What I did with my press pass to San Fermin

The narrative of my weekend would include the following sentences:My sunglasses offered little protection against the sun and none against the wind as I crossed the airstrip to board my flight to Zadar.My seat companion, a beautiful lingerie designer from Australia, introduced me to her Italian boyfriend when we landed.I've never found it so hard to get away from an airport. The taxi drivers price gouged mercilessly and the bus was nowhere in sight. Just then, a yellow ladybug landed on my hand, and I found a native Croatian to share a taxi with.The auras were interesting, but the increasing headache promised to be blinding. An enormous breakfast and 3 cups of strong coffee in quick succession managed to stave off the migraine.A handsome beach handball player from Zagreb took that opportunity to strike up a conversation.The Adriatic was almost as blue as my toenail polish when I dipped my feet in.Normally I would have been irritated to clean ice cream out of my viewfinder, but as this was the best ice cream I'd ever eaten, I didn't care much. I did have to go back to the ice cream stand for seconds in the evening to be sure it was worth it...you know, for science. It was.The leaf floated just past my face and landed at my feet.Then I awoke in the grass to the deep, ephemeral breathing of the sea organ.I wanted badly to ask for a photograph, but despite my smiles and attempts at communication, the old woman just squinted at me through her one eye. I was pretty sure it was an evil one.Around 6 I decided to find a place to sleep. You can leave your bags here, the girl said. Oh, I said, I don't have any. Traveling light.I was tremendously glad I had started climbing when I did. 5 minutes later and I would have been inside the church tower when the bell chimed, instead of out overlooking the square.The flower petal floated just past my face and landed at my feet.Two burly men grinned as they shot into the crowd of children...with bubble guns.The smell of cured meats permeated the tent.The tango dancing went on long past midnight.This town is quite religious. On Sunday morning, only the churches and ice cream shops are open.The feather floated just past my face and landed at my feet.I was glad to see the snail farmers again the next day.(So basically, I ignored the press pass and went to Croatia instead. Photos coming soon...and next weekend: Marrakesh!)