Sailing Nuvola: Dubrovnik Loop

We began, as all great maritime adventures do — by not sailing.

Long wait for the boat (classic), followed by a provisioning run that could support either a spiritual awakening or a small nation. Alice, Hannes, and Lena spearheaded the operation, loading the cart with cold cuts (prosciutto, ham, bologna), cheese, and enough alcoholic beverages to ensure the week's philosophy stayed relaxed. Mike, meanwhile, was ashore, locked in the sacred ritual of orientation with the charter company — learning the finer points of the vessel, the paperwork, and possibly the meaning of life. We chose snacks over asceticism. This is a retreat, after all — not a competition regatta.

Upon boarding, we were greeted not by the sea breeze, but by a dead battery and several philosophical questions about power, patience, and how much one can sweat in a marina before becoming part of the Adriatic.

Eventually, the tech team recognized our existence and gave us the go-ahead. Orientation was completed with cult-like dedication. Red life jackets adorned each berth like tiny, aggressive priests of safety. We listened. We nodded.

Departure: uneventful. Which is how we like it. Dubrovnik marina waved us off politely, as if to say, "Please don't come back with questions." Mike used thrusters for the first time. Looked confident. Might've been acting.

With the battery situation still lingering, we motored to Lopud — no sails, just vibes. En route, Alice and Hannes produced sandwiches and a salad so fresh it could've filed for Croatian citizenship.

Arrival: secured a mooring buoy, which Alice helped pull up because apparently they make them out of submerged anvils now. As soon as the lines were set, everyone launched into the water like it was a team building exercise designed by dolphins.

Swimming: perfect. Aperitivo: even better.

Dinner ashore delivered divine intervention in the form of John Dory. Yes, the John Dory. After a long and fruitless international search, we found him chilling in the kitchen of a restaurant named Dubrovnik. He was delicious. No further questions.

Returned to Nuvola for the nightly ritual: map unrolling, finger pointing, plan whispering. No major disagreements, though someone definitely tried to route us through a restricted military zone.

Conclusion: batteries low, spirits high. Day One — complete success.

The night began peacefully — unless you count the airborne torture squad that entered the cabin at dusk. Mosquitos: 12, Humans: 0. The only ones well-rested were the bugs.

Lena and Mike rose with the sun (and with intent). Only three hours later, they were almost ready to leave. By then, Alice and Hannes had also awoken, largely thanks to the symphony of morning sounds, including what may or may not have been a toilet pump auditioning for percussion school.

Mike, full of hope and perhaps caffeine, decided it was a good time to raise the sails. Lena and Alice joined enthusiastically until they realized the reef line had gone on a small vacation and the mainsail was floppier than a motivational poster in a wind tunnel. As they puzzled over the mystery, the wind grew stronger, the waves picked up, and so did the nausea count. Lena and Hannes entered what we call "the rescue zone." Alice: unbothered by chaos, standing upright like a sailboat yogi, producing sucking candies like a magician. Nausea: neutralized. Spirits: restored.

We arrived at Mljet. First lagoon looked promising — until a gust almost parked us on the beach. Lena, who will not be blamed, slightly misjudged the anchor drop. We executed a rapid exit and retreated to Okuklje, where we moored to a classic "zenya okun" style buoy, which we have now decided means "grab whatever floats and hold tight." Success. Swimming followed, along with another round of world-class sandwiches and salad. Culinary consistency: elite.

Next stop: Polače. Now, the docking scene here deserves its own novella. We were greeted by a deeply irritable man in a wet T-shirt and tighty-whities — presumably Italian, but fluent in "grump." He did not appreciate our fender touching his fender. Mike de-escalated the situation with the ancient maritime technique known as "just agree with him until he leaves." The official dock staff contributed nothing but additional confusion.

Post-docking, Alice and Hannes conquered the SUP board while Lena and Mike embraced stillness (and possibly denial). We later strolled through Polače's charming ruins, enjoyed an unexpected round of free drinks from our earlier Italian nemesis (now friend?), and debated the pronunciation gap between German "R" and Russian "R." We attempted cross-cultural phonetics but were drowned out by laughter.

Dinner was… challenging. The seafood was determined to remain in its shells. Only Hannes had the strength and moral clarity to prevail.

Back on board, we lit lanterns and finally initiated the first rounds of Bavarian Schnapkrupfel — a game that, by its third hand, devolves beautifully into joyful accusations, broken alliances, and rules that may or may not exist.

Storm clouds rolled in for drama, but we returned aboard dry, full, and disproportionately pleased with ourselves.

Yes, there may have been more we forgot. But the vibe? Absolutely unforgettable.

We stayed put today. Not out of laziness, but in the spirit of deep anchoring. Spiritually, emotionally, geographically. Also, the mooring was paid for.

Morning began with fresh-baked bread and the kind of optimism that only vacationers and weather apps possess. We packed lunches like responsible humans, then rented bikes and set off to explore Mljet National Park — the crown jewel of "gentle rides and subtle elevation gain," or so we thought.

About twenty minutes in, we took what we'll now refer to as "a creatively unadvisable turn." The trail quickly devolved into a cascade of large, rolling boulders — ideal for goats, terrible for bikes, and a thrilling new frontier in team coordination. Off-road? Yes. Prepared? No. Regrets? Only minimal.

Eventually, we reached the monastery island. Quiet, tranquil, borderline mystical. Everyone began to nod off in sacred synchrony until the skies gave us a nudge: time to go. Rain began gently, like a polite warning. By the time we were pushing our bikes up and down actual stone staircases, it had upgraded to full body baptism. We returned soaked, but with that rare combination of exhaustion and glee reserved for very wet adventurers who chose this fate willingly.

Back on Nuvola, morale soared. Card games resumed. The great Bavarian Schnapkrupfel tournament escalated. Strategies evolved. Rules dissolved. Local beer assisted.

Dinner? Whole grilled fish delivered directly to the boat like some Mediterranean UberEats miracle. The crew assembled another world-class salad, and the cockpit was alive with gossip, weather talk, and tomorrow's alleged plans.

We may not have moved the boat today, but we moved plenty — up hills, over rocks, through rain, into the realm of stories we'll keep telling long after we dry off.

Today began with ambition and a stealth departure. Our sights were set on Korčula — the mythical hometown of Marco Polo and, apparently, every boat in the Adriatic. We set off early, while Alice and Hannes were still horizontal and dreaming of quieter mornings.

The first leg was smooth sailing literally. We hoisted both main and jib, and for a while it felt like we knew what we were doing. Mike, fired up and reef-line-happy, adjusted us for the rising wind, and Nuvola glided gently along the coast. Some of us soaked in the moment; others soaked in pre-nausea vibes.

With stomachs wobbling and the wind misbehaving, we made a tactical call: skip the fancy lunch-on-the-water plan and aim straight for Lumbarda under motor. We dropped anchor in a calm bay, threw ourselves into sandwiches, then threw ourselves into the sea. Swimming ensued, followed by group dives ranging from elegant to existential.

After a solid reset, we weighed anchor and continued toward Korčula proper threading the nautical equivalent of a traffic jam in a roundabout filled with tiny islands and bigger opinions. Spirits remained high. GPS signals: less so.

Then came the docking. Oh, the docking.

Enter: the Bass Boys on a dinghy — young, in white buttoned t-shirt, mildly confident. They pointed to starboard. We turned. Then they pointed to port. We re-turned. Then everyone pointed in different directions. The boat, caught between instructions and inertia, nearly side-hugged an innocent neighbor. Missed it by inches, but adrenaline was generously shared by all on board.

Eventually, with prayers and port side cursing, we tied up and poured drinks to erase memories of the last 15 minutes. Showers on shore never felt so earned.

Dinner was at the legendary Marco Polo restaurant. Thanks to Alice, who made a reservation, speaking english with german accent. The food: excellent. The server: sarcastic, stone-faced, probably a retired spy. The vibe: delightful. We ate, we laughed, we ordered too much octopus.

Was it a success? Yes. Mostly because we didn't become part of the local harbor sculpture installation.

After yesterday's adrenaline drenched docking performance in Korčula, we allowed ourselves a rare maritime indulgence: sleeping in.

The plan for the day was refined and elegant winery visit at noon, perhaps a gentle breeze, minimal rope handling, and zero chaos. We even wore dresses. Real clothes. Not UV shirts, not swimsuits. Dresses.

Then came the text.

Alice, ever watchful, alerted us that our boat was now in the way of a departing catamaran. The wine would have to wait. We re-entered harbor combat mode, this time in sandals and linen. Lines dropped, then re-coiled. Fenders fended. Boats moved. We sweated with grace. The relocation was ultimately smooth, if you don't count the light panic and light perspiration.

We were only 30 minutes late to Lovrić Winery, which in boat time is basically early. There, we were greeted with generous pours of Grk, Pošip, other two delicious wines and at least one life philosophy. The terrace overlooked the sea, the shade was gentle, and everything slowed down. So much so that some of us declared an official siesta back on board.

The evening continued in the same divine rhythm: sunset views, more wine, more food, and eventually a climb to a hidden bar up a vertical staircase. No handrails. No spandex. Maximum exposure risk. The girls navigated it with strategic hand placement and quiet heroism. The view and the drinks were worth every cautious step.

Conversations drifted through every topic, including a spirited debate about favorite emojis (an unexpectedly revealing subject). By the end, we were full of wine, wisdom, and possibly two different kinds of dessert.

Too much of everything? Possibly. Too good to change a thing? Definitely.

We woke early today… and then didn't leave until 9. This was partly due to the hypnotic morning spectacle of oversized catamarans squeezing out of the tight marina slow motion, high drama nautical ballet at its finest.

Eventually, we took off, raised the sails, and headed toward the serene Uvala Vučini beach. The sea was calm, the sky perfect, and somewhere along the way — dolphins. They appeared like they'd been hired to remind us that life afloat occasionally delivers on every cliché.

The beach itself looked like paradise until we jumped in. The water was shockingly, hilariously cold. Our reactions ranged from shrieks to involuntary dolphin noises. Lunch followed, because nothing restores body temperature like sandwiches.

Post lunch, we weighed anchor and motored toward Šipanska Luka for our reserved dinner. Along the way, Hannes acquired a sunburn — glowing proof that Croatian UV is both efficient and democratic. We also decided to give the dinghy some attention. It had deflated slightly during the trip (as if in protest of its workload), but after some TLC, it was deemed seaworthy enough for Hannes' maiden voyage. He took to it quickly though, in true dinghy fashion, reliability was short lived. By the time we reached the restaurant shore, paddling was involved.

The sunset was exquisite. The mosquitos were equally committed to their art — Alice and Mike left with the kind of raised bumps you could chart on a topographic map. Dinner was exceptional: warm service, fresh flavors, the sense that we'd stumbled into a place that didn't mind us arriving slightly damp.

The dinghy ride back was peak evening entertainment. We managed to miss Nuvola entirely and had to chase her down, laughter echoing across the bay. Wet backsides were a small price to pay for the comedy.

The night closed with a sharing session of our ChatGPT supported song creations — lyrics so absurd and accurate that laughter brought actual tears.

If this was the "almost" end of the trip, it was a dangerously strong contender for "best day yet."

We woke as we had most mornings this week — slightly warm, slightly polka dotted from mosquito artistry.

With the crew still in dreamland, we quietly (and somewhat heroically) raised the dinghy with its motor and set off early, aiming for one last perfect spot. Suđurađ delivered: a small, sunlit beach where the water was clear enough to make you forget about reality, schedules, or luggage weight limits.

We made a final lunch from the noble remains of our provisions, swam in that perfect pre-goodbye way, and soaked in the last stretch of stillness before turning Nuvola's bow toward Dubrovnik.

Mike took the helm for the victory lap, guiding us with smooth precision — first to refuel, then into the marina for our final docking. Lines secure, hearts slightly less so. We toasted our safe return with one more glass of wine, then made a rapid (and shameless) dash to the pool for a swim and a snack before heading to the airport.

Alice and Hannes remain somewhere in Dubrovnik, no doubt keeping the celebration flame alive. Mike and I are now in the terminal, still swaying with phantom waves, already plotting the next chart line.

As always, we learned things we didn't expect, laughed at things we shouldn't have, and left a small part of ourselves out on the water.

Till next time, Nuvola. We'll miss your creaks, your views, and the way you somehow made every day feel like it had exactly the right amount of chaos.