Now and then I feel the introvert’s need to regain my feeling of anonymity in the world, and what better place than among the tourist hordes in Piazza San Marco in Venice?
Venice reminds me of an aging movie star—still beautiful but faded with her best days clearly behind her. She badly needs a makeover, but it won’t disguise the fact that she’s slowly slipping away. That said, we had a wonderful time there strolling the back streets where there were no crowds at all, marveling at the beautiful architecture,
seeing the sights, but mostly discovering great little places to eat and drink and while away a couple of hours in the beautiful spring weather.
We did feel the first earthquake in northern Italy which shook us out of our sleep and rattled the closet doors in the room. I recognized it instantly as an earthquake and it was confirmed by the morning news. Fortunately there was no visible damage in Venice.
When we‘d had our fill of crowds, we took the ferry to Rovinj in the Istrian peninsula of Croatia. I loved Croatia. It felt like my vision of Italy of old. The cobblestone streets were swept and washed every morning, the Adriatic Sea sparkled with clear, clean water, boats bobbed in the harbor, and the food was a delicious blend of Italian, Mediterranean, and Hungarian, with fresh seafood featured in nearly every dish.
When we tired of fish, we could eat goulash or roast pork loin washed down with an Ozujsko, the local beer. The locals in that part of the country regularly speak Croatian, Italian, German, and English.
We visited churches, a castle over a deep ravine that inspired Jules Verne, traveled through the beautiful green countryside, took a boat up a fiord and visited an island with Roman ruins where Tito had his summer home for 30 years.
It was fascinating to see all the exotic animals still living there (gifts to Tito from heads of state) and his 1953 custom made Cadillac convertible in which he reportedly tried to seduce Gina Lollobrigida.
Okay so this wasn’t a highbrow trip, but it was fun and relaxing. Best of all was just being by the sea, hanging out in a fishing village, and watching the sunset.
L-hamdullah! The carpets have been shipped to Santa Fe for the July International Folk Art Market. But like most things, it did not go smoothly. It turns out that the special artisan price that we had originally been quoted by DHL was only available with the submission of a form that had to be filled out with a typewriter—not a pen, not online, only a typewriter. Now you would think that in a third world country, typewriters would be readily available, but not even Fatima knew where to find one, nor did DHL. (I later heard that the police station fills out their reports on a typewriter—should have guessed). The form also had to be signed and stamped by the Ministry of Commerce, so good luck getting that done in the two days we had before the shipping deadline. 
So we gave up and paid a higher price. Then the next day we were notified that the shipment had been held up in Casablanca for “high value” requiring yet another piece of paper. Several phone calls and the intervention of Peace Corps finally got the shipment moving. Ten days later, our two-day delivery arrived at its destination. Close enough.
In late May, the green fields surrounding the town turned to amber with ripening grain rippling in the breeze. The walk to the souk through barley fields was a surreal experience as only people’s heads appeared above the shoulder-high stalks. But it’s harvest time now so that the beautiful grain fields will be turned into brown stubble until they are plowed under in the fall and the winter rains come again. 
Harvesting on the family owned farms is done by hand the old-fashioned way. The grain is cut with a scythe, tied in bundles which are loaded on a donkey then transported to a stack where they await the mill. Most of the wheat in the surrounding fields will be milled and consumed locally. From field to loaf of bread is a visible process here. 
