Racisce

I had stopped by the fishmonger's small shop at 10 a.m. yesterday, but he was sold out.

"Come at 7 tomorrow," he said in broken English.

I showed up at 7:15. Several locals were leaving his shop with plastic bags full of fish. Apparently, he had fished all night and was dispensing his catch to a fortunate few who knew to get there early. I chose some calamari and the largest sea bass he had, which wasn't all that large, as he was getting towards sold out again. You have to be a very early bird to catch the fish here.

Jocelyn fed me pancakes from scratch, a luxury we indulged as we didn't need to hurry our departure. Only six miles up the north coast of the island lay our destination for the day, Racisce (pronounced RAH-cheet-zee). A small fishing village with a town quay that looked like it might hold Windleblo for a night or two, Racisce was just right for our pace. It was again forecast to be a windy night and we wanted to tie up to something secure.

Another broad reach powered us there. Arriving, we found the inside of the breakwater abandoned with several bollards and rings to tie up to. The pilot book said we should go in stern-to with the anchor to hold us out. It warned us to beware "of fouling your anchor on old mooring chains or discarded engines in the middle of the harbor." Hesitantly, we set up for the maneuver.

With Jocelyn on the foredeck and me at the helm, we lined up to back in to our chosen spot and dropped the anchor about 30 meters from the breakwater. Everything seemed to be going well.  After dropping the anchor, Jocelyn walked aft and then easily stepped onto the dock to tie up the stern line. Suddenly, a gust pushed our bow to starboard.

The bow thrusters were no match for the powerful gust, and we were instantly broadside to our intended orientation, almost on top of a small fishing boat moored midway down the breakwater. The anchor hadn't set and nothing was holding the bow out from the dock.

Fortunately, we were well fendered on the starboard side and with some careful helming we managed to put the boat alongside and tie up. When we finally settled in, we declared the move brilliant improvisation and began to catalogue our lessons learned, grateful that there hadn't been a gallery to gawk at us.

We were installed.

To distract us from our near miss, our attention turned to our stomachs. We took our time over a lunch of minestrone soup, ham and cheese sandwiches, and leftover margarita pizza, served with Jamnica bubbly water.

After a brief siesta, we set out to explore the town. This didn't take long, as only 477 souls call this place home. But we were in luck. We were thirsty after climbing the hill behind town and stopped for a pint of Karlovacko pivo (beer) at one of the town's three watering holes. There, the barmaid told us that today was a special day for Racisce. Celebrations would extend well into the evening.

As if on cue, church bells began ringing and a procession of townsfolk could be seen across the harbor. As they approached, we observed more detail.

They were led by a cross bearer and several plainly dressed young acolytes. About 30 similarly dressed adult males followed, and then an all female choir singing some sort of Croatian hymn. Then came the clergy in their robes carrying incense, followed by six women bearing a gold plated tabernacle of the Virgin Mary. Behind this about 100 women of various ages filed along, trailed by two men.



We watched as the procession marched along the water front, past the three watering holes and the town's only grocery store. At one point they stopped for something the appeared like a reading from the gospel -- everyone turned to face the clergy who recited some Croatian while swinging their incense boat -- before continuing on in a loop back towards the church.

All the while, the church bells rang in a repetitive four note medley interrupted a few times so the bell ringer could catch his breath.

The spectacle concluded and our beer finished, Jocelyn and I returned to the boat as the sun sank in the west. The celebrations must have taken place somewhere else, as the town was quiet as a mouse for the rest of the evening.

Tomorrow, we will follow one of the bike routes recommended by our son John, who toured this island several times last season as a Backroads Trip Leader.  (Check out  their itinerary at Backroads.com.)

Oh, and the fresh fish and calamari made a great supper, grilled as they were on the stern rail and washed down by Croatian white wine.