Blue Croatia

  

On the way along the coast of the Istra peninsula which heaved its mountains like soft breasts and bellies of red earth and white rocks we swam in the sea at Pula in the forested campsite jutting out like a medallion into the blue crashing sea in Stoja.  It was there I think I got stung by a jellyfish which produced a rash along the back of my left leg, red agitated bumps.   

The forested coast reminded me so much of California.  I felt like I had wandered into a time machine and was back in Monterey, walking through the trees to a secret cove but the delicious difference here is the water is warm.  Brilliant.

And then we traveled up to Bale inland where we searched for EIA, an eco art village planted just outside of Bale, near Krmed where a spiritual man, named Igor began growing his sacred meeting ground with a permaculture graden in the shape of a butterfly and a flower (although not very well attended to because there are only two permanent residents- Lilly his wife  and Igor who is tending to the whole organization and then one or two volunteers.) 

When we arrived we were just in the midst of a big turning of the tides.  A dance group was coming in and a group of shamans from Germany were leaving after a week of secret meetings in the forest and helping to build a giant white teepee, where we found a couple of tanned women sitting on animal skins inside. 

Igor was overwhelmed when we arrived and asked Meluka the volunteer from Amsterdam to show us around.  She generously took us through the garden showed us the water capturing system, the solar panels and humble windmill.  All their power comes from solar and wind.  She took us into the handbuilt homes from clay and hay and showed us the outdoor showers, the campground where all the shamans were lazing about or slowly packing up, washing dishes or wandering in the woods, siting in energy circles or one lucky girl up in Nona, the big tree that could cradle you up inside it in a hammock seat.  Maluka said that Igo will lead a group of children every Saturday and they go on night walks in the dark with each child holding hands in a single file line to help them appreciate the woods and not be afraid of it.   He has yoga practices, dance, permaculture workshops and more.  He welcomes volunteers to stay for free and help around the farm and with the visiting groups. 

Their food is not sustainable but hopefully in the future once they have finished building the other houses and more people can live there and help with farming. 

Everywhere felt full of magic here.  Meluka said he had a good intuition for where to buy property.  All along our path there were signs marked Fairy Cradle for a mossy cavernous tree and Fairy Forest and fairy swing and Energetic circle and Nona tree.  Everything was mossy and curved perfectly for meetings, for human enlightenment purposes. 

We came to the end, popping out where we started at Igor’s house and thanked our guide and said our goodbyes with the hope to revisit at a better time.  I could have biked right past and had no idea a whole community existed focused on a sustainable, deeper living.  Change is always just around the corner.  Revolution just beyond those trees.  

Then we continued biking for hours and hours over hill after hill through small towns surrounding castles, crumbling white stone walls lining the streets crackling like cookie crumbs.  And we made it to , Barban but it had no suitable place to stay, so we had tea and coffee, excellent pizza (pizza is great everywhere in croatia, so influenced by Italy, it seems to be the national dish there at least in Istra)  and we geared up for darkness at 9:30pm.  I had no headlight and only a tiny red back light.  Ben was better prepared but even his strong LED could hardly fill the road with light for both of us to see.   But we powered on, immediately hitting difficult gravel path  straight downhill and around sharp curves with cars coming around the bend.  And we struggled to stay upright without skidding off the side of the road. 

We managed to steer our way slowly down the dark gravely mountain, as if we were at the bottom of the ocean with Ben like a small submarine floating behind me and the racing past glowing sharks and whales of cars. 

And once we were on concrete again it was lovely for awhile.  Cruising along with a slightly warm breeze and cool night, knowing a river ran alongside us but only able to hear its low chortle but this night kindness could not last and we were stricken with the uphill that seemed to never end and my gears were messed up and I hated the world.   

 We finally found our way down a steep back and forth mountain to Rabac, a tiny inlet coast town, the moonlight welcoming us deep into the cove haven.  I zoomed down past Benjamin in almost pure darkness eager to find sanctuary which we at long last did.  The Oliva campsite where at first the man at the counter would not let us check in, but after a simple plea, he did and we found our small green plot amidst many RVs and campers and we set up as quickly as we could in the cold and took showers and slept in our cramped little orange tent, breaking one of the tent sticks in the rushed process. Nothing a little duct tape couldn’t fix.

And woke up hot and sweaty with aching backs again to jump in the cold blue water after stumbling into a hotel’s free breakfast buffet and an icecream and up the screaming mountain in the heat.  Only five kilometers that took an hour or more.  We picnicked in Labin and then on through eternal hills finally hitting a nice almost even road overlooking the coast and we stopped just before nightfall in Dragos, saturated with red, sweaty German tourists.  Every building offered rooms and camping in their yards.  Everyone got in on the tourism action.  We set up on a little plateau hill  and ate some grilled vegetables and I was nearly passing out on my plate and crashed to sleep earlier than I wanted. 

The next day we made it to our destination, which I could see in the distance the whole last leg of the trip- Rijeka seeming a stones throw away across the sea  and we sailed in after more hills and climbs in and out of beautiful sea towns with gorgeous Italian old ornate resorts and pockets of bright blue water and people laying about under their umbrellas letting the sun drain their bodies. 

 We made it to Rijeka, the third biggest town in Croatia and got our tickets for Slovenia- Ljubljana, the city of love.  

  

  

The Masters and The Mountains- Serbia

When I've been bicycling uphill for more than 30 minutes there is a rage that starts to pulse through my body and it overtakes me.  Not until I get to the top of the hill and begin the descent does it then slough off as if it never existed.  When I ride through mountains, nature is teaching me to respect her.  When I climb her majestic heights, she rewards me with a thrilling downward flight on the other side.

I am conquered by her voluptuous curves and am a ready willing student, hoping to understand.
I have had several great teachers in the last few weeks.  The mountains and the masters.
The mountains of Croatia.
The master teachers in Dah Theater Festival  in Belgrade, Serbia.

It was a humble festival, intimate, vastly different than the grand hubbub of the Sibiu Festival.  There was a small group of about 40 to a hundred people at each event.  The same people traveling between a few theater spaces together.
Two Americans with robust beards approached me at the fireworks celebration in Sibiu and told me I should go to this festival in Serbia because they were carrying on the legacy of Grotowski.  and, it turned out, Rena Mirecka, one of my holiest of holies would also be there to speak and lead a workshop.
What luck!  What a charmed path!  After Rosia Montana and the border city, Timisoara, where Benjamin had our bikes painted with sea horses, stars and a blue octopus on my helmet at an arts festival in an alley way, we arrive in Belgrade and the lungs are under attack.

But all the pollution disappears when we duck into Dah Theater housed at the back of an elementary school.  And there I find a teacher of mine from years ago at NYU, Daniel Banks!,  who uses hip hop theater to build community with young people.  He also was leading a workshop here with Roma kids and directing a solo dance theater piece of his incredible partner.  The theme of the festival was Passing the Flame and could not be more appropriate.  Within 4 days time I reconnected with Daniel whose former teacher was also in attendance, Peter Schumann of Bread and Puppet Theater and, of course, Rena Mirecka.  

I watched the force of the women from Dah carry on the flow of discussions and shows with grace and intuition.   I watched Peter Schumann play his fiddle like he was digging a hole into the heavens while he told the tragedy of a Palestinian in his rough German accent.   I watched each master ceremoniously light the candle before they spoke and wondered who I am lighting the candle for.  I watched the Women in Black who have lived through militarized rapes, murders of their children, torture and heard of their defiance to carry on.  I watched an American woman sing an old spiritual for a Woman in Black who was never able to find her children's bodies and give them proper burial.  the American had asked what songs she sings to comfort herself and the woman in black said she does not sing any more.  so the American said- I will sing for you then.  
I watched Eugenio Barba light up  a whole room as he spoke of the power of humiliation as a teacher.  I watched Violeta, a performance artist from Mexico distort her body and face like a grotesque clown and ballerina, laying the performance bare across her body as she became the corn transformed by Monsanto in her piece.   I watched Rena Mirecka speak like God pulled each word from her mouth and strung it out before us.  and then I went up to her afterwards to thank her for her workshop that has continued to have such a profound impact on me.  and i could not speak.  Again i was made dumb in the face of her power, of her truth. 
and i wept and she kissed me on the lips and embraced me.

and i feel her energy pass through me and am reminded of my responsibility.
Much of theater work may be looking inward but that is only useful if it makes you more equipped to look outward.  to make the connections.