One of the loveliest places we went on our vacation was Hvar.  Hvar is an island off the coast of Croatia, and it fancies itself something of an Adriatic Sea version of Ibiza, with beach resorts, fancy yachts in the harbor, and a main square lined with bars and cafes.

Hvar

There are several smaller islands off of Hvar, there are dozens of boats that offer water taxi service to beaches on of those islands.  But at the suggestion of our guesthouse operator we opted instead to rent our own boat, so we could control when we went/came back, and so we could go to more isolated coves and not be limited to the water taxi routes.

(Side note: “guesthouse” = Croatian for “hostel, complete with 20 year old Aussie backpackers and shared bathrooms and no towels or bedding provided and an extra 5 euro fee for using the air conditioning.” We were traveling with our friend Will and his girlfriend Sara, and when the four of us walked in and saw the dorm-style beds and the floor littered with other people’s backpacks, we just laughed. Hey, at least it was cheap!)

On the morning we decided to rent the boat, John and Will strode confidently down to the shore, negotiated briefly with the 15-year-old boat-renting dude, and secured us our craft for the day.

“We sprung for the powerful motor,” John said.

I looked at the boat, which strongly resembled a rowboat with a toy motor attached.

“This one has six horsepower,” John said.  “The standard model has only five.”

Power Boat

We piled in and putt-putted our way across the channel to the island of Palmizana,  After about 45 minutes of putt-putting (Will “okay, man, we’re clear of the harbor and can speed up.  Open it up!”  John: “It’s as open as she goes, dude.”  Will: “alrighty then, we should definitely get there by nightfall.”) we arrived at a cove on the back side of Palmizana:

Ooh. Pretty.

The afternoon was gorgeous, and we spent it swimming, playing water Frisbee, reading our books, and napping on the rocks.  Heaven.

In the late afternoon, we decided we should probably head back, so we loaded up our stuff, got back in the boat, I pulled on the line to raise the anchor and…..nothing.

John tried yanking on the anchor.  Nothing.

Will gave it a go.  Still nothing.

John pointed the boat so it angled away from the anchor and gunned the engine.  You could practically hear the motor weeping as it started to shudder and smoke from the effort.  Six horsepower: not enough to dislodge an anchor.  Duly noted.

We were stuck.

Sara donned a snorkel mask and leaned over into the water to see what we were stuck on.  As she leaned over, her center of balance shifted and she flipped over the side of the boat, catching her chin on the side.  She came up with a bloody chin and bad news:  “it’s stuck between two rocks,” she said.  Then, “does anyone have a bandaid?”

Will put on the mask and took a look.  “She’s right,” he said.  “We’re stuck.  I’m going to go down there to try to get it.”

I looked down.  It looked deep.  Like, 30 feet deep.

“You sure that’s a good idea?” I said.

“I know how to clear my ears to balance the pressure,” said Will.  “I’m good.”

He dove in and followed the rope down.  The rope jerked around as he tried to dislodge the anchor.  Then he stopped suddenly, and came up quickly.  He broke the surface yelling, clearly in pain.

He flipped himself into the boat, still yelling, face all twisted with pain.  He was holding his ear.

“What happened?” I asked.

“Vertigo,” was all he could say before he leaned over and looked like he was going to barf on the floor of the boat.  Instead, he spit on Sara’s foot.  “I think I popped an eardrum.”

Well crap.

It became really clear that we could not continue to dick around with the anchor, and that in fact we needed to get Will back to land.  We untied the anchor from the boat, tied the line to an empty water bottle so it would float (apparently boat ropes and anchors are really expensive; this was a super-smart move as it saved us 50 bucks the boat company would have charged us for a lost anchor and line) and headed back to shore.

We got back to the hotel and Will did that thing where you hold your breath and plug your nose and breathe out to try to clear your ears?  You know? And the sound that came out of his ears was, I swear to god, like BIRDS CHIRPING.  Things were all manner of effed up in there.  Oh, and it caused him lots of searing pain.  There was no blood coming out of it, but the pressure was clearly a disaster.  One day before we were supposed to get on a plane back to Italy. Swell.

We went to the Croatian pharmacy and engaged in a comical exercise of trying to explain Will’s symptoms using a mixture of English, Italian, and elaborate pantomime.  She gave him some eardrops.  John tried to put the drops in, and the application of one single tiny drop caused enough pain that Will yelped out in pain and punched John in the gut to get him to stop.  We then read the (hilariously mis-translated) instructions on the drops, which said quite clearly: do not use if the eardrum might be perforated.  Oops!

Out of options, we pumped Will full of Sudafed and Afrin and Advil and all got on the plane saying quiet prayers that his head did not explode.  Miraculously, he made it through the flight all right, and as we bid him farewell to continue on our trip, he promised he would go to the doctor.

A week later, we saw Will again as we all met up in Venice.

“How did the doctor go?” we asked.

“I went to an ear specialist,” he said “and he used this pressure-measuring device in my ear, and where it’s supposed to have this nice sinusoidal curve, instead it was a jagged, unpredictable, all over the place reading.  The doctor told me that in 30 years of practice, he’d never seen anything like it.  He also said I’m lucky not to be deaf.”

“Well, that’s something,” I said.

“Yeah,” he said.  “He also said I should hope that my ear clears someday, but he can make no promises.”

“So it might be like this forever?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said.  “I expect I’ll get used to it.”

And that, my friends, is my cautionary tale about Why You Should Not Dive In Water Ten Meters Deep To Try To Retrieve An Anchor Because You May Not DIE, But You May End Up Deaf Or At The Very Least With Seriously Messed Up Ear Pressure.

The End

(Will, if you’re reading: any updates?)