The captain wielded his long white oars like hot knives through butter, each dip barely dimpling the glassy sea. His muscled arms moved fluidly, tiny adjustments keeping us on our course around the old city of Rovinj. We rounded the ancient pier and hugged the coast, where sun-splashed houses of many colors balanced precariously on rock outcroppings. Every so often, he abandoned the oars to smile and wave at a passing boat or residents who hung out of their windows, watching our little parade. “Ciao! Come va?” He seemed to know everyone…
(c) Hole In The Donut Cultural Travel – Read entire story here.
