A punk rock holiday and aftermath.

Last weekend Sanja insisted we go to the legendary Monteparadiso Punk Festival in Pula.

Yes it’s on of those bizarre panarama photos that mess up the distances and perspectives. But it does give a nice idea of the relatively upopulated bit of flat rock we found to hang out on (aka hide under the parasol on) just outside Pula. And yes the sea was warm.
The beach at Valabadon is pretty boring and full of tourists – with children! – but it is quite good for playing my favourite shallow water game… crocodile!
On the short walk to Valabadon beach (Pula) we noticed this interesting “feature” by the side of a creek. There used to be another item near by but it has been removed. This mirror “thing” was quite amusing to try out but quite difficult to capture the resuts on photograph.
It was 19 years since I’d been at the Monteparadiso Punk festival in Pula. This last weekend, as back then, I was stuck next to the NNNW mega stall run by Uszaty and Kasia and also with a “teenage” punkette who thinks “helping” means acting like Rik in the Yound Ones!
Whilst in Pula  we had the distinct pleasure of staying with the mother of an old friend of mine. I had stayed there 19 years before and alledgedly made a good impression (probably Marta’s fault). This photo is of her (grand)mother as a young Partizan fighter during the second world war helping a wounded English soldier. Anyone recognise the guy?
Ruža Petrović was helping Yugoslav Partisans since the very beginning of the occupation of Istria by the Italian Social Republic. On July 22, 1944, 25 Italian fascists from Svetvinčenat broke into Režanci and searched Petrović’s house because they suspected that she, her husband and his two brothers were helping Partisans. Since they found more clothing and food than they thought her family needed, they arrested her, and forced her to carry all of the extra goods that she had stored in the house to the army garrison in Svetvinčenat, where they eventually brutally tortured her. Despite severe torture, Petrović didn’t reveal any information about the Partisans. After being released the next day she went home, but a group of fascists stopped her at halfway and started beating her again. After she was hit in the forehead with the gunstock, she fell to the ground so fascists tied her around a tree, after which one of them dug her eyes with a dagger. She was found by the villagers and first taken to the village of Skitača where Partisans had their headquarters and hospital, and afterwards to the surgical ward of the General Hospital in Pula where she spent 70 days rehabilitating. After she was released from the hospital, Petrović again rejoined antifascist movement, and, although blind, was helping the Partisan fighters by knitting socks and warm shirts and giving them moral support. (Thanx Wikipedia)
This bust of Ruža is part a larger memorial (Spomniek) to Partizan fighters in central Pula.
Look what crept out of the sea! Seen last weekend on the Croatian coast by the old fortress on the headland outside Pula, approach with care.

 

Back from the coast.

Since I got back from Pula I have been watering my trees everyday. Some of them didn,t take kindly to being abandoned for 4 days and produced brown dead leaves in protest. One morning I managed o get up at 5.30 am and do some scything too. This early morning mist was beginning to dissolve as I did so.
I have often stopped or looked down at the muddy patch a couple of pigs live in from my bike ride back from the post office. Last week though I noticed there were new little pigs and that the family were at the other end of the muddy patch happily scratching around in the ground. How different their lives are to most of the pigs around here who spend almost their entire lives cooped and cramped up inside. I doubt the young ones have a long life ahead of them but at least…..
One of Matchka’s (the cat that used to live here) siblings who used to stay over the road is now taking advantage of Matchka’s forced deportation and gradually moving in. This process include sthe leaving of “gifts” for me, such as this sadly deceased slow worm, whose corpse I almost stepped on this morning. Thanx cat.

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