We've had three days here in a spot Pater found online. I was a bit skeptical of it, but the price was definitely right, and there were photos of a charming terrace and garden. The inside looked a bit spartan, but I can do spartan for a short time, and I want to encourage shared travel planning, so. . . .
And from the moment we met our gracious host by the little church and walked up the hill together, I knew we'd be okay. (and when I say "hill," this is the last portion, after turning off the town's last lane -- this is why we travel carry-on only!!)
Writing from the terrace on the roof of our tiny studio cottage just above the old town of Ston (the long, ancient stone wall and fortifications envelop us from above.
Doves coo and warble from the dovecote on a higher terrace, and sometimes I can hear the chickens in their tiny yard another terrace behind that -- the rabbits just above make no sound at all. I hear the coo-coo, coo-coo of a mourning dove somewhere further away. . .
There's a thick jasmine hedge, so that's the most obvious fragrance, but there's another hedge of abelia -- so a layer of that light, powdery sweetness. Roses too, although I'm itching to deadhead them. Lime trees just below where I'm writing, but we've mostly missed the flowering which I'd guess must have smelled gorgeous There are tiny limes studding the tree already and I'm always charmed (and amazed) to be in the presence of citrus fruit growing on a tree -- seems rather a magical trick to me. So imagine how I feel about the pomegranate tree in this garden!
And on the bottom right of that sketch, I've scrawled (Rumble of red-tiled roofs (rooves?!) at Ston.
There you go, another batch of postcards
(oh, speaking of postcards, a very sweet moment at a restaurant in Mali Ston where our waiter gave us a (promotional) postcard of the restaurant when he brought the bill. When he came back to process the credit card a bit later, I was already writing on the back of the postcard, having decided to send it off to the granddaughter and grandson who didn't join us last week -- it's been weeks since I've seen them.
Well, this server saw me writing (with a fountain pen, yet!!) and was so pleased -- he's a bit younger than us, I think, but old enough to remember when written correspondence was the way to keep in touch, and he was delighted to extol the virtues of hand-written cards and letters in an age when, as he said, everyone just writes these fast e-mails. We went back there again last night for dinner, and I told him it has been posted -- "So," he said, "It's on its way to Canada now. I'm very happy about that!"
To me, these small moments are everything, in travel. Everything.
Wish you were here,