Out of season, the bathing stations along the Istrian coast are deserted. Near Vrsar, I find a secluded spot sheltered by a stand of pines and gnarled olive trees, and slough off my jacket and my shirt. There is a nip in the air. For a minute, I contemplate a swim, but think the better of it and settle amidst the rocks instead.
The sky has clouded over unexpectedly. High above, the gulls wheel against the declining day while, in the distance, small boats speed along their course.
Back on the road, I find a wooden look-out over the Lim channel. The German family who are there before me take a while to leave but, when they finally do, I have the entire view to myself: an orange-purple twilit sky, the dark dense vegetation tumbling down to the water’s edge, and the placid waters of the channel, flecked golden-yellow with the dying light of day.
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