Sunny, warm...
stunning sky blue skies!
Oh, I was soooo happy. After more than a week slogging through dismal, dreary, energy sapping, stormy weather, finally... I'd hit the coast and 30C heat. It's a shame really. The Alps offer stunningly beautiful scenery, without a doubt. Roads with near legendary status. The history, the profusion of motorcyclists. The architecture. It's no wonder that Europeans, and those of us from other parts of the World that have had the pleasure of riding them, or in my case, conquering them, treat the Alps with almost a mythical reverence.
The mountains of Europe, the Dolomite's, the Pyrenees and of course the Alps leave absolutely nothing out. Jagged as shark's teeth, snow capped peaks, a staggering amount of curvaceous pavement, and historical destinations. If you've never gone, let me suggest to you that before you get too old and decrepit to twist the throttle and push the bars... book a flight and just doo it!
And now, all that was behind me. I was sitting on a wooden bench in sunshine, reading a novel, sipping a Coke, with Piroska my faithful companion, happy to be shining once again, back to a sunnier climate herself, parked next to me. She looked good as ever, dressed in red, seductively smiling that halogen smile of hers.
Quite engrossed with my mystery story, I hear a woman's voice ask me in reasonably good English "that is your motorcycle?"
I looked up shading my eyes from the glare of the sun to find (and I'm not making this up) a beautiful vision standing there dripping wet obviously just come from the sea.
"It is." I answered her.
She's my height, perhaps an inch or two taller, 40 ish, wearing a red bikini, her blond hair is hanging wet down her back, a towel in her hand scrunching it dry. She asked if I was a Canadian and I somewhat perplexed, answered yes, I was. I stood up from my seat and introduced myself.
"I notice your emblem" her voice had an accent, which wasn't unusual.
She was pointing at the fading large decal I had attached to the windscreen last year when I had bought the bike. Of course, the Maple Leaf.
We had a nice little chat, I found out she was German, on vacation with her elderly Mutter und Vater, renting a flat just down the road.
She told me that she rode as well, "A Kavasaki 500... only a girl's bike, but my husband rides a Yamaha EEKs Jay Arrr 1300."
We talked bikes and travel and Canada and America for awhile, she was a tour guide working on seniors vacations from her home city in Germany. Her English was quite understandable, and while drying her hair and discussing riding in Europe, she as casually as most Canadians order a double double at Tim's... stripped off her red bikini and climbed into a pair of white cotton panties, as I stood there not knowing if I should be embarrassed or not. She obviously wasn't. I mentioned to her that this seemed to be quite common, being nude on a public beach. She said unabashedly that of course... it was customary and asked if this wasn't the same in Canada.
"Ahhh, no. In Canada, you would be arrested"
She laughed. After awhile, she bid farewell and non chalant, walked away. I thought that it would have been enough of a reward after a week of torture to find sunshine here on the coast, but I tell you...
That conversation made me a bit homesick, missing my own, very pretty and intelligent Wednesday companion :)
The sun was beginning to set, and I was due for dinner at the Sainte Benedikt, the catch of the day I'd been told. Piroska sparked into life and off we rode ourselves.
I spent the next two days lounging about, reading my novel, walking the coast line, indeed there were many people both young and old in various states of nudity, I was not one of them! A secluded beach in Baja California, this was not.
The heat was fabulous after the daily cold I'd felt getting here. Every business locally told me that the tourists had not come this year, it had been very slow. Neda, the owner of the Benedikt, was telling me that the Hungarians had stopped coming, only some sparse Germans and Austrians, business was very slow. I asked her if they could keep going and she replied cheerfully,
"We must, this is everything we have, they will come back after the Recession..."
Even here, in this beautiful setting, the World Wide recession was rearing it's ugly head.
I rode down the coast in my sandals, barefooted, with only a light T-shirt on. Found a lovely spot and sat for a lengthy lunch, a long cafe and a pizza that was remarkably good. I even had a local beer as I soaked up the rays. Took a little walk along the paved pathway to a huge Marina. These were unlike PEI lobster boats, the moorings were filled with luxury craft of every description. Multi decked cruisers, tall masted sailboats and high powered cigarette boats, were everywhere. A little farther, I could see why. The waterline was filled with what looked to be Brand new condominiums. Signs advertised ownership and through my Istrean ride, I would see many such places. 
After a hundred more photo's, I fired up the Divvie once more, and returned to the hotel. It was great to have the windows open and the breeze flowing in off the sea. The curtains looked like a light pink version of 'Casper', billowing gently into my room.
For dinner that night, I opted for the steak rather than the catch of the day a second time. I wondered what that would be like. Well, it was done to perfection and absolutely delicious. Neda's husband (I couldn't pronounce his name) insisted I try a glass of wine that he himself bottled. He told me that he had won many awards in Croatia and Romania and Hungary with his wine. Not being much of a wine connoisseur, I couldn't tell the difference myself but did say in appreciation, that it was very good. He seemed disappointed that I didn't think it was fabulous, but what can I say... except that I'm no expert.
The following day, Piroska was packed, Neda bid me goodbye in perfect English (she spoke 6 languages!) and once again, we were off like a herd of turtles. I was in no hurry. Once past Pula I was simply enjoying the incredible coastline where one minute we were down at sea level and within a few kilometers had climbed a serpentine road (with a tremendous amount of construction happening) and would pop into a view that any living person would be awed with. I stopped and did my photo thing, not in any rush at all, I knew that in 24 hours, I would be pulling into Jaszkiser perhaps for the last time.
stunning sky blue skies!
Oh, I was soooo happy. After more than a week slogging through dismal, dreary, energy sapping, stormy weather, finally... I'd hit the coast and 30C heat. It's a shame really. The Alps offer stunningly beautiful scenery, without a doubt. Roads with near legendary status. The history, the profusion of motorcyclists. The architecture. It's no wonder that Europeans, and those of us from other parts of the World that have had the pleasure of riding them, or in my case, conquering them, treat the Alps with almost a mythical reverence. The mountains of Europe, the Dolomite's, the Pyrenees and of course the Alps leave absolutely nothing out. Jagged as shark's teeth, snow capped peaks, a staggering amount of curvaceous pavement, and historical destinations. If you've never gone, let me suggest to you that before you get too old and decrepit to twist the throttle and push the bars... book a flight and just doo it!And now, all that was behind me. I was sitting on a wooden bench in sunshine, reading a novel, sipping a Coke, with Piroska my faithful companion, happy to be shining once again, back to a sunnier climate herself, parked next to me. She looked good as ever, dressed in red, seductively smiling that halogen smile of hers.
Quite engrossed with my mystery story, I hear a woman's voice ask me in reasonably good English "that is your motorcycle?"
I looked up shading my eyes from the glare of the sun to find (and I'm not making this up) a beautiful vision standing there dripping wet obviously just come from the sea.
"It is." I answered her.
She's my height, perhaps an inch or two taller, 40 ish, wearing a red bikini, her blond hair is hanging wet down her back, a towel in her hand scrunching it dry. She asked if I was a Canadian and I somewhat perplexed, answered yes, I was. I stood up from my seat and introduced myself.
"I notice your emblem" her voice had an accent, which wasn't unusual.
She was pointing at the fading large decal I had attached to the windscreen last year when I had bought the bike. Of course, the Maple Leaf.
We had a nice little chat, I found out she was German, on vacation with her elderly Mutter und Vater, renting a flat just down the road.
She told me that she rode as well, "A Kavasaki 500... only a girl's bike, but my husband rides a Yamaha EEKs Jay Arrr 1300."
We talked bikes and travel and Canada and America for awhile, she was a tour guide working on seniors vacations from her home city in Germany. Her English was quite understandable, and while drying her hair and discussing riding in Europe, she as casually as most Canadians order a double double at Tim's... stripped off her red bikini and climbed into a pair of white cotton panties, as I stood there not knowing if I should be embarrassed or not. She obviously wasn't. I mentioned to her that this seemed to be quite common, being nude on a public beach. She said unabashedly that of course... it was customary and asked if this wasn't the same in Canada.
"Ahhh, no. In Canada, you would be arrested"
She laughed. After awhile, she bid farewell and non chalant, walked away. I thought that it would have been enough of a reward after a week of torture to find sunshine here on the coast, but I tell you...
That conversation made me a bit homesick, missing my own, very pretty and intelligent Wednesday companion :)
The sun was beginning to set, and I was due for dinner at the Sainte Benedikt, the catch of the day I'd been told. Piroska sparked into life and off we rode ourselves.
I spent the next two days lounging about, reading my novel, walking the coast line, indeed there were many people both young and old in various states of nudity, I was not one of them! A secluded beach in Baja California, this was not.
The heat was fabulous after the daily cold I'd felt getting here. Every business locally told me that the tourists had not come this year, it had been very slow. Neda, the owner of the Benedikt, was telling me that the Hungarians had stopped coming, only some sparse Germans and Austrians, business was very slow. I asked her if they could keep going and she replied cheerfully,
"We must, this is everything we have, they will come back after the Recession..."
Even here, in this beautiful setting, the World Wide recession was rearing it's ugly head.
I rode down the coast in my sandals, barefooted, with only a light T-shirt on. Found a lovely spot and sat for a lengthy lunch, a long cafe and a pizza that was remarkably good. I even had a local beer as I soaked up the rays. Took a little walk along the paved pathway to a huge Marina. These were unlike PEI lobster boats, the moorings were filled with luxury craft of every description. Multi decked cruisers, tall masted sailboats and high powered cigarette boats, were everywhere. A little farther, I could see why. The waterline was filled with what looked to be Brand new condominiums. Signs advertised ownership and through my Istrean ride, I would see many such places. 
After a hundred more photo's, I fired up the Divvie once more, and returned to the hotel. It was great to have the windows open and the breeze flowing in off the sea. The curtains looked like a light pink version of 'Casper', billowing gently into my room.
For dinner that night, I opted for the steak rather than the catch of the day a second time. I wondered what that would be like. Well, it was done to perfection and absolutely delicious. Neda's husband (I couldn't pronounce his name) insisted I try a glass of wine that he himself bottled. He told me that he had won many awards in Croatia and Romania and Hungary with his wine. Not being much of a wine connoisseur, I couldn't tell the difference myself but did say in appreciation, that it was very good. He seemed disappointed that I didn't think it was fabulous, but what can I say... except that I'm no expert.The following day, Piroska was packed, Neda bid me goodbye in perfect English (she spoke 6 languages!) and once again, we were off like a herd of turtles. I was in no hurry. Once past Pula I was simply enjoying the incredible coastline where one minute we were down at sea level and within a few kilometers had climbed a serpentine road (with a tremendous amount of construction happening) and would pop into a view that any living person would be awed with. I stopped and did my photo thing, not in any rush at all, I knew that in 24 hours, I would be pulling into Jaszkiser perhaps for the last time.
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