To continue on our way, we got up to take the 5:45 am bus back to Ljubljana, just in time to catch the small van that leaves once a day to cross the Slovenian border back into Croatia. This time we were heading to the coast.
A former stronghold of the Venetian Empire, the region of Istria (actually Istra in Croatian) has changed hands so many times that one could be forgiven for thinking they had stumbled into Italy. Rovinj is a fishing town, whose colorful buildings and labyrinthine alleys have guaranteed its popularity as a holiday destination. The frequent ferries between it and Italian towns across the Adriatic Sea help, and the port seems to attract the well-heeled yachting elite, too. We were greeted in German more times than we could count, a testimony to how many Austrians and Germans also find Rovinj irresistible. The town still manages to maintain its charm in the onslaught. Having a sladoled (= Croatian gelato) cafe on every corner and abundant fresh seafood sure doesn't hurt. When a typical Istrian dish of cuttlefish stew with polenta arrived, I was pleasantly surprised to find it bore more than a passing resemblance to low country shrimp and grits.
The basilica of Saint Euphemia sits high on the hill of the peninsula dominated by the old town. Legend has it that the remains of the martyr arrived safely on the coast of Rovinj after being thrown into the sea, which could explain the fisherfolk's devotion to her. There is an interesting mural of the saint with the lions who refused to eat her, and among the other usual suspects you'd expect to find (Blessed Virgin, angels, etc.), a statue of Mother Teresa who just looks too weirdly modern in such august company.
A former stronghold of the Venetian Empire, the region of Istria (actually Istra in Croatian) has changed hands so many times that one could be forgiven for thinking they had stumbled into Italy. Rovinj is a fishing town, whose colorful buildings and labyrinthine alleys have guaranteed its popularity as a holiday destination. The frequent ferries between it and Italian towns across the Adriatic Sea help, and the port seems to attract the well-heeled yachting elite, too. We were greeted in German more times than we could count, a testimony to how many Austrians and Germans also find Rovinj irresistible. The town still manages to maintain its charm in the onslaught. Having a sladoled (= Croatian gelato) cafe on every corner and abundant fresh seafood sure doesn't hurt. When a typical Istrian dish of cuttlefish stew with polenta arrived, I was pleasantly surprised to find it bore more than a passing resemblance to low country shrimp and grits.
The basilica of Saint Euphemia sits high on the hill of the peninsula dominated by the old town. Legend has it that the remains of the martyr arrived safely on the coast of Rovinj after being thrown into the sea, which could explain the fisherfolk's devotion to her. There is an interesting mural of the saint with the lions who refused to eat her, and among the other usual suspects you'd expect to find (Blessed Virgin, angels, etc.), a statue of Mother Teresa who just looks too weirdly modern in such august company.
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