Wednesday, 26 June 2013

Drinking mineral water in the Narodni Trg 







Most evenings, we lounged under creamy white awnings in the Narodni Trg, just beyond the Zeljezna vrata, the Iron Gate - I peered at my map of Split, taken aback by the strangeness of the names given to palaces, squares and alleyways - how long would it take, I wondered, to learn the Croatian language? -

I eavesdropped conversations in the Green Market - I listened to the man selling cherries, with his lean wrinkled head - he was talking to the olive skinned beauty with her sunglasses and sleek pony tail - what, exactly, were they saying?

The courteous and infinitely gracious waiter spoke many languages - we heard him speak German, French and Italian - he was astonished when Anne suggested that natty black shorts should be a waiter's summer uniform -

We looked across the square - a scream of swifts swooped over the roofs of the elegant palaces - I could see a young moon in the sky - below the thin pale shape, the contrail of a jet spilled across the darkening blue -

 I looked at the clock face upon the tower - I thought it looked like a sinister flower - the waiter placed the bottle of mineral water upon our table - two young men put on a mime at the far end of the square -

I watched the bubbles of gas in my glass - I saw my thin brown wrist without a watch around it - I wondered what delights would follow this moment -




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