July 18, 2012
The puzzle of the dry stone walls: Vrboska - Sucaraj
CICADAS CHIRRUPED, olive trees grew in air sweetened by the scent of lavender. The sun grew warmer and the sky more blue. Except for a handful of cars every half an hour, meeting the smaller ferry at the other end of the island, we had the road to ourselves.
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There is just one road of any length. The island is the shape of a shrivelled sausage, thin enough much of the way that you can see the sea in both directions. We look down often from a height, because Hvar is not flat. We struggle up and then get thrown down, rising once more, a victim of nature's success in separating the seas.
Something has puzzled us today. From start to end, except where millions of years ago the land surrendered and crashed into the sea to leave an impressive scoop in which trees and shrubs have taken control, the fields have been filled with dry stone walls. Not the sort that you see in sheep country, especially in northern England, but in an erratic way as though a hillside town had been demolished to knee height.
Sometimes the squares would be large enough to restrain half a dozen sheep and at other times they were no larger than needed to surround a single olive tree.
Sometimes the shapes made no sense at all. They were too small to make even modest rooms for vanished houses. They were too large to restrain a couple of dogs. They were everywhere but we shall never know why.
And so now we are at the other end of the island, just half a day's riding from where we started. Not far in distance but perfect for pleasure.
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