Stop the blame games.

Stop the blame game. If you lived in Albania, where Norman Wisdom is a national icon, shouldn't you be celebrated for, during all the perceived hardship, they still have a slapstick sense of humour? There are less and less people to blame for misfortunes. First the French, German, Spanish and Italian, any greasy spyk, wop, wog, nigger; Liverpudlian, Mancunian or Loiner. Now it is Bulgarians, Romanians and Albanians - Roma and Gypsies.  Not allowed to blame Jews any more, but it happened a lot, but Muslims get it from everybody all the time - even from Buddhists in Myanmar! The one thing this all has in common is judging an individual on a conceived national, cultural or religious identity. As long as the true enemy, the corporate and political oligarchs, ain't seen as collectively responsible for all the divisions in society, by creating the sense of need and the servitude to money, possession and identity with thought forms, the hatred will not cease. Muslims are not innocent, but neither are they singularly guilty of our misperception of a pure land.

Colossal journey back towards Split from Sarajevo - 10 am until 5 pm. Sarajevo and Dubrovnik are really too far away to go to when the means of flying out is Zadar. From Dubrovnik you can explore Montenegro and the southern Dalmatian Rivera, from Split Hvar, Brac and Vis, Zadar is perfectly central for the Pag, Sibenik and Skradin and I guess there will be justification in using Sarajevo as a base, but there is too much to physically do in only two weeks. This is because I made a bad choice when I went south from Sibenik. One short hop to Trogir and I am finished long coach journeys, until after the flight home! Life is a continual boundary pushing and learning process, but I now know I am finding long distances on coaches much more "essentially" sapping

The final twist of the road and I unload at Trogir. Over one bridge, briefly through a quaint walled city and another bridge. A sign for Trogir Hostel! Phew I am almost on my knees, finished, despatched 145 kuna a night. Four locals drinking booze outside the hostel so I drop my stuff, pick up two Tomislav Crno. And then I am going to climb onto top bunk. I have a few cherries left from this morning's exploration of Sarajevo. Frugal. I am getting close to zero physically, mentally and financially. Fire ants have got my ankles and cockroaches skitter across the floor in the hostel.

...

Morning watching locals crossing the bridge. Slightly frantic at 6:50. Trogir is really a commuter town for Split. Going to explore and move onto ... It's on my way back to Zadar.

Scooters, dustbin trucks, pickup trucks, denim clad girls, hovering seagulls, boats swaying by the quay, buses, coaches, rain and woeful Croatian pop.

So wiped out last night I hardly registered the French/Breton couple at all. I saw them leave but didn't hear them return. But I was awake by 5:50.

During the time of the stretching Ottoman Empire these islands became bastions for the local Catholics. They are up and down this part of Croatia whenever there is a natural harbour. Before modernity I would love to witness their true "lived in" essence; they are all too well polished, swept, washed and cleaned to have authenticity. They should pong of ordure, animals and sweat. This 'real' town exists - I have seen this in southern Mexico, Guatamala, El Salvador and Honduras. The swirling reality of persons, dogs, birds and vermin in a colourful expression where locals consume tamales and dogs bicker over scraps.

The bin men have take away yesterday's detritus and I am heading over the bridge into the old town, with its tight blind twists. Once a church catered for all you ever needed on earth, now it seems this glory has gone to hairdressers, charity shops, boutiques and cafés; there are so many cafés lining the quayside I wonder if Croatia isn't a nation hooked to hypertension? A slow rain falls on my head and upon the varied umbrellas. The baristas and waiters wipe down counters, tables and place fresh ashtrays in a nonchalant manner: distracted by memories of a dream and the forgetfulness of sleep. They are here again in their never ceasing routine. What is the highlight for a coffee operative; the crème de la crème? Another kava as I consider myself filthy; hidden at the bottom of my backpack I do have two items still unworn: both longsleeved.

Caught the next bus down to Primoshtan from Trogir on advice of the owner of the Hostel. Follows the coast road up towards Sibenik, but not Sibenik. Might be a brunch, lunch time visit only. Yesterday I spent an hour on trying to prevent my over active salivation. It was a strange sensation to allow it to collect; I could not stop wanting to swallow the continual pour; consciously ignoring is a definite challenge. 26 kuna one way. It rains the wipers are on.