With a little faith..
June 25/26
In the last rental car available in northern Croatia, we headed to Plitvice Lakes in our less than 2 weeks old Opel Corsa. Cee was at the helm, Bee was navigator, and I sat in the back seat & put together snacks of cheese and salami for the crew up front. Our little Opel (probably only a 4 cylinder) chugged along, reminding us with a lurch as it shifted gears, that this was a new adventure for it also.
It was about 2 ½ hours from Zagreb to our room at Plitvice Etno House, a country style home converted to room rentals. Typical of our experience, 1 queen size bed; 1 single. We were tired & rested all afternoon, then left after a dinner of trout (3 & each at least a foot long) and potatoes. We were in search of a area we had seen while driving in, offset from the road, a river & waterfalls, and a restaurant where we could get coffee and dessert. Unable to find the area, we turned the car around and headed back to our room at Etno House, it was, after all, dusk and would be dark soon.
A steeple illuminated in the distance, marked the area of a small village, and Cee turned off the main highway toward it at my request. A single lane road, twisting and turning, seemed to bring us no closer to the steeple, but lead to a T in the road. We “...chose the road less traveled by, and that (has) made all the difference.”
“→
Water Mill
Exploration Trail
Stari Grad “
Distracted from our initial quest by the thought of adventure and discovery, we turned off the main road in the direction prompted by the carved sign with the arrow.
The road was gravel, but well defined. Narrow, but wide enough, well in some areas barely wide enough, but enough. The road got a little rougher, a little narrower as we followed
“← Exploration Trail”.
We passed a sign written in Croatian. Not assigning any particular significance to it, we continued on. The road banked right and stretched up a hill.
The gravel gave way to larger rocks in the road, then small boulders partially submerged like icebergs. We scraped bottom on our way up the hill and paused, then slowly continued upward. Maneuverability was limited by the terrain: bushes and trees heralding a gradual drop off on our right; rocky, dirt embankment on our left sloping upward; and ahead of us, a steeper climb and larger rocks. Bee and I got out to investigate. As we hiked up the hill we realized the road was not passable for our little Opel. Retreat was the only option, and since there was no room to turn around, backing down was the only thing we could do.
We didn't realize it but the little Opel had already spent most of its energy on the hill and was more than ready to come back down. It just didn't know how to do it. Crowding left brought the threat of under-carriage damage and getting stuck on the large rocks. Aiming ever so slightly for the right edge of the road and sacrificing a small tree or two and a few bushes seemed a better option. Slowly, using gravity, reverse gear, and the brake Cee eased into the descent. The little Opel once aimed right was unable to move back to the center or left. It was truly a slippery slope and without power to move forward and correct our position, nor back because of the drop off to our right, the little Opel trembled, and spun its wheels in frustration when Cee tried to encourage it. It was painfully obvious we could go neither forward nor back without the real risk of losing the car to the embankment. Brake on. Power off. There was nothing more we could safely do. We needed help. There was none in sight.
Dark was settling in quickly. We locked the car with the MFB standing guard on the back seat, and walked back down the road. We all turned once to mentally wave goodbye to our little car, and silently promise we would return as soon as possible. The Opel was silent, reflecting a little moonlight, but mostly dark and fading into the shadows. It rested at a 20 degree angle to the right, clinging to the side of the road, secured by a parking brake, transmission in park, and a few bushes and trees it had trampled as gravity willed it over the embankment.
With a common sense of distress and frustration over the situation with the car, we reminded ourselves that we were all safe and it would look better in the morning. The white gravel road stretching before us seemed slightly illuminated by the moon or the very last, faint reflections of sunset. I am not sure which, but then it was dark. We talked. We sang. We reviewed worse case scenarios and what ifs. And we walked, with a purposeful stride, and as quickly as we could. In the dark. I thought of grandpa. He would have found a way, but probably even he would have had to wait until morning.
I believe it was a mile, not more than two, when finally up ahead we saw a light, then a house. We turned up the driveway, knocked on the door, and asked for help. The Croatian man did his best to understand our charades and pantomime, sign language and sound effects. He was rescued when his wife emerged from the house and translated . “Your car is where?” she asked incredulously. “Why did you go there? I have lived her all my life and even I have never been there. It is only for walking or bicycles.” Hmmm. That explains it. “Where are you staying?” Etnos House. “How will you get back?” Good question. Do taxis come out this way?
A telephone call to a brother and soon we could hear a tractor coming our way. Before we knew it, we were a little army back on the road to retake the hill and rescue the Opel and the MFB. With the farmer driving his tractor, its headlights leading the way, the three of us and our Croatian friend marched behind in the shadows. They did not speak English. We do not speak Croatian. But I think we understood each other.
The car was exactly as we had left it. In some respects that was a good sign. It hadn't taken matters into its own hands, so to speak, and somersaulted down the hill. The tractor stopped, lights shining on the car. The brothers walked round and round the car, occasionally looking up at us and shaking their heads or rolling their eyes. They got down on hands and knees & looked underneath it and finally, shaking their heads “no”, made a phone call, backed the tractor back down the road, and turned away.
I am sure as we walked back down the road for the second time, our heads were down and posture drooping, a reflection of our disappointment. As we rounded the bend to the Croatian's home, headlights and voices signaled that our hosts at the Etnos House had shown up to retrieve us. The kind Croatian man had called them to tell them of our problem. We paid our Croatian friends for their time and trouble and got into the car with our hosts.
During the 20 minute drive back to Etnos House, our hosts questioned us about what had happened. They too were in disbelief that we had actually driven on that path, er, road. They had grown up in this area, and had never even driven off the main highway. We tried to explain about living in the desert, dirt roads, 4-wheel drive, etc.. They did not seem to understand, but shrugged and told us we must contact our car rental place in the morning & ask them what to do.
In the morning it was still clear to us that we did not want to contact the car rental company. We were fully insured, but not if driving off road. So even if the car tumbled off the cliff, I was of the mind to get it hauled out of there & drop it off on the highway & then call the rental car company. We finally convinced our hosts to take us back to the farmers and see if they would have another look at the car in daylight.
There she was, still perched off the right side of the road, left rear wheel barely touching the earth, the three others in delicate balance in what looked like a pause. Still locked up tight. MFB asleep on the back seat. With the biggest Croatian brother wielding a sledge hammer and breaking up rocks, then using his ax to chop away trees and bushes, he cleared a path and widened the road. This is just what grandpa would have done. Then with a tow ring, a chain, the tractor, 3 men pushing & guiding the car, and Cee in the cockpit, there was no way this wasn't going to work. A few moments of angst, foul smell and a little smoke from somewhere in the engine, and our little Opel was free. She balked a bit, then regained her composure and headed safely back toward the highway, just as though nothing had ever happened.