Namorana

Pag, 27th of September 2023

I was sitting in a cozy café with Željka, a friend of mine who had known me since her birth. We were both from the island of Pag, but we had very different personalities. She was gentle and graceful, like the lace she made. I was strong and restless, like the bura wind that blew over the island.

She was wearing a pair of earrings that caught my eye. They were made of silver and had a delicate pattern of lace on them. I asked her about them, and she smiled.

“Those are part of my Namorana collection,” she said. “Do you remember what namorana means?”

I nodded. I had heard that word many times before.

“It means to be in love, but not just with a person. It means to be in love with life, with nature, with everything. It’s a state of being, a feeling of joy and wonder.”

She looked at me with a twinkle in her eye.

“Something like you, right?” she teased.

I laughed. “Maybe. I do love life, and I love your work. It’s amazing. How did you come up with the idea?”

She told me that she was inspired by her grandmother, who was a lace maker on the island. She taught her how to make lace when she was a child, and she never stopped. She moved to the city and pursued a career in graphic design, but she always kept her passion for lace making.

“One day, I decided to visit my grandmother’s grave and pay my respects,” she said. “She passed away some years ago, but I still miss her. She left me some of her old lace pieces. I was amazed by the beauty and the craftsmanship of them. I wanted to honor her legacy and share it with the world. So I started to experiment with different materials and techniques, and I came up with Namorana.”

She showed me some of her other creations. She had necklaces, bracelets, rings, and even brooches, all with lace motifs. She also had some paintings and sculptures, made of plaster and salt, that depicted scenes and animals from the island.

“I love everything from Pag,” she said. “The sea, the salt, the sheep, the cheese, the wine, the bura…”

“The bura?” I asked.

“It’s the wind that blows from the north,” she said. “It’s very strong and cold, but it also brings clarity and freshness. It’s like a cleansing force. It’s part of our identity.”

She looked at me with a serious expression.

“You know, Pag is a very special place. It’s not for everyone. Some people might find it too harsh, too isolated, too boring. But for me, it’s paradise. It’s where I belong. It’s where I feel namorana.”

She paused and then smiled.

“That’s why I don’t want too many people to come and visit. I don’t want them to ruin it. I don’t want them to disturb our peace. I’m happy to share my art with them, but only for a short time. Then they should go away and leave us alone. Hahaha, that’s our island. We’re a bit selfish, but we’re also proud and loyal.”

I nodded. I understood her sentiment. I admired her passion and her creativity. I felt a bond with her, even though we were different. We were both from Pag, and we were both namorana.

As we were chatting, a waiter brought us a plate of grilled octopus, one of Željka’s favorite dishes. She thanked him and offered me a piece.

“Try this, it’s delicious,” she said. “I caught it myself yesterday. I love hunting octopuses. They are so smart and cunning, but also very tasty. It’s a bit of a challenge, but also a reward.”

I took a bite and agreed. It was tender and flavorful, with a hint of garlic and parsley. I complimented her on her skills and asked her how she did it.

She told me that she used a special technique that she learned from her grandfather, who was a fisherman. She said that she would dive into the water with a spear and a net, and look for the octopus’s den. Then she would lure it out with a shiny object, like a spoon or a bottle cap, and wait for the right moment to strike.

“It’s not easy, you have to be patient and careful,” she said. “Sometimes they escape, sometimes they fight back, sometimes they squirt ink. But when you catch one, it’s a great feeling. You have to respect them, though. They are amazing creatures. They can change color, shape, and texture. They can solve puzzles, open jars, and escape from tanks. They have three hearts, nine brains, and eight arms. They are like aliens, but also like friends.”

She smiled and took another bite.

“I know it sounds weird, but I feel a connection with them. They are like me, in a way. They are namorana. They love life, and they love the sea. They are curious, adventurous, and creative. They are beautiful and unique.”

I looked at her with admiration and affection. She was right. She was namorana. And so was I. And so was the octopus. And so was Pag. And so was the world.

I also remembered hers grandmother and grandfather, who were like our grandparents. I grew up next to their house, and we spent a lot of time with them. They taught us many things, not only about lace making and fishing, but also about life and love. They were kind and generous, and they always welcomed us with open arms. They gave us cheese and told us stories and jokes. They showed us the beauty and the magic of Pag, and they made us feel namorana. They were gone, but they were still with us, in our hearts and in our art. We owed them a lot, and we loved them dearly.

 

Namorana

Sjedila sam u ugodnom kafiću sa Željkom, prijateljicom koju poznajem od njezinog rođenja. Obje smo s otoka Paga, ali imamo vrlo različite osobnosti. Ona je nježna i graciozna, poput čipke koju izrađuje. Ja sam jaka i nemirna, poput bure koja puše preko otoka.

Nosila je par naušnica koje su mi privukle pogled. Bile su od srebra i imale su nježan uzorak čipke na njima. Upitala sam je o njima, a ona se nasmiješila.

“To je dio moje kolekcije Namorana”, rekla je. “Sjećaš li se što znači namorana?”

Kimnula sam glavom. Tu riječ sam čula mnogo puta prije.

“Znači biti zaljubljen, ali ne samo u osobu. Znači biti zaljubljen u život, u prirodu, u sve. To je stanje postojanja, osjećaj radosti i čuda.”

Pogledala me je s iskricom u oku.

“Nešto kao ti, zar ne?” zadirkivala me je.

Nasmijala sam se. “Možda. Volim život, i volim tvoj rad. Predivan je. Kako si došla na ideju?”

Rekla mi je da ju je nadahnula njezina baka, koja je bila čipkarica na otoku. Naučila ju je kako izrađivati čipku kad je bila dijete, i nikad nije prestala. Preselila se u grad i nastavila karijeru u grafičkom dizajnu, ali je uvijek zadržala svoju strast za čipkom.

“Jednog dana, odlučila sam posjetiti grob svoje bake i odati joj počast”, rekla je. “Umrla je prije nekoliko godina, ali još uvijek mi nedostaje. Ostavila mi je neke od svojih starih čipkanih komada. Bila sam oduševljena ljepotom i majstorstvom njih. Htjela sam odati počast njezinoj ostavštini i podijeliti je sa svijetom. Tako sam počela eksperimentirati s različitim materijalima i tehnikama, i došla sam do Namorane.”

Pokazala mi je neke od svojih drugih kreacija. Imala je ogrlice, narukvice, prstenje, pa čak i broševe, sve s motivima čipke. Imala je i neke slike i skulpture, napravljene od gipsa i soli, koje su prikazivale prizore i životinje s otoka.

“Volim sve s Paga”, rekla je. “More, sol, ovce, sir, vino, buru…”

“Buru?” upitala sam.

“To je vjetar koji puše s sjevera”, rekla je. “Vrlo je jak i hladan, ali također donosi jasnoću i svježinu. To je kao čistaća sila. To je dio našeg identiteta.”

Pogledala me je ozbiljnim izrazom.

“Znaš, Pag je vrlo posebno mjesto. Nije za svakoga. Neki ljudi bi ga mogli naći previše grubim, previše izoliranim, previše dosadnim. Ali za mene je to raj. To je mjesto gdje pripadam. To je mjesto gdje se osjećam namorana.”

Zastala je i onda se nasmiješila.

“Zato ne želim da previše ljudi dođe i posjeti nas. Ne želim da ga upropaste. Ne želim da remete naš mir. Sretna sam što dijelim svoju umjetnost s njima, ali samo na kratko. Onda bi trebali otići i ostaviti nas na miru. Hahaha, to je naš otok. Malo smo sebični, ali smo i ponosni i odani.”

Kimnula sam glavom. Razumjela sam njezin stav. Divila sam se njezinoj strasti i kreativnosti. Osjećala sam vezu s njom, iako smo bile različite. Obje smo s Paga, i obje smo namorane.

Dok smo razgovarale, konobar nam je donio tanjur pečenog hobotnice, jednog od Željkinih omiljenih jela. Zahvalila mu je i ponudila mi komad.

“Probaj ovo, predivno je”, rekla je. “Sama sam ga ulovila jučer. Volim loviti hobotnice. Tako su pametne i lukave, ali i vrlo ukusne. To je malo izazova, ali i nagrade.”

Uzela sam zalogaj i složila se. Bio je mekan i aromatičan, s prizvukom češnjaka i peršina. Pohvalila sam je na njezinim vještinama i pitala je kako je to učinila.

Rekla mi je da je koristila posebnu tehniku koju je naučila od svog djeda, koji je bio ribar. Rekla je da bi zaronila u vodu s kopljem i mrežom, i tražila hobotničinu jazbinu. Onda bi je namamila s nekim sjajnim predmetom, poput žlice ili čepa od boce, i čekala pravi trenutak da udari.

“Nije lako, moraš biti strpljiv i oprezan”, rekla je. “Ponekad pobjegnu, ponekad se bore, ponekad prskaju tintom. Ali kad uloviš jednu, to je sjajan osjećaj. Moraš ih poštovati, ipak. To su nevjerojatna bića. Mogu mijenjati boju, oblik i teksturu. Mogu rješavati zagonetke, otvarati staklenke i bježati iz akvarija. Imaju tri srca, devet mozgova i osam ruku. Oni su kao izvanzemaljci, ali i kao prijatelji.”

Nasmiješila se i uzela još jedan zalogaj.

“Znam da zvuči čudno, ali osjećam vezu s njima. Oni su poput mene, na neki način. Oni su namorani. Vole život, i vole more. Oni su znatiželjni, pustolovni i kreativni. Oni su lijepi i jedinstveni.”

Pogledala sam je s divljenjem i nježnošću. Bila je u pravu. Bila je namorana. I ja sam bila. I hobotnica je bila. I Pag je bio. I svijet je bio.

Sjetila sam se i njezne bake i djeda, koje smo djelile. Odrasla sam pokraj njihove kuće, i provela puno vremena s njima. Naučili su nas mnogo toga, ne samo o čipki i ribolovu, nego i o životu i ljubavi. Bili su dobri i velikodušni, i uvijek su nas dočekivali raširenih ruku. Davali su nam sir, i pričali nam priče i viceve. Pokazali su nam ljepotu i čaroliju Paga, i učinili su nas da se osjećamo namorani. Nisu više s nama, ali su još uvijek s nama, u našim srcima i u našoj umjetnosti. Dugovali smo im puno, i voljeli smo ih jako.