by Rupert Wolfe Murray | 4 Oct, 2021 | Journeys
Croatia has one of the most spectacular coastlines in Europe, with mountains plunging into the sea, countless islands, and Dubrovnik: the ancient port city that features in the epic TV series Game of Thrones.
If you’re mega rich, or connected to Croatia’s government, your visit to the Adriatic islands will involve helicopters, luxury cars and private boats – creating the impression that this country is far better organised than the other former Yugoslav republics.
But if you’re an ordinary tourist and you arrive in Split, Croatia’s second city and its biggest ferry port, you’ll be unable to avoid the bus station.
Welcome to Hell
One thing that communism did rather well was public transport and the old bus stations of the former Yugoslavia are scruffy but spacious. I know this because currently I’m living in Bosnia which, like Croatia, was one of the former republics of Yugoslavia.
The bus station in Split has lost the vast space the former regime endowed it with. Now it’s clogged up with steaming junk food stalls and sprawling kiosks selling flip flops, sun hats, sun cream, rubber rings, postcards, beach mats, towels, travel insurance, car rental, day trips, private boat hire, money exchange and left luggage offices.
When I arrived at Split bus station at the tail end of summer, I thought I’d arrived in hell. Until that moment I’d been enjoying the heat but as I tried to make my way through the narrow space left by the merchants of junk, the temperature became oppressive. And there’s no easy way out — you have to walk for about half a kilometre and squeeze past endless tourists, most of whom seem lost, and overweight, immobile, angry-looking taxi drivers.
How can Croatia, which prides itself on its Austro-Hungarian heritage (it was a part of that empire for centuries) allow its second biggest city to have a bus station that is more like what you might find in the Indian subcontinent? At least in India you know to expect swarms of hustlers every time you get to a bus station, and there is always a good natured banter to the proceedings, but Croatia likes to differentiate itself from the disreputable Balkans by making sure everything’s pukka and ship-shape.
The following day in Split I went to get ferry tickets to the beautiful island of Vis and this involved navigating the same hellish route past the bus station. At this point I realised how bad the situation is in terms of public transport in this major Croatian city: all forms of transport converge in this crowded market of junk. Not only does the airport bus arrive here, but the train station is hidden behind a fast food stand and you can’t get to the ferry terminal without stumbling through all this chaos. To make matters worse there are no signs that say Bus Station, Ferry Terminal, Railway Station or City Centre.
I got chatting with an English-speaking local who told me that Croatia used to have a really good bus service which served all the outlying communities with several buses a day. Now, he said, the whole thing has been privatised and the number of services has been drastically reduced. Getting a ticket is also more confusing now as each bus company has its own ticket office, offering competing routes. He was particularly annoyed with Flixbus, a multinational bus company, for “destroying our public bus system.”
As I came out of the ferry terminal I saw the bus station from afar and started to make sense of it, at least in my own mind. Imagine a long road facing the sea; at one end is the city centre and at the other is the ferry terminal. The bus and railway stations are located along this road and both the pavement and the road itself are rather broad. I crossed the road, measured the width of the pavement and was able to take 7 large strides, in other words 7 metres — more than enough space for crowds of people to pass each other in comfort. But the kiosks of junk, many of which have fridges and stands pushing further into the available space, reduce the room for pedestrians to less than two metres. And the road itself is equally jammed up — with old taxis which never seem to move, not surprising considering their scalping tactics. Most people seem to use Uber or arrange a minibus.
Considering the number of tourists who come to Croatia — almost 20 million in 2019 — surely this valuable piece of real estate should be turned into a modern, spacious bus, train and ferry terminal, with airport-style signs everywhere and a strictly limited number of high class shops. If the design team who turned Zagreb Airport into a triumph of modern design were let loose on this location they could do something brilliant.
Although Split has an incredible old town, with a Roman palace as its centrepiece, it seems to me that the City Council of Split has succumbed to the petty bribery of the local taxi mafia, quick-buck opportunists who have an excess of plastic beach gear and every peddler of junk food in the area. And the local advertising agencies have been allowed to plaster crass ads over every available space, adding to the confusion felt by every hapless tourist who is trying to find a bus, a train, or the city centre. Maybe there are still some lost tourists wandering about there now.
Photo caption: this article has a photo which you can only see on my home page (don’t ask me why). It’s a photo of my son Luca and his girlfriend Lydia on the Croatian island of Vis, taken in September 2021. They kindly invited me to join them on their holiday and we ended up wandering around the hills on the island of Vis which, like all Croatian islands, is stunning. In this photo we were about to start playing cards on a disused helipad.
by Rupert Wolfe Murray | 17 Mar, 2017 | Journeys
I recently met up with Xander Berkeley, a Hollywood actor who played in one of the greatest thrillers of all time – Terminator 2 – which was made in 1991. He has featured in over 200 films and TV shows since then and is currently working on the Walking Dead, one of Hollywood’s most successful exports.
Talk ranged far and wide and we talked of the time he visited us in Scotland, over 30 years ago, when my three brothers and I were in the midst of our teenage rebellions.
“Remember when we drove across Ireland,” said Xander, who then described a series of incidents that took place on the Emerald Isle – none of which I remembered. I had my own set of memories of that trip, perfectly preserved, like an insect in amber – none of which Xander remembered.
Memory is like a telescope. You look through it at a faraway point and see some interesting detail. When we look through a telescope we know we’re only seeing a microcosm, but when we look back at memories we think (at least I do) that we are seeing the whole picture. This helps me realise that I shouldn’t rely on memory too much.
Sometime later Xander sent me a stark photograph of himself at the Callanish Standing Stones on the Isle of Lewis, the most north westerly part of the (soon-to-be-defunct) United Kingdom. Here it is:
Xander Berkeley by Kim Wolfe Murray
All Xander said about this photo was that it had been taken by Kim, my elder brother, with whom he had travelled to Callanish back in the eighties. The third man on the trip was a school friend of my brother’s called Angus Farquhar, who now runs highly original events with his company NVA: “powerful public art that reaffirms people’s connection to the built and natural heritage” says his website.
My brother Kim went on to do great things too: not long after this Callanish experience he joined a group of Buddhists and became one of the first Buddhist monks in the UK. He stuck at this for over 12 years. Now he lives in Edinburgh where he does renovation work.
I knew that Callanish was a mythical place, location of a prehistoric stone circle that is said to be more impressive than Stonehenge. The fact that I have never been to the Callanish standing stones, and have always wanted to go there, made their journey seem all the more mysterious.
I then had an idea: ask each of the three travellers to send me their impressions of that journey and then edit it all together into an article. I thought they wouldn’t reply as they are all very busy but, to my surprise, they all did.
This is what they said:
Xander Berkeley on Callanish Standing Stones:
Lewis: a carved hulk of rock beaten by a billion crashing waves; held fast on the outermost point of Europe.
My recollections of that journey revolve around the striking circle of towering stones stabbed deep into the earth. The bleak landscape was barren of branch or flower, stone or structure, but for these tall shapes standing like robed druids in a circle.
The glacial jig-jagged cut-out of a landscape
Jet black against the moonlit overcast sky
Random pies of white scattered lochs
Reflecting moonlight
Bright in their sea of otherwise utter blackness.
We gathered all the dry brush we could find and brought it down to the sea. We imagined Vikings mooring ships in the very spot where we lit a bonfire. We danced around it like mad Rip Van Winkles singing a Leadbelly song.
*
Angus Farquhar’s Version
Mine are hazier recollections. Drugs and drink remove sections, while bringing certain visual images into startling clarity, and strong sense memories of place and texture.
Cold, wet beaches, gales of laughter with Kim as we convinced Xander that the limpet was a Scottish delicacy. We manically dislodged one from a rock. I’m pretty sure he ate it, and survived to tell the tale.
The strongest memory is taking some form of stimulant. I was never quite sure what it was. But we took it early one morning before going to the Callanish rock circle.
We stayed together and spent time on our own. At first I had spasms in my stomach and then slowly acclimatised to the place. I stood for what felt like hours with my face pressed against a standing stone. It was very quiet.
Time was rippling.
*
Kim Wolfe Murray’s play on Callanish:
Scene 1
Somewhere in a remote island croft three travellers face each other in the pre-dawn light. Stumbling around in the semi-dark of the hovel, coffee is shared and the group stagger out into the bleak heather landscape.
No words are spoken.
There is a plan.
Xander, the eldest, steps out in a dark greatcoat with a Russian fur hat.
He footles around in his pockets, produces a small tin and distributes tiny white pills.
Xander: Take these. I’ve kept them for this moment. They’re an experimental batch….first of its kind.
Angus & Kim are wearing tightly fitting combat gear. Their hair shaved at the sides, military style. Polish caps set off at an angle disguising their pubescent faces and lack of stubble.
They swallow the pills without question.
Scene 2
The three are driving in a small car around twisted roads through the unremittingly bare island.
Angus is at the wheel as they hurtle through low hills. The light outside is still dim. A fine mist seems to envelop them. The car is small. They are heading to the North West of the island. There is only one road and no signposts.
Scene 3
As they close in on their destination the terrain seems to flatten out and stretch into the far distance. The beginning of the sea and the end of the land is indistinguishable. The cloud cover is still complete in the grey dawn light. A lime-washed croft with a peat roof appears in the distance. Beyond the croft are primeval standing stones. So many of them placed in concentric circles.
The group emerge out of the car and skirt around the croft. Their pace is slowed. No one speaks.
Kim is listening to Einsturzende Neubauten on a Walkman as the first waves of pill induced euphoria sweeps over him.
Angus is prowling around the standing stones, his sharply angled features in silhouette against the flat seascape beyond.
Xander is standing astride a neolithic pit. A great stone towers over him, shadowing his frame.
The ancient runes seem to murmur their assent.
Daylight reveals the vast ocean horizon beyond where the stones have stood for thousands of years.
Scene 4
The group travel back the way they came.
The purple tints of the rolling heather hills seem brighter. The pale glint of the sun reflecting off the flat sea is lighter.
For a time they will bask in the afterglow….
The End
Photo of Xander Berkeley on the set of the film Straight to Hell (1986) directed by Alex Cox (“A gang of bank robbers with a suitcase full of money go to the desert to hide out.”)
