Rijeka

After me skipper trainin’ course, Alexandra and I be tradin’ turns in Rijeka. This week, ’tis Alexandra’s turn to tackle her ASA 101,103,104 courses, whilst I can lounge about and keep an eye on th’ mutt, says I!

Loungin’ be sorely needed, says I! Even though I took it easy and became a bit of a jest amongst th’ crew for insistin’ on me midday nap: I be truly spent, by Davy Jones’ locker! I reckon th’ 25 years of toil be weighin’ on me bones. Even though any hardy labourer might laugh at me, a mere desk jockey: Sittin’ 8-9 hours a day starin’ at a screen be truly unnatural: We be meant to roam th’ savannahs and keep our brains in th’ energy savin’ mode, I tells ye!

Anyways, there ain’t much to be said about Rijeka. ‘Tis an industrial port, brimmin’ with dockyards, refineries, and a hearty sense of pride for bein’ th’ birthplace of th’ first Croatian punk rock band, ARRR!

And so, Rijeka stays true to itself and remains gloriously gritty.

I must say, I be findin’ the Croatians here different from those in tourist ports. They all speak excellent English and be always ready for a hearty chat. Charly be th’ superstar and key to th’ hearts, especially th’ ladies’. I be privileged to hear many a life story. Truly heartwarming, says I!

Yet, I find Rijeka not livable, for ’tis too filthy, too derelict, too noisy, and too much centered on horseless carriages. I reckon I be too old and square for punk rock, too old to die young, or I’ll feed ye to the sharks!

Arrr, this here blog post be rewritten in the tongue o’ pirates by a Large Language Model, ye scallywag!