I told you all that I was writing a piece on our trip to Croatia this summer. Its finally done. Here is a second sneak peeks at whats being published. I hope you all enjoy.
'Her waterfront apartment sits two stories up a five-layer
building. The Adriatic Sea is blowing sand and salty humid air through the
window and onto my naked body. Even at four am the sweet air is warm and I
inhale it with a smile. I lay my head back down and return to sleep. The surf
of the waves outside is drafting dreams in pastel colors. A loud
"Boom" sends the heavy sound of nature rushing into the apartment.
It's startles me so that I clench my fists like Rocky Balboa. I sit up straight
in bed and look over my shoulder at last nights catch. Still sound asleep. I
sigh with relief. She's spooning my body, even though I am not there and her
long blondish hair is perfectly curled and laid out on the sheets above her
head. The lightning storm that persists over the water outside exposes her neck
and shoulders in flashes of white light like a photo shoot. I pull the covers
over her, gently, and I walk out onto the balcony. It's thundering now,
heavily. The roman gods are angry. They're playing war games and I have the
best seat in the coliseum. I bend forward, leaning, placing both my tattooed
forearms against the granite rail and watch. The sea rises and falls in
swells. Only in fractions with the bursts of lightning, but I can very well
imagine all the drama of the darkened surf unfold before me, bathing in the blacked-out
scenery.
When I return to bed Vida is still sound asleep. As
best she should be. She has an 8a project to send today. Ivan (pronounced
E-Ban) and I are working an 8b+ extension to a monster forty-meter tufa line he
put up last year. Rest beacons. I lay down in the off white Egyptian cotton
sheets next to my partner and sleep comes quickly, the war of cracking swords
and armor now slowly distancing themselves from us. My eyelids shut slowly, I
snuggle, catching a glimpse of the suns early luminous effects glowing up the
dissipating clouds on the horizon. My dreams of tomorrows' sun warm days and
steep limestone walls are starting to take shape. I breathe in the spicy air
through my nose one last time and fall fast asleep. Good night sweet prince,
for this is Split, Croatia’s best-kept climbing secret.
Ivan picks us up at 7
sharp that morning with his motorcycle ( scooter ). He's stoked to have someone
finally be up earlier than he is. He repeats this many times over the course of
my stay in Split. Vida and I hop on to his wretched machine. Ivan guns the
throttle and we take off on one wheel, Vida grabs at my t-shirt, her butt
airing off the seat like a cartoon. I glance back quickly, watching the black
tar starting to speed up under my feet below the scooter. Ivan inches his way
into traffic. He takes a left, we swerve and nearly miss a pedestrian. He takes
a right, Vida screams, just to be cut off by another taxi. That's twice in ten
seconds. World records are being broken. The 78' Vespa is meant for one, but
the three of us toting our daily climbing gear and without helmets is nothing
short of an impending disaster. The motor on two wheels huffs and puffs up the
hills and the slick tires, illegal even in Thailand, makes steering, ne, even stopping
this devil missile machine a task in itself. Drivers honk and wave the
international sign for crazy at us. Ivan carries small dried pears fallen from
his garden tree in a small compartment under the steering bar. He throws them
at cars once in a while. I feel like a moving target. At any moment we will either
be pulled over by the police or picked up in scoops with shovels by the
meat-wagon. Let's just please get some climbing in before this all goes haywire.
We arrive and meet up
with Stjepan (pronounced Step-Van) at the Markezina Greda crag around 1pm, just
in time for the shade. Safe and sound, but I am still trembling and my pants do
honor a stain for it. The two-minute hike leads to the wall that's nestled
right in town, inside the Marjan Park national preserve. The rock stretches for
about a hundred meters and the routes climb for about thirty. My coffee
consumption over the past two days is enough to rattle and wake a small army.
I'm ready. Stjepan fires off the warm up. Vida and I follow suite. Another superb
6b to the tick list. We do a couple other tip shredding moderates before my boys
have to leave. Ivan works with orphans every afternoon at four. Enna and Goran
aka Gogo show up with their son, year old Malik, like clockwork. I baby sit,
taking a breather while my new crew of friends get warm. Gogo onsights
"Roputine" 7c as a warm up, Vida makes the last moves look like the
approach at the warm up wall in Rifle. Enna cleans it in TR, she's still taking
it easy after the birth. Euros!
Gogo eyes a new line Ivan
put up last week. (Ivan Lisica is one of the most active first acsentionist in
the region, and has been for over a decade, establishing more than a hundred routes,
including most of the fourteens in the area.) We try calling him but there is no
cell service, so we both shrug. "Ivan don't mind", Gogo says. The
girls head downwall to climb with Malik. We stay back, the boys, now amped with
testosterone and the quiet that it brings is eerie. After a couple burns Gogo
fires the project with pixel perfection. Even shacking on the crux pinch I
could barely hold on to. I buck up and take my revenge. I get up to the sloppy
tufa and claw down. My feet move themselves, that's good, that's how it's
supposed to be. Flowing. I scum with one knee, hearing Gogo heckle at my
"American" climbing style. My right hand is slipping, no time to
chalk. My teeth tighten, my shoulder stiffens at sixty psi and I throw to the
crimp. It bites. Blood spurts out from under my fingertips, right on the hold
and I can feel it. It's slipping. I let out a small girls porno squeal and I
match with my right hand. Lockdown completed. I cruise to the anchor. My first
8a in Croatia.
The rope tightens and I'm
down to solid soil in seconds. I'm still swimming in my daydream. My forearms
feel like they took one to many Viagra tablets. How awesome is this place. We
all look at my hands as I turn them over. Blood falls to the ground like off the
fangs of a vampire after its first meal of the night. Vida is eyeing my
fingers, almost with an erotic undertone. Could she be one of them? Enna sends
it right after me, and Vida cleans the draws. Its about nine pm and Gogo calls
it a day. We pack into the car and bomb towards the closest cafe for a beer and
some nicotine. Malik is playing with my iphone during the entire drive and
loves dancing to whatever track is playing on the speakers. Nothing short of
magical.'
Feel free to comment. I love feedback. Thanks to Alana,Ivan, Enna, Goran, Sly, Mom and little bro for your feedback and helping to make this flow. The first draft was soooooooo fucking wrong.LOL
Copyright to Ulric Rousseau 2012
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