Oh, the horrors.
I force myself to keep walking, moving closer to the door, but just as I’m about to reach for the handle, he lifts his chin to meet my gaze.
Ahh!
His eyes lock with mine for the briefest of seconds and because I’m wholly embarrassed it does something mean to my insides.
I turn on my heel and launch myself out onto the deck, keeping my head down until I know I’m out of view. We’ll be arriving at the port soon, and I won’t have to worry about seeing him again.
Well, until later. Ugh!
*
The tour of Rovinj is slow and (honestly?) tedious. Some of the historical facts are fun but the guide delivers them so slowly and without flair, possibly because he’s said the exact same thing five million times already, and because I am still, despite appearances, deeply hungover. I keep finding myself drifting, heading instead towards things that interest me.
I’ve been to a few European cities before and what I love most is their quirky features: alleyways narrow enough you can reach out and touch both walls; rooms that seem to have been added at random, jutting out into the street with wonky windows and colourful shutters.
I wonder about the people who live here, strolling past amber coloured churches with their terracotta roofs, a few small markets and hundreds of cafes and restaurants. Not a high-street chain in sight.
By the end of the tour, I’ve finally managed to relax. We part ways with the guide at a small market near the port, allowing everyone some time to browse the stalls at their own pace. I’m hyperaware of not missing the departure time – they’ve made it clear they wait for no one. Even if you’re rich and famous. Speaking of, I’m relieved our very own celebrity didn’t join the tour. Just the thought of being in close proximity is initiating my fight-or-flight response.
Unfortunately, I do spot him as we’re heading back along the dock towards the ship. He’s sitting on a bench, his sandy curls bursting from under the black cap he’s wedged onto his head. A large camera hangs around his neck and he looks like he’s studying the contents.
While his head is down, I pull out my phone. There’s no way my sisters won’t know who he is if he is indeed famous. It’s possible, of course, that he’s the captain or something and cruise fanatics get their captains to sign things – but I doubt it. I might be oblivious but I’m not entirely daft.
I find my camera app and hold it up towards him, snapping a quick photo.Click.
Shitting fuck.
When did I turn it off silent? It’s so loud the people in front turn on me with a scowl.
“So sorry,” I say. “I was taking a selfie.” They’re clearly very sophisticated so I can’t decide if they’re more offended by the selfie part or my phone making noise part.
Does the embarrassment never end?!
I sneak a look back to Mr Celebrity only to find him smiling. He lifts his camera and points it at me, before clicking several times. I’m pretty sure my face is beet red. When he lowers the camera, he laughs, then winks in my direction.
Well, I deserved that, didn’t I?
Back in my room, I send the photo to my sisters for their (mostly harmless) stalking abilities.
Is this man famous?
SixCruise Location – RovinjNext Port – SplitTime of Departure – 17:00 (GMT+1)
Millie:I assume you’re joking????
Abby:This is rage bait for sure
Gemma:are you sure we’re related?!
Millie:And she wonders why we have a secret group chat
Sara:I KNEW IT
Millie:Joking obviously!
Sara:So he is famous then???
