Branco

Brash, boisterous, boastful... these are all words I could be using for a witty alliteration but instead I choose bizarre. This single word wraps Bizarre Branco into a neat little package.

Banco is the name of my host here in Hvar, a really nice guy but a little over the top. The hostel, and I use that term loosly, is the middle level of the house he and his wife live in. It’s very neat, clean and comfortable but Branco himself is the main event. I first encountered him in town when he picked me up from the tourist office in his small red wagon. He came screeching to a halt just inches from where I was sitting in the gutter and said “I know you! You are James! But you don’t know me, I am Branco!” this was followed up by “you weren’t waiting long were you? I sped to get here, nearly killed a boy but I think he will be fine.” I never followed that up but I can only assume that he was joking. I hope. So now that you have a taste for his unique character I’ll round it out with a description. Our hero is a heavy set Croatian fellow in his late fifties, snow white crew-cut, that unnatural brown/orange tan and the smallest pair of shorts that you ever did see.

During my 3 minute whirlwind tour of town from the passenger seat in which he neatly managed to insult the Japanese, Italians, Americans, Greeks and Australians in a total of two sentences’ (we got our very own sentence) he jerked us to a halt out the front of his house. I was left to inspect the place while he parked the car and did so diligently. It’s a pretty standard house for the street, 3 stories, white washed and a terracotta tiled roof. When Branco returned to find me talking to his wife, he halted outside of her vision and waited for her to depart, he then whispered loud to me “am I in trouble?” After I reassured and coaxed him down the steps I was clapped on the shoulder by his meaty hand and the words “now we need to speak” rumbled forth. I felt like I was about to be lectured by my father... no not my father, a girlfriend’s father. My apprehension was unwarranted however as the only ominous rule was no visitors. We don’t like visitors.

So this was my first day under Branco’s terracotta roof and I am expecting things to only get funnier as time goes on. I hang on his every word for small pearls of wisdom and insight that will inadvertently brighten my already glaring Croatian days.

Branco’s Words of Wisdom
“Look at him, damn Italian’s and their stupid beards.”
“You take this road to the left. I mean you can go right if you want, it is lovely, but the house is to the left.”
“I am barbequing for the Swedish girls. They are so nice, like my daughters. Want me to set you up?”
“I love to belly dance. Give me some drums and pivo and you be careful, I will be on the table!”
“you can head out to Hula-Hula tonight. The girls there... oh the girls”
“This Australian girl and Kiwi guy... I don’t know what happened to them. Probably ended up under a tree... you understand what I mean by this?”
“Yeah, he wasn’t all there you know? Hit on the head in the beginning or something.”
“I’m going to meet my dentist for drinks. You are in charge here”