Bura and Yura

It’s late Thursday afternoon here in Opatija, Croatia, a resort town planted by 19th-century Habsburg aristocrats on a scenic peninsula of the Adriatic. We just returned from our day trip to the impressive medieval town of Mošćenice which sprouts from a cliff high above the usually crystalline Adriatic Sea.

Today, though, the sea is dangerously rough, tossed, and streaked with grey and black. A Bura, one of two dreaded windstorms that cyclically hit the Dalmatian Coast with force sufficient to wreak havoc, moved in late last night. The Bura wind comes from the north across Mt. Velebit. Its name means “fierce” (cf. Greek mythological figure Boreas), and fierce it was! Gusts arrived together with blinding lightning and booms of thunder loud enough to knock a person out of a chair.

The storm lasted until sunset today, alternating between periods of eerily stillness and full inundation by sheets of water. This Bura seems to have spent some of its force, though, as the sky is lifting, bringing greater calm to the water.

Yet, a second, equally epic windstorm awaits us tomorrow as we drive farther down the Dalmatian coast. This one, known as the Yura, comes from the south and brings even more drastic rain than the Bura.

The onset of this storm means that our visit to Plitvice National Park will be affected, no questions: its famous chain of high waterfalls and stunning lakes will be shrouded in soup. Plitvice is a highlight of this route through Croatia and Slovenia, yet, our group seems unruffled, perhaps finding it more interesting to experience both these phenomena back-to-back.

It’s me who is undone, instead, though not by winds! Returning from our trek to Mošćenice, I collapsed into my room’s desk chair and clicked on the electric water kettle, when a different bolt of lightning hit me: “Yikes, it’s Thursday” (the day we upload our weekly posts). “What am I going to write about?” And so, I texted Hank in despair.

Not surprisingly he reminded me that the best strategy for avoiding such a problem is to work ahead. In all fairness, I do work ahead, cultivating content in advance, although largely in my mind. Ideas flip continuously through my head, much like darting hummingbirds or bats at nightfall. But the ideas stay unwritten until time pressure brings them to fore.

Still, I concede that Hank has the right approach. His steadfast method of work is the reason you will be enjoying his 486th (!) Friday Performance Pick this week—virtually all of which were crafted in advance and without gaps.

Alas, my ongoing admiration for Hank’s industry does not give me a post. Fortunately, he texted me again, as follows:

You could write about a piece of music like you did with Casadesus. Or about Diocletian. Or about monasteries in the Adriatic. Or about shoes. Or about adult ballet. Or about teaching at 2 in the morning. Or about your adult students.

Now that’s a list, isn’t it? In fact, it pretty well sums up the state of my thinking right now!

For example, I’m been focusing on the amazing proliferation of medieval monasteries that filled this Dalmatian coast in the first 1500 years of the Christian era, forming the basis of the whole region’s historical development. In fact, this very morning I spoke about these monasteries in one of the formal lectures I give on every tour. I emphasized how the structures of monastic life, the daily liturgies, monastic scholarship, architecture, and economic productivity, worked together to shape not only life in those monasteries, but life throughout the villages, towns, and ultimately the entire nation of what we today call Croatia.

Equally on my mind is happiness for the fact that I can keep my online classes going while traveling in Europe. It’s true, they are drastically affected by the difference in time zones and take place either at a late, but still reasonable, hour like 9:00 p.m. to 11:00 p.m. . . . or in the wacky time slot of 1:00 a.m. to 3:00 a.m., in the case of my Memoria College evening classes.

Whatever exhaustion this experience entails is more than compensated by my joy at seeing the faces and hearing the ideas of the spectacular group of adults who enroll in these courses in pursuit of their Masters of Classical Education degree.

Continuing on, the rest of Hank’s topics might become good posts. By “shoes,” I think he means how much fun I have seeking out bargain shoes while on tours. The fact is, shoes in Europe have to be comfortable, or no one would buy them. People here walk and walk and walk. And to walk requires shoes that keep the feet going.

One can find rather good shoes in the city marketplaces where, next to farmers’ stalls, people vend clothing and household goods. A few days ago, I found a low-priced pair of comfy, red Mary Janes in the market square in Ljubjana (Slovenia). Perched in a rickety chair with my feet on a sheet of cardboard that keeps shoes clean as they are tried on, I haggled in my broken Croatian to make an even better deal.

Yet, to be honest I doubt that particular scene is worth your time. Something else would have had to occur, such as, let’s say, my accidentally tipping over the entire booth in an effort to reach those shoes to try on. Fortunately, that did not happen.

Far more monumental is what we will do in two days: make a visit to the Roman Emperor Diocletian’s palace, built in Split between 295 and 305 A.D. This great persecutor of Christianity and highly successful emperor was one of few Roman emperors to escape assassination or death in battle. Instead, he retired at the height of his power and built a luxurious palace-complex that extended to the edge of the Adriatic. Much of it has survived the centuries. In fact, the old section of Split weaves in and out of its cold, stone walls, in some cases using those walls to support buildings erected centuries later.

About adult ballet I won’t bend your ear now (maybe in a few weeks). What I will say in closing, though, is that I am grateful to you who read my essays. I launch them like fireflies released from a jar. Sometimes they seem to hit a spot (or at least a nerve). The comments and emails you write are a delight. It is humbling to think that my words have reached your eyes and, at times, even your hearts.