"The loneliness of the long distance bookseller" Rijeka by Lochlainn

We stayed overnight in Rijeka on our way north in what was the plushest accommodation by far on our trip - the Grand Hotel Bonavia. This was born out of desperation - we arrived latish on Friday and weren't exactly spoilt for choice. However, once the shock of the room rate wore off we agreed it merits the "grand" in its title. Anyway, that's not the point. Downtown Rijeka is a lovely spot and the meal we had down at Trg Republike Hrvatsko was spot on. But that's not the point either.

The point is that I made a promise to myself there that I would dedicate a page here in VT to the bookseller on the Republike Hrvatsko square, who's efforts in the cause of literature surely exceed even the most dedicated bibliophile's bounds of reason and duty. So I shall ...

Now one thing I was very impressed by in Croatia was the abundance of booksellers on the streets of the large cities. It matters not a whit that the books are in a language I do not understand and therefore I was largely unable to avail of the great offers to be had. What matters is what the trade signifies - a love of reading, therefore of knowledge and therefore also of life itself, for what is life without the brain cells to appreciate it and how will brain cells grow without the ambrosia of thought, nectar of information and dark wine of reason?

Given that I've already said there is no shortage of booksellers on Croatian streets, why, you might ask, am I singling out this gentleman for special praise? Ok - I'll tell you - his stall. A marquee more like. A bloody big tent in fact! And under the canopy a few thousand volumes displayed in a neat and orderly fashion atop a myriad trestle tables, imbued with the faint aroma of oranges, and purveyed with grace and beauty by what I'm assuming were his two daughters plus himself. At around 9 o'clock however the performance really began.

First he disappeared around the corner and a few minutes later returned driving a small van which he parked a few yards from his stall. Out of the van came a trolley and the girls began methodically packing the books into fruit boxes and loading up said trolley, which was then manouvered to a doorway next to where we sat which obviously led to an overnight storage space for his goods. Thus was completed the first trip of many many more as book after book was systematically (by size), and with a care that bordered on love, packed into the pungent boxes (oranges explained!) and trolleyed to the store. But that wasn't the whole show!

Once sufficient of the trestle tops were exposed to the air the task began of dismantling the very furniture itself, and this is where the magic began. Fifty square metres or more of table top were broken down into constituent parts small and neat enough to be loaded into the tiny van, with a practised ease that belied the skill and intelligence required to fit an elephant into a shoebox. And then, the coup de grace - the marquee itself! The girls spent an inordinate time untying the bow knots securing the ceiling (yes the marquee actually had a ceiling <i>as well as</i> a roof!) to the framework. This was then folded, and folded again, and folded again until it too shrank to packable size, then into the van it went. By now the proprietor had just completed his hundredth and last trolley run, and so joined the girls to deliver the final flourish. Holding one part of the framework of the now denuded marquee, with a quick flick of the wrist that no human eye could catch, the marquee in one instant collapsed, folded itself up, and I swear almost ran under its own volition to the waiting van - in which was reserved the <i>exact</i> amount of space to accommodate it!

The man, the girls, and the incredible shrinking bookstall then departed in the van.

Next morning, as we left early to catch a bus and walked through the still deserted streets to the bus station, we passed Trg Republike Hrvatsko and guess what we saw?