A brief story of travel.
Best travel experiences of my life have always been meeting locals and enjoying the things they do day to day.
My grandfather (Asha's great-grandfather) Dinny, was born on the island of Korcula, a small island off the Dalmatian coast from the town of Split - Croatia.
He came to Australia at 16 years of age and never got back to see his parents before they died. His parents had sent him here during the great depression plaguing Europe following WW1. His options being to join his brother working in Oz or another in NZ or join a monastery as a priest ??
As a priest I may not have been here and if he'd chosen NZ I could have been a Kiwi !!!!!! Doesn't sound like much of a choice to me !!!!
Arriving into Fremantle he was met by his brother and they headed to the Clackline to cut timber for railway sleepers. Later he worked on the Gold mines in Kalgoorlie.
In 1985 Jan and I convinced him and my grandmother Margaret to accompany us to Europe, catch up with some of their neices in the UK and go back to visit the town where Grandad was born.
It is a small fishing village called Racisce, set on a beautiful natural harbour on the island of Korcula.
They spent time with their nieces outside of London and then flew to Croatia, while Jan and I spent 6 weeks driving thru Europe and then met them in Korcula.
Arriving, we found the most idilic village we had seen anywhere in Europe....... absolute paradise, though with no work 70 years ago things were very different.
We soon discovered that grand dad was related to half the town and had settled in to the 'Tito' inspired socialist lifestyle...... wake late, enjoy breakfast with a cousin, hand out $$'s to anyone not doing so well, head to the shop and Post Office (both open 4 hours a day) and then spend the balance of each day socialising, eating and drinking....
The town and surrounding areas were still relatively poor and most working males worked in the merchant navy....away 9 months, then back for the summer to party and procreate......most children born within a 3 month period each year and questions asked about those that weren't !
Wierdest, but one of the best experiences I can recall, was one evening tucking the wives and Ry (who was aged 3) into bed after dinner, and heading to the local tavern with grand dad (a non-drinker) and the town's menfolk- a Croatian, and remote town, European tradition.
Towards the end of the summer, almost every night was a celebration for someone heading back to his ship for the next 9 months of offshore work.
The tavern was full of singing, drinking very ordinary wines and Rakija ( a local home-brewed rocket fuel that some consider a spirit - an evil spirit I suggest !)
At around midnight the entire occupants of the tavern was evacuated and headed down to the waters edge to pull the fishing nets in.
The entire menfolk population of the village then ascended to the home of one of the men to BBQ the bait fish and continue the festivities...... a great night..... simple enjoyment of life's necessities...good food, good? wine and accelerated talk.
Grand dad recounted aspects of this trip for years afterwards....
However Jan and I were both struck by the shock he must have received all those years earlier, leaving his parents and this fantastic relaxed place bound for Oz, cutting timber by hand and sleeping under the stars in a hot, fly infested wild environment.
Having no parental guidance and finding his spiritual way alone in a foreign land.......fantastic life well spent.
Have a listen to Guy Clarke's "Immigrant Eyes" ....... he writes and sings of a similar life experience of his folks arriving in NY, compiled into a great song......
Wayne & Jan
Follow the link for the song.....
No comments:
Post a Comment