The buses disgorged swaying centurions, singing pirates, men wearing drinking helmets, a girl with a blow-up doll slung over her shoulder, and a guy wearing something that looked like a diaper. He was travelling light: swimming trunks, passport, flip-flops, Morphsuit. A sort of full-body balaclava, a Morphsuit obscures even the face, giving its wearer the look of a salamander with a sex fetish.
Ubiquitous anywhere young British people are partying, Morphsuits are the new mankinis, which were the new glitter cowboy hats. One soul had strayed onto the sloping terra-cotta roof of the strip mall that housed the bar.
York, dressed as the Silver Surfer, a Marvel Comics superhero, and his fellow-revellers—a group of British students a thousand strong—were in town as part of a package tour called Festival Croatia.
He invited me to step onto his surfboard. He was hanging seven or eight out of ten, but a halo that had formed around the area where his mouth should have been gave me pause. But it is not so great when liquids go the other way, so go easy on the Lambrinis! A Roman fortress town, established in the second century B.
Piles of fishing nets dot a lungomare shaded by pines. You can sit on a bench in the main plaza with sun on your face while warblers scuttle on gravel paths between tulip beds.
