The Rain in Split (Monday 30 September 2013 at 12:14 pm)
It rained in Madrid the day after I arrived. The rain was heavy. Even so, the air itself told everyone that this was only a summer interlude. With the streets washed and cooled, Madrid would be able to continue with its cycle of late summer heat. As with Madrid, so too with the rest of Spain.
What followed were long days with languid heat sitting in the air. The heat was not particularly oppressive. There had been no malice in the Spanish heat, Even so you could not escape it. Even at night it was always warm. There had been no need for bed coverings. The heat had supplied the bed coverings. After that day, Spain had been warm and devoid of rain.
When we had arrived in Dubrovnik, the pattern had continued; Temperatures had been in the high 20s instead of the low 30s. The nights had been cooler than the Spanish nights, But only barely.
When we had arrived in Split, a breeze had appeared. The breeze had become a strong breeze, Kicking clouds across the sky. A late summer squall had arisen. The streets had been soaked, Then the rain had gone away, Seemingly for an extended period; As if the rain had made a compulsory courtesy call. Then moved on to more important business.
I had been wrong in thinking this. Lying in bed in our room, The thunder thundered, The lightening cracked. The rain attacked the windows, walls and roof of the hostel. Perhaps we had been disrespectful during the earlier showers. Now the rain was showing us what it was capable of.
By morning, the rain had reduced itself to a light drizzle. We sought out breakfast. The rain spotted us, Increased its intensity, Pushing us into the restaurant.
Breakfast finished, we discovered that the rain had waited for us; Patiently. Put your hoods on it warned. So we did. Then the rain had cascaded down, Sheeting the marble steps with fast flowing rivulets. A tourist in front of us missed his footing. He could have been badly hurt. People gasped as he fought for balance, Somehow finding it.
We swam to the bus station. Tickets bought, we swam our way out of the building. Now the rain decided to show us what it could really do. A wall of water hung over Split. The wall was hundreds of metres across, But no human tools could demolish this wall. We threaded our way back to the hostel. One misplaced step on the cobbled streets, Over you would go. Broken limbs would be the price of complacency.
Having made it back to our room, the rain knew its job was done. It had our full attention and respect. So the rain went away; For the moment. | 
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