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Chapter 23: Pula, Croatia, August 2007
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216 Chapter 23 Pula, Croatia August 2007 We drove through the dark streets of Pula, winding past the first-century Roman amphitheater, up narrow, twisting roadways clearly not intended for automobiles, finally stopping before the Hotel Galija to unload tired travelers and their luggage. It was nearly midnight, and we were exhausted. But we were here! The expedition had expanded, and it now included Lee and his wife Bonnie , his daughter Kathy and her husband, Kirt Hufstedler, their children Kraig, eighteen, and Katie, fourteen (the four K’s); our good friends Ron and Sharyl Wright; Mike Horine and Anna Jaffe, the husband-wife videographers who owned Curious Eye Productions; eight students from Park University; Angie Markley Peterson, from the university; and my wife Jeanette and I. The hotel staff was polite and efficient, quickly getting us checked into our rooms, and then arranging for a quick dinner of pizza. We were to learn that late dinners in Croatia were not unusual. As we settled into our room, I couldn’t sleep. My mind was filled with images of the last few weeks, and the hectic couple of days in Venice just before arriving in Croatia. A multitude of last-minute details had finally been sorted out: some of the passports of the students had arrived at the very last minute; there had been questions regarding our being able to film in some places; some contract wording between the university and the film company. But finally on 3 August 2007, our entire crew had boarded a plane at Kansas City’s International airport, bound first for Philadelphia, and finally, to Marco Polo airport north of Venice. We had taken a water bus to San Marco square, cruising past the landmarks of the old city that we had seen so often in photographs—the twin columns, the Basilica, the Campanella. Pula, Croatia 217 We spent two days in Venice, exploring the canals and calle (the narrow, twisting alleys that serve as streets in a city with no cars); walking up and over the many pedestrian bridges; feeding the pigeons in the piazza; exploring the Duke’s palace; shopping in the dozens of tiny shops for jewelry, clothing, handbags ; tasting authentic Italian food; and admiring the architecture and art of this low-lying city. Then we boarded a ferry for Rovinj, an ancient seaport town about thirty kilometers north of Pula across the Adriatic from Venice. Lee had turned eighty-six in March, and in his words he was not a candidate to climb Mt. Everest. We all kept a close eye on him while in Venice, since walking was the only means of transportation, but he had been a trouper and had managed the long walk from the dock to our hotel in fine fashion. On the ferry ride across the northern Adriatic, I watched him closely as we drew closer to Croatia, and when we spied the first low hint of land on the horizon , Lee rose from his seat and slowly walked forward to where he could have a better view. He was distinctive, wearing his leather flight jacket with the 460th Bomb Group patch, and a straw sun helmet with a 15th Air Force patch on the crown. Several Croatian youths on the ferry had been curious, and they were fascinated by the story when various members of our group spoke to them about what we were doing. When the hydrofoil ferry docked at the old stone pier (I heard someone say the stones were Roman, but I have not been able to confirm that), we realized that there still might be problems ahead. Mike Horine had been doing an incredible job focusing his camera on Lee from the time we left Kansas City. Now, he wanted to film the moment of his arrival in Croatia, and stepped off the ferry to be able to do so. It wasn’t to be. Several stern-faced customs officials detained him, threatening to seize his camera, while the entire troup disembarked . Mike was furious, but cognizant of his position: he did not want to end up arrested, sent back, or even detained. While the rest of us stood by our luggage on the pier, Mike finally was allowed to continue, but with the unmistakable warning that he was not to shoot any footage around the pier, the boats in the harbor, or the customs officials. The sun was setting in glorious fashion as we stood there, with the clear waters of...