Coastal ferry daydreaming

Some time during the night I realized the ship began groaning more forcefully and frequently lurching. Early in the dawn we were woken up by our wine bottle being knocked off the tiny desk and onto the floor by one sudden jarring of the metal ship hull. After we'd gotten up I could see that we were passing alternately between long islands and out to sea. While we were on the seaward side of the islands the waves were much bigger, naturally, and the ship's movements weren't coinciding with my insides'. A half of a dramamine calmed things down, but so did the ship's accelerating speed. It soon became apparent that the captain was ramming our boat through the rougher waters, and when I looked at where we'd been sailing overnight, I realized that our noisy, rattling sleep was certainly preferable to the nauseous one it could have been. 

A free breakfast came with our cabin tickets, and we made it to the on-board restaurant just in time to dish up our plates from the buffet, and then watch the crew take it down while we ate. Jen had a bowl of cereal with milk that had long ago come to room temperature. I was jealous. The water was separating from my scrambled egg curds and the jelly was balling up as I tried to spread it on my toast. I really can't blame the ship, however, since there couldn't have been more than a few cabins occupied on the ship that night.

  

  

The rest of the day was spent alternately getting lost in thought, reading with cappuccinos, and being so overwhelmed by the scenery we'd stand out in the blustery wind until it wore down our skin. As the hours passed, we drifted in and out of the straights between the islands. The mountainous ridges rising straight out of the sea were mostly wild and forested, and the lines exposing the layers of bedrock arched steeply down into the earth's crust. Over time, small stone villages with uniformly red roofs would drift momentarily into view, clinging to the edge of the land. Occasionally we'd spot a small church high up a mountainside, a clue that roads must snake along them somehow.

At one point in the afternoon the ship was backing into a port, and we went out onto the deck in time to see a tall and compact village easing toward us. Korcula is surrounded by a partial wall from the middle ages that is so high I felt like I could help someone aboard from it. I later read in the Rough Guide to Croatia that if you don't go to the island of Korcula, and you see it from the ferry as it makes a stop there, you'll immediately regret it. I suppose I should've read ahead, but the trip wouldn't have been long enough, and anyway Dubrovnik was only three hours away.