Thunder in August

My sister has now gone (at 6.30am this morning, while I stood, wearing PJs, next to my Mama and waving her off). It feels a little empty and I am sure I will miss her when I am on the beach later this afternoon, but for now, me and Mama are sitting in the harbour drinking tea and eating apple strudel, while I stealthily use the next door cafe's wifi. :-)

I wrote this the other day for my blog, for when I next got the chance to write. I have another five or six days here before I head back to Zagreb and I intend to make the most of it and of my Mama. My skill at scrabble appears to have been beginner's luck, so maybe I can practice these skills in my remaining time too. :-)

Love to all.

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It’s a long time since I’ve been to Lošinj in August, usually preferring the less intense heat of July where the sea is a cold contrast to the hot air and rocks and there a special kind of clarity to the light; or the mellow warmth of September where the sea, rocks and air have the same kind of gentle heat.

August brings me the Lošinj of my childhood – intense heat, somnolence of air and movement, where the essentials oils of the curry plants and pine fill the air and heavy clouds slowly build over days and eventually break, blissfully, to release water and fire into the air and also in people’s lives. There is a specific grumpiness present on this island in August, which I’d forgotten about until these last few weeks, which you kind of just have to accept and ignore, like an annoying little sibling, until it is released by the storms and the air becomes fresh and light for a few hours, until the somnolence starts to build again.

I am now sitting up in bed and its 8am. The room is dark and outside it is raining – a gentle sound of dripping on the leaves of the oleander, bouganvillia, rosemary and, of course, my brother Tug’s mandarin tree that he grew from a seed from the fruit he had been eating, when he was a still a child. The gentle dripping is starting to get heavier and the drips are coming faster. Every so often, the whole room shakes with rumbling thunder and I get a shiver of excitement through my spine. Oh how I love thunderstorms!

Yesterday, after a delicious seafood lunch with my Mama and sister at Mol in Rovenska, the smaller harbour, my sister and I ambled over to what we call the Hospital Beach, because it used to be for people with skin diseases to cure their problems in our magical sea! After an hour of snoozing, we chatted a bit, I read, then we noticed some rather threatening clouds – black and white scallops and swirls, looking for all the world like containers full of water, ready to spill. The air was cooler, but the sea and most of the sky were still light and clear. The air smelled of rain however, so we packed up and left. As we hurried as fast as our little legs would carry us around the island, back to civilisation, the sea turned black as I have never seen it before and white crests appeared on its surface. The sky turned black and the wind picked up. We could see all the boats returning to harbour too, a sure sign that a storm was about to hit. We arrived home just in time, as the rain started to fall and spent the evening playing scrabble.

Mama has also been telling us stories of her childhood, about chopping wood for the fires, about the places she lived, about her school days. She told us also about when she first came to this island, in her early 30s, as I am now, and about how she had many relatives and friends decamping from her home town of Krapina to this village every summer and I imagine how that might be for me now, and I wish I could bring everyone here to spend a few weeks relaxing, taking in the healing air and enjoying the feeling of the clean, clear healing seas on their skins.

I am aware I have just one week left here, one week having already gone. I could live here forever, I am sure, if only it were closer to the people I love. My only unmet desire is, as always, to bring all those people I care about to this special, magical island. Out of all the places I’ve been to, this remains my favourite.