I would absolutely love to know what it’s like to be normal.
To go on a normal date, dress normal, act normal, say normal things and to come home feeling proud of my normal-ness.
Holidate number three and we weren’t yet sick of eachother, not even remotely…
Bare Naked Blaće
….so we headed for Blaće to check out the famous naturist beach of Mljet. It was finally time for me to disrobe without getting barked at by a stray labrador, have my head mounted by a puppy or be shouted at by an angry local.
Blaće is the east-most point of the Island, in the area of Saplunara, which comes from the Latin word Sabalum, meaning sand.
It was a good forty-five minute drive from Kozarica, but time flies when you’re on the back of a scooter holding on to a grade A piece of meat, both singing Ocean Drive at the top of your voices.
We expected soft white sands, crystal clear waters and lots of bronzing genitals.
What we got was dark brown, muck-coloured sand, some pale and wrinkly old people in budgie smugglers and thousands of leaping sand fleas….
THE LAW OF ATTRACTION
After an hour of obligatory lazing in this rubbish tip of a beach we’d travelled so far to see, we headed for a pretty romantic lunch over-looking the Saplunara bay at Restaurant Frankas.
Conversation centred around a run through of his life CV, which I always love to hear.
It’s pretty interesting. He’s 39, has lived in Japan for three years, Norway, the US and then London for the last decade. His work is everything intellectually creative – social media and digital content stuff for big brands and TV. He’s another Jordan Peterson fan with a mind full of political viewpoints and a vernacular to rival most linguists.
I was well and truly entertained.
After lunch we had a lie down on the slightly cleaner Saplunara beach. No nudists but also no sand fleas, which felt like a big win. We went swimming out into the deep blue and returned to dry off on our towels while laughing at the bizarre Undataebles-style statements we’d (I’d) made the day before.
Your eyes are as brown as tree trunks
Back on the bike and headed Westbound, we saw a hand-painted sign saying godknowswhat but pointing towards a gravelled track that seemed to lead up and round the mountain near Prozura. We’d driven on a good few hundred metres but the curiosity got the better of us, so we about-turned and headed up this road to nowhere.
Riding on the back of a scooter along a rocky track can only be compared to having a battle with an ejector seat button. I felt like I could be thrown off at any minute. As I held on for dear life, smashing my pelvic muscles against the hot leather seat, my cries of pain and hysterical laughter were so deeply intertwined, even I couldn’t distinguish between the two.
The path was narrow and edged with the sharpest thorns and thistles. My poor legs were being grated slowly by nature but I didn’t want to whinge, so I just let the green spikes claw into me and watched the blood trickle out of the tiny piercings in my skin. Spiders’ webs smothered his face and I ducked down with knowing caution. It wasn’t the most pleasant of rides and before long, the steepness of the track got the better of us and our scooter.
We abandoned the wheels and carried on further up the mountain by foot until we reached the peak. The views were magnificent, but if I’m honest, nothing really new… deserted coves, crashing waves and an aerial view of lush green trees. He wanted to find the perfect vantage point and started to climb his way through the thistles and up the jagged rocks, so of course, in my floaty pink dress and flip flops, I followed suit.
Finally he stopped and we sat down to enjoy the views….
Little Green Devil
It was all a fairy tale until I started SCREAMING at the top of my lungs.
An enormous, and I really do mean enormous, fluorescent lime green wasp-looking creature was slowly drilling a hole into my right ankle with its venomous sting.
I looked absolutely insane. I was shrieking, swearing, sweating profusely and doing a slightly dangerous one legged dance on the edge of a cliff.
We hurriedly clambered back down the rocks and in the panic of doing so, I managed to break not one, but both of my flip flops. The piece in between the toes had completely torn away. He helped me down and we made it back to the shale trail but still had quite a way to walk to get back to our scooter… and that lime green mini monster was continuing to harass me.
So there I was, on Holidate number three….
….wearing a pretty little dress that was now sticking to me, a bike helmet on my head with a tuft of white blonde hair sticking out at the front… wailing like a banshee with a perturbed look strewn across my face, my limbs flailing left, and right, and centre….my shredded legs covered in droplets of blood, my right ankle swollen to twice the normal size….and I was moon-walking, in slow motion down the gravelly road, lifting my knees high and lunging forward with each stride, my big toes clenched like pincers holding on tightly to what was left of each flipflop.
I looked like I’d just escaped from a mental asylum. And what did he do? Took a photograph for the eternal souvenir.