paradise with a little sweat and not “feeling fresh”. I deserve a smack on the back of the head from Special Agent Gibbs.
To make a short story less painful, the hike to Podgora included a couple of climbs, bushwhacking through some thorns, and a bit of back tracking. The back tracking was due to choosing the low road over the high road which led to a deep, wide, secluded cove with an awesome beach but no way out but the way I came in. I swear the YKK or nudist beaches are the best. This one even had an area set back from the beach with trees and picnic tables. I stopped there for a break and stretched out on a bench. However, I and the man with the naked family next to me were both a little uncomfortable with the situation. It was funny to think that taking my clothes off would improve matters.
On the way into Podgora, right in front of the water polo field I spotted a sign that read ‘1/2 soba’. Fortunately the owners son was present and he spoke some english. He asked me what I would like to pay for the room, I told him 180 Kuna, he checked with grandma and she said 25 Euro if I agreed to stay three nights. I countered with, “Sure, I can do that”.
This simple room on the second floor of an old stone house with well worn stairs and a window on the harbor was the kind of place I had dreamed of finding. Little did I know I would also get a view of three generations of a Croatian family with my room and the chance to taste some homemade “Loza”.