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Dalmatia, continued

October 1 : First Night Out

Early in our first survey week in Dalmatia, we were invited to the home of a local fisherman living a short way down the coast from our headquarters hotel. As we left the hotel, our co-leader and 'den mother,' Anna Brodaric, impressed upon us the necessity to be on our 'best behavior,' whatever that might be, while in the fisherman's household.

After the initial embarrassed exchanges on each side, the ice dissolved quickly in the glow of the lanterns in the simple dwelling, abetted by an equivalent internal glow from the prosceka, a heavy, sweet, native wine.

The fisherman's dark-eyed wife and daughters served platters of baby octopus and squid and pink lamb. I smiled and passed the first plate of squid to my table partner without serving myself. Abruptly, I felt a sharp kick in the shins from across the table. Only when I called the platter back and served myself generously did Anna's imperious glare relent.

For the rest of the evening, this gustatorily unadventurous, gastrointestinally fragile, American doctor was not allowed to decline any of the things he knew could render him wretchedly ill, even nonfunctional. There would be no greater insult to a fisherman's family than refusing offers of food, particularly the best seafood that could be scavenged along this scrawny, over-fished coast.

After a rollicking evening that got the team off on a strong footing with the locals, our hosts urged us to hurry onto the beach to watch the village fishing boats come in. It was a Biblical sight! A large semi-circle of boats, at first twinkling far out at sea, merged rapidly in the cove. The curved prows of the lead net boats drove fast ashore, grinding to a halt on the pebbly beach, their carbide lamps ablaze, sputtering, and swinging wildly.

From the dark behind us emerged dozens of local fishermen to seize the shrouds and close the circled nets. The boats, lights, and toiling men, and the nets teeming with sardines flashing brilliantly, made a stunning scene of classic and simple beauty. This harmonious activity had surely been repeated over untold centuries on that coast. The labors we observed this night must have been similar, in fact, to those of Christ's companions on Galilee, 2,000 years ago!

Then, with 'dobra noches' all around, kisses on the cheeks and hugs from our hosts, we tore ourselves away from that captivating place and marched up the coast along the beach in high spirits. Halfway to the hotel, our merry crew was surprised on encountering an amazing wind, the first of many we were to experience in the next weeks. The Bura, a form of sirocco, is sucked from the mountains, through the ravines, across the beaches, and out to sea, by a huge vacuum sitting over the waters. It brings with it everything not tied down. We continued to struggle up the beach, leaning against the wind in a way I had experienced only in my youth in Florida during pre-hurricane sorties.

With increasing excitement from the gale, much squeezing of linked arms, shouts, and flashing smiles, we made our way down the two miles of beach to our hotel. The melancholic husband of one technician, out on the left flank of our chain, stumbled along with a bottle of prosceka cradled in his arms, muttering in broken English, 'Happiness - cheap - from a bottle!'

We arose the next morning to the stunning sight of the Bura sweeping the seas strangely away from the coast in huge curled sheets, like sails. I realized that my new bathing trunks and beach towel were no longer hanging on the balcony railing and were probably many miles out to sea. We girded for a return to the field work. In the week that followed our outing to the fisherman's cottage, all remained healthy and happy.

October 3rd

Back in the field today, we get terrible electrocardiograms using home made, brine-soaked pledgets, because we have not yet received our equipment with its precious Sanborn electrode paste.

The technicians still work slowly, and AC interference makes their work yet slower, so that we average a complete electrocardiogram only every twenty minutes. Our frustration is assuaged only slightly by the magnificent view from the site of the survey station in Podgora, the Civic Center, perched high above the sea. Moreover, people bring us 'moste' daily, the early stages of the local wine, along with fresh figs, grapes, and apples by the basketful. Constipation will be no hazard in this land!

Of all the man-made and natural hazards we've so far encountered, the greatest has been the frequent Bura howling from the mountains and creating noise and confusion so great that we must close field operations until it blows itself out. Everything not fastened down is whipped out to sea: serum samples hung to dry, dish towels, and, as recounted earlier, new bathing suits.

But just as we could not predict all the hazards of the field, neither could we have imagined all the delights: the warm collegiality, visits to the homes of farmers and fishermen, strolls in the hills among the ancient oliviers, friendly donkeys and goats, and the soft, scintillating moonlit nights above the sea. We listen, fascinated, to the heroic tales of Tito's partisans, and of a survivor of Auschwitz. Our local faculty and staff harbor the yearnings of all people battered by years of war and terror, who seek emotional release and intellectual liberty. It is amazing how they have kept their humanity intact.

Our backs and livers take a tremendous jarring every day on the narrow, winding, rocky road when we have to drive the coast to new villages. The road is quite dangerous. One wheel off the side, or an unexpected encounter with a 'Dalmatian Jeep' (a donkey), would send our Jeep bounding from terrace to terrace down to the sea!

We're often irritable in the mornings, possibly due to an inadequate breakfast, growling bowels from the previous night's wine and garlic, and burning tongues from scalding, lemon-water tea and local cigarettes. When not required to breakfast on anchovy sandwiches and slivovica (plum brandy) with local officials, we have a soft roll and honey at the hotel, always avoiding the unpasteurized butter.

We are 300 electrocardiograms behind schedule in mounting with a Hungarian stapler. My thumb is bruised and bleeding from operating this 'gawd-awful' machine. In an emergency, we use Scotch tape to affix the strips onto cardboard mounts, and Keys suggests that we send a cable to 3M's Chairman McKnight, himself, reading: 'Stuck for sticky stuff. Send one mile of 3/4 inch Scotch tape.' (Fortunately, we didn't carry out this suggestion, since we found that all electrocardiograms tacked down with Scotch tape quickly became blackened permanently under the tape.)

On a rare whole day off, a small group of the survey team put to sea for a fishing expedition. It included Brozek, his son Peter, Zetterqvist, Dujan Jurela, the local doctor, and three local fishermen. Our leader was a former chief partisan of this coast, a handsome brute of a man who gave the impression of loving life, wine, women, and fighting in wars. We lay about a kilometer of line with more than 500 lead-weighted hooks baited with chunks of sardines.

The morning was warm, a soft haze hovering over the flat calm of the sea. The peaks of the coast to the east were eerily grandiose in the contra jour light; plane after plane of dark mountain ranges rose from the mist, while the island of Hvar loomed mysteriously in the west. We pulled onto a small island where one of the fishermen cooked breakfast over coals: fresh sardines and small tuna. Idly and unsuccessfully, I cast spinning gear with a slice of squid for bait.

After consuming more than usual of the breakfast fish, I discovered live ascarids just under the skin, and abruptly stopped eating. I suppose all the fish were infested, but it was a shock to find the round worms still wriggling. The fishermen were obviously scornful of my poor appetite and inability to drink slivovica so early in the morning. They wondered also at the elaborate protections I take against sunburn due to my fair skin, and they wholly disdained my light spinning gear for fishing. Soft Americans have many strikes against them when attempting to socialize with tough local peasants!

On the return voyage, we spent three hours droning about in the hot mid day calm, searching for the white gourd buoys we had left to mark and hold up the fishing lines. My binoculars usually picked them up first. Hauling in the lines was a rhythmic process of age-old tradition; synchronized bronze arms coiled the lines neatly back into straw baskets. We could see magnified the whitish outlines of the raja (stingrays) on the lines as they spiraled up from the depths, like runaway kites. Sixteen rays were landed, from one to four feet in diameter, with only a meager catch of other shark-like and smaller fishes. To our disappointment, Brozek, the only Slavic-speaking team member, tended not to translate the fishermen's conversations, which were apparently mostly about wartime experiences and the poor state of coastal fishing.

At the hotel that evening, one ray was filleted and served roasted. I felt queasy from the day's fare of slivovica, fatty bologna, pickles, wine, and worm-infested tuna, and couldn't enjoy the ray. The meat, however, was white and of pleasant consistency.

Finally, our daily survey routine is 'perfected.' During the last days, we have worked in a Swedish-built summer camp located on the coast. The gasoline generator functions splendidly, and there is no hitch in the schedule, now running at forty men a day. This is largely due to uncomplicated electrocardiographic tracings and a stable power source.

The recent Bura has torn an estimated one-third of the olive crop from the trees. Strangely, there is no effort to recover the fallen olives for immediate pressing.

This morning we passed in the street a magnificent gypsy patriarch wearing a grand black mustache and surrounded by vari-colored straw baskets. He objected to having his picture taken and I didn't push the issue.

Today was survey 'moving day,' pushing ever farther south on the good ship Budva with a cold following wind and occasional bursts of sun. The little craft is remarkably stable and speedy and has great facility at docking.

As we sailed past, we bade goodbye to our 'completed' villages, Tucepi, Podgora, Igrani, and Zivogosce. Thereafter, nearing Bosnia, we encountered only 'virgin,' unsurveyed coastline, and smaller, poorer towns. Entering the bay made by the long peninsula of Peljesac, we passed the wild southern-most tip of Hvar and headed directly to our next village, Gradac. On board, our Zagreb doctors clowned a great deal for the benefit of the female staff, and I took photos galore of our happy-go-lucky group. On the voyage down the coast the Budva played hide-and-seek with the Brozek's car proceeding south on the coastal road. Our boat's captain joined in the fun, sending piercing blasts of the ship's horn echoing from the rocky massif whenever we sighted the car. When we docked briefly in each community, much concern was voiced that our boat had been signaling distress.

We are now into the 'dog days' of the grinding, oppressive survey routine. The team's favorite way to relax in the evening seems now to center around the prozecka, the local equivalent of a cream sherry. We add to this the music from phonograph records and Brozek's guitar and endless Slavic folk songs. My three albums, played on a wretched portable player rented locally, are beginning to pale: one of Odetta ('I've Got the Whole World in my Hand'); one by Tutti's Trumpets, a big swing band; and the last a Kid Ory New Orleans style record.

We had a long electrocardiographic mounting session this evening with much pleasant banter (and less pleasant singing) with the From-Hansen couple, team visitors from Denmark, working quietly and diligently. He sings bass and staples records with great aptitude. We almost have 'cardiac arrest' each time the stapling machine jams, fearing that it will never function again. One technician writes names and numbers on the records, and Peter and Margaret Brozek arrange cards for mounting the resting and post-exercise records. From-Hansen cuts the strips with diligence and accuracy. Lilianna and I make a good team arranging and Scotch-taping the records prior to stapling, and it looks as if we will get the whole batch from Dalmatia mounted by the end of the week.

Last night, we celebrated with many warm toasts to the approaching mid survey break, a full week between Dalmatia and Slavonia. Buzina made certain that I did not draft all toasters to mount electrocardiograms after dinner. Rather, we danced and sang and went to bed after 1 a.m., waking before 5 a.m. for the bumpy bus ride up the coast to Split, and then by train to Zagreb.

continued...

Hazards in the field
	We are told that the Dalmatian coastal road from Split south to Dubrovnik was last redesigned and repaired under Napoleon Bonaparte! A couple of men in every village along the route work full time to maintain the road, filling potholes in the clay, scraping and smoothing and tamping. There is much leaning on shovels, because the work is hard and hot. We have learned that we can transport our survey team from coastal village to village more effectively and comfortably by boat than by bus or jeep. Ferry service along the coast is reliable and on a reasonable schedule, and the small ships tie up directly to the wharf of our headquarters hotel, the Jadran. We trundle generator and electrocardiograph machines and laboratory equipment aboard ship and accompany them to the next stop, spending one to three days surveying each community. Power variations are continuous and power failures common, several times a day. So we use regulators and on many days, we keep the U.S. Army surplus gasoline generator running all day, placed as far from the examination site as possible to reduce noise. Wasps were an unanticipated hazard in the field in one village. Our faithful Jeep driver, with a long cane pole and a gasoline-soaked flare, smoked out their nests under the eves to reduce the risk of stings among staff and participants. One field hazard required particular ingenuity. After the blood sample is centrifuged, the serum, separated in standard 0.1 milliliter aliquots, is pipetted in four spots onto Watzman number 2 filter paper and hung to dry. We had not anticipated that specks deposited by flies landing on the paper would contain cholesterol! Occasionally, we were forced to hire a local child to fan the drying serum samples to fend off the flies. The dried strips are then cut, two kept in the local laboratory and two placed in separate glycine or wax paper envelopes and sent air mail for analysis at the University of Minnesota. The Dalmatian Diet The faculty met for a short seminar tonight (October 8) on nutrition in Dalmatia. Edvin Ferber, Director of Nutrition at the Central Institute of Hygiene in Zagreb, described a high intake of grains from breads, with a recent shift from corn to wheat flour. He claims that the best local products, those of greatest nutritional value, are sold through traveling tradesmen to urban markets. Wives sell eggs because egg money is traditionally theirs, although children are known to steal eggs from under the chickens for money to buy sweets. Milk products are available in the area, with most of the milk skimmed and fed to hogs. Local children drink about 350 ml. of whole milk daily. Ferber suspects endemic glycine deficiency from the predominantly vegetable protein diet. Vitamin A intake is very low, as is fat intake overall, a usual association. Keys commented that the U.S. National Research Council's allowances for Vitamin D and calcium are probably higher than required. Rickets is widespread in Dalmatia but is apparently worse in Bosnia and Serbia. The nearby Moslems, who it is said must pay as much as 300,000 dinars dowry for a wife ($10,000), apparently choose nutritional deficiency over wife deficiency! Most of the ten percent fat in the coastal diet comes from lard; the locals never use butter. Ferber maintains that we must do seasonal surveys here because of the remarkable seasonal variation in foods available. For the diet survey, Fidanza and Ferber grind up aliquots of meals collected in randomly selected households and put all under alcohol, then in the deep freeze for later tests of total lipids, fatty acids, amino acids, and nitrogen. Fidanza has been persistent in shopping around local markets to find such locally exotic items as spinach, sheep's milk, and turnips, which others said would be impossible for him to buy.