It seems strange, I know, but I realize only now that I've reached the forty-third post, and I've never really talked about the Drava River.
Yes, I told you about the dead branches of the river, the marshes, the fish farms, the dishes made with freshwater fish, and about of going to fishing. But never of the true river.
The river that has marked almost all the summers of my life.
The life of this land has always been linked to the Drava River. With its slow flow towards the Danube, he has continuously changed its course over time, and left of its passage memory. Wherever there are ancient canals, old loops and marshes. Every time you go to the river, it is different. Paths and routes are constantly changing. The white sandy beaches are never the same shape. The old River Drava, the Stara Drava, is an old bend of the river, a small lake, long and narrow.