Return to Budapest - Friday 18th August to Sunday 20th August

Having checked in, we returned to the car and John drove us the 15 minutes to the car rental. Sandra had done us proud on our triangular tour of south-central Europe. Checking out was smooth, so we were able to return to the apartment in no time for a shower and refresh.

We had made plans to meet our new friend Môr, whom we met in Luton airport. Luckily, he lived nearby, so we met him at a small bar with outside seats in a small square around the corner from our apartment in the Palace District. We had a good chat about where he lived in Budapest, where was good to visit, and what he was doing in the UK. After a couple of beers over an hour and a half, we parted, and agreed to meet up in London. 

Nearby was an impressive, neo-classical building that housed the national Museum, and onwards we walked to the old Jewish district. Amazingly, here on a main thoroughfare, and despite attempts by the fascist occupation of Hungary during the Second World War, stood one of the oldest synagogues in Budapest, and largest in Europe. It was an impressive expanse, broad along the road and tall with its charcoal and gold capped towers, in typical Moorish style. We didn’t venture in, but could look in from a side street onto the open space that occupied the rear of the main building, which housed a small cemetery. A plaque nearby noted that Theodor Herzl, the father of modern political Zionism, was born in a house that stood on the site of the present-day Jewish Museum that was connected to the synagogue.

We walked among the maze of streets in this district, noting that many parts of it were still run down. Only that this seeming neglect actually fostered a dynamic spirit in the area, in that this was the place to come for hedonistic night life and to sample the ruin bars.

It was nearing the time to eat, so we looked around for a restaurant, not sure what we wanted to eat, but given the area we were in, we decided upon a Jewish restaurant. It was housed in a high ceilinged and open plan hall, but we were seated along a broad corridor of seating stretching to the back of the place. I had a lovely cooked chicken with potatoes and salad, as well as some wine.

Following this quick meal, and it now turning dark, we walked out of the maze of streets to the central, Elizabeth Square, which was colourful with a brightly lit Ferris wheel, and lively with gatherings of people around the numerous bars on offer. We walked through and onwards to the river. Here, the Buda side of the city looked stunning, with its glorious palaces and buildings glowing in yellow light, with the foreground sight of low-lying cruise ships chugging along slowly. We walked along the riverside, noting the memorial to the Jews murdered in the Holocaust, visualised by shoes left on the river bank. 

Ahead of us, also glowing in yellow light, was the Parliament building. It certainly rivals the Houses of Parliament for its neo-gothic architecture and grandness. We walked around it, to take it all in, and found out that we could book a tour if we wanted to.

From here, we walked along more ‘organised’ roads to reach the small gay district. We were going to a club called Alter Ego, where we anticipated a more subdued display of it being so, given Orban’s anti-LGBT rhetoric, but was surprised to see rainbow flags flying defiantly. 

We noted the entrance to the basement club, and went straight in, despite it being early, as we didn’t want to linger around outside. We stepped into the dimly lit basement, a limited glow from neon signs here and there, and navigated our way to the cloakroom. Free of our belongings, we noticed a main room with seating and a small stage, presumably for the drag show, a side room which had karaoke on but devoid of patrons at that moment, and a long and wide corridor, into which we originally descended, which had high top tables and stools for quieter conversations.

We settled in the latter area, as we supped on beer and observed new patrons enter. After about 45 minutes the place had a bit more buzz to it. A hen party had evidently found the place, and brought with them familiar props and a party attitude. Suddenly, a movement of people drifted through the corridor to the main room. We followed. The drag show had begun. 

The drag queens, albeit speaking Hungarian, were very visual so that their humour came across very easily. The crowd, especially the group of hens, lapped it up. Following a good 45 minutes of showtime, we dipped into the karaoke room and belted out, in unison with others, a few hits climaxing in the inevitable Believe by Cher.

After a few more beers we called it a night, and wondered the quiet streets of Pest back to our ‘cosy’ apartment to sleep.

The hangover was very present, but having remembered about the tours of Parliament, I went online and booked us onto one in 90 minutes time. We left at 11:30am and got the metro. After we passed security, we visited the coffee shop and then joined the queue for our guided tour.

The building emulated the opulence of the Houses of Parliament. Regal paintwork and gothic statues filled the vast halls. Although the parliamentary system is unicameral, the parliament has two identical chambers, which is useful when the working parliament still wants to welcome visitors. It meant we could get a proper look around the chamber open to us. We also saw on display a replica of the crown of the Holy Roman Emperor, which was a nice touch. At the end of the tour, there was a small museum of political history. Two bits stuck out for me. One was the large, almost Christmas decoration style red star that the communists placed on the top of the parliamentary building. The other were the pointed comments on the territory lost to neighbouring countries earlier on the 20th century.

After the tour, we walked the back streets to the Terror House – the former home of the internal terror police under both the Nazi puppet and communist regimes. This was a very well put together museum, with a novel experience of a slow descending lift taking you to the basement where the cells were located. Well worth a visit.

We then wanted to do a spa, so we went to the nearby City Park, the location of the Szechenyi Thermal Baths. After a seemingly protracted ordering process, we managed to book our two-hour slot for the baths. It was a rather canary yellow coloured building of the 19th century, more fitting as a stately home than a place of leisure, in to whose basement we descended in order to change; and then navigated the different halls that had pools of a varied nature. We also went outside to the warm baths. This evidently was the spa that all the tourists visited, as it was busy and a little unkempt, what with plastic cups lying about, but it was pleasurable. 

After some time, we lazily got changed and returned to the park, walking to a nearby metro to go back to the Jewish quarter. Once there we found a simple Thai place to eat before returning to the apartment to sleep for the last time on our trip.

Once awake, we packed up in seemingly increasing heat. We checkout as instructed and took our belongings to the metro, to a luggage place off Deak Square. Once dropped off, and locating the nearby shuttle bus to the airport, we walked in the hope that we would find the filming location that was used for the opening sequence of Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy. Sadly, the place was a closed for renovation. 

Instead, we crossed the wrought iron bridge so that we could climb the steep hill upon which Liberty Statue and citadella stood. A very steep climb was rewarded with breath-taking views of the city and the Danube. We took it all in for 20 minutes, and grabbed a soft drink from an entrepreneurial vendor, and walked the calmer descent down northward.

Here, we noticed a lot of people gathered, and it turned out it was Independence Day, and so riverside festivities were put on and were in full swing. People were handing out cakes, which we happily took, and we were entertained by street artists and a small stage with a band on it. At the next bridge, we crossed back over and located a bar in the middle of a square. We parked here and devoured a couple of beers in the shade before returning to the luggage store, and then to the nearby bus stop in enough time. And glad we had as the bus was early, and departed earlier than advertised, so we got on and made our way through the city, past the suburbs, and to the airport.

We paid for priority security, so sailed through, and ended up having my first and only KFC that served beer. And these were needed as the flight home was a bit jittery. Arriving to low and dense fog in Luton was nerve-wracking, and the weather was all over the shop when we left arrivals. But John’s mum was there to pick us up and get us home safely.

Cross the border, and into the city - Thursday 17th to Friday 18th August

Another day for a departure. Sun was gloriously beating down, so the drive would be lovely to do all the way to Ljubljana. We packed once again, checked out, and lugged our stuff into poor little Sandra the Suzuki. 

Once again, I decided to drive, surprising even myself. We stopped off at the nearby petrol station to get a motorway vignette for Slovenia, and then made our way back to the highway, but this time travelling north.

The Istrian Peninsula is a beautiful landscape to traverse, as experienced on our way to Rovinj. Our route was still some way from the coast for a bit at the start, but we seemed to traverse small valleys or even estuaries whose water flowed from east to west. But as we progressed further north, a lot more greenery returned to the scene. Fewer olive groves, but a more farms with animals.

We hit a dual carriageway that whisked us through this scene change, and we crossed over a large viaduct over one of the wider agricultural floodplains seeming to carry a small river for its size. Traffic started to increase a little, and then all of a sudden, 8km out from the border with Slovenia, the road became single file. This then turned from a fast-paced 70kph to a mere crawl. 

We then became stuck in an almighty jam. We understood that this may be to do with a border check, as we assumed that Croatia was still out of Schengen and Slovenia was in it. So, as we started and stopped for a good hour, we contemplated many reasons for the traffic delay. We had been gently rising over the last few kilometres, reaching a plateau just before a roundabout that turned the single lane ‘bypass’ into a very small country road of sorts, that wound down yet another valley. 

We were on this stretch for another 30 minutes, but once we saw the border signs in the distance, we realised that the border itself was unstaffed. It was free to go through. We had noticed some aggressive road building work a few kilometres back, so perhaps a new road was being built to replace this current road that had evidently outlived its use. We soon sped up to climb the other side of the now Slovenian valley and took a new motorway in the direction of Koper and Trieste. We were now delayed by 2 ½ hours.

We skirted around the industrial parts of the Koper, joining a larger motorway to first head north, towards Trieste, and then north-east towards Ljubljana. The signs for Italy were a gentle reminder that I have still not visited. 

We arrived at the city limits of Ljubljana and soon into the suburban area that housed our accommodation. As we were staying only one night, we opted for a private room in a hostel that was housed in a building that could have been mistaken for an old embassy. 

We dropped our bags and went straight out to see as much as we could in the 20 hours we were here. An 8-minute stroll led us to a Roman Wall that I was familiar with on my previous trip. We had a look at the tourist information signs that were on display and then wondered off to the start of the old town nearby. John was impressed by its ‘picture postcard’ twee vibe. But it was also a genuinely pretty place to see. The castle almost dominates the sky, particularly amongst the narrow streets close to the base of the hill on which its perched.

Naturally, we embraced our nerd like passion – transportation - and took the funicular up to the castle. For a fairly priced cost of €10 each, we rose up from the old town and into a spectacular view of the city, the city park, and Julian Alps on the horizon. Exiting the glass box, we almost crawled under the depths of the castle, and up then out into its open courtyard. Here, a number of people were at its central café, so we joined them and had a beer – especially after that gruelling drive. 

I took John first up the red pillared staircase in the tower to get the best view. We spent some time up there, taking in the helpful information signs of what we could detect in the distance. We then had a look in some of the nooks and cranny’s that were on site – the chapel was a cooling haven from the sun, with some lovely murals painted on its ceiling. We went to some cellars, again cooling, that hosted a museum. And then we walked around the walls, before heading back down. 

We became peckish, so walked up towards one of the museums between the castle and the train station but didn’t see anything we fancied. We then turned back towards the old town, north of the river, and as we entered the realm of the old town, there were a few places that had a younger crowd and pop-up food vibe. We decided on Central Station, that soon began turning into a party venue with a daytime DJ playing some disco remixes. We tucked into our burgers with a growing sense of a connection with the city.

John had heard about an old military site that was near the train station that had been taken over by hip and Avant Garde folk, so we decided to head over and take a look. It may have been that we were there in the early evening why it seemed quite quiet, but there was elaborate graffiti on all the buildings, and a bohemian sense coming from the couple of cafes and bars that were open at that time. Certainly, one to visit again, should it survive gentrification. 

As we returned to the old town proper, and walked along the riverside, we saw Chris Tarrant of Who Wants To Be A Millionaire fame. Who knew! We concluded, after a quick Google search, that he may be here recording a new series of a train travel show he apparently presents. Oh, how I wish I could do that! We then walked down an avenue and under the city centre bypass to wonder the Tivoli Park for a short while, before returning back to the centre to look at the square that housed the Parliament building, and then another beer.

After this we walked through the old town again and entertained our other nerd-like passion – town halls. We had a good look around and John had a Google of its political composition. We then wondered to a wine bar I had visited previously, and set about tasting a small variety of wine over cheese as day turned to dusk and we people watched. After this we walked back up the river to yet another dinner of pizza, and then returned to the hostel to sleep in air-conditioned bliss.

We decided to leave early, so checked out and made a plan for Budapest. We anticipated a 5-hour drive, and didn’t envisage we would stop for any extended period on our way. I drove again, and this was a little tricker for me than Zagreb, but after navigating the trunk road through and out of the city, the drive was easy.

As we began to approach Maribor, passing through rolling hills covered in green forests, we stopped at a service station that was set in almost Alpine surroundings. Satiated, I continued the drive towards the border with Hungary. We stopped at a service station that would have been connected to the border patrol to fill up the tank, and to change for John to take over prior to our arrival in Budapest. 

Although about 5km away, we drove parallel to Lake Balaton – the only sizeable body of water in Hungary. We coasted along passing the end of the lake, skirted south of Székesfehérvár, and after another spell of rurality, we reached the out suburbs of Budapest. 

The motorway system took us easily to the west bank of the river, where we curved around the Citadella – in traffic – before crossing the Danube to the Palace District. We located the apartment block down a narrow lane, managed to park up and then gain access to our rather ‘cosy’ room. It was a sort of a large cupboard that had a high ceiling, the upper half of which housed the bed. It was enough for 2 nights we supposed.

Istrian Delight - Monday 14th to Wednesday 16th August 2017

The hangover was unreal. Evidently a day and night of drinking, coupled with the heat and possibly not enough water, meant we were feeling rather delicate. Most of the late morning and noon was us both anxiously putting off having to leave our bed.

Once we had enough effort to do so, and shower and change, we set off mid-afternoon for an exploration of the town. The searing heat that welcomed our departure from the pansion was not agreeable, but we ambled along down the hill again to the old town.

People filled the plazas and the alleyways again, so we passed through the throngs and onwards into the old town proper. This move at least saved us from the direct sunlight. The old town felt very Venetian. Narrow, paved alleys led to tiny squares. The buildings were coloured red, orange, or lemon, in a rustic hue, often with washing lines (or were they telephone cables?) knitted between them. It was quieter here, and we drifted between some alleys that were strictly residential, and others that had shops or eateries, with half being open and the other half promising to open in the evening.

We wound anti-clockwise around the hill and made our way to the plateaued summit on which the Church of St Euphemia stood. Its whiteness stood out brilliantly against the crisp blue sky, and the views from here were spectacular. We continued anti-clockwise to return back down to sea level and stopped at one of the few restaurants that were open in the afternoon. I had a lovely risotto as I sat on the shaded side of the table. 

After a little more exploring, we returned to our hotel to nap off the rest of our hangover until the evening. We returned via the usual route once more to the town, and found a busy pizzeria with a small queue waiting to get in. It seemed popular, so we waited the 20 minutes to get in. Following our food, we walked along the quay as the sun was setting. It was beautiful, as the darkening blue sky was buffered from the now lit-for-night-time old town by a streak of yellow and orange of the setting sun. We then found a bar in the old town, looking over the darker part of the quay, where we supped on beers and wine whilst watching small pleasure boats arrive from a day out at sea.

I was not feeling too super the next day, my stomach was troubling me somewhat. John played doctor and went out to get me salty snacks and some pharmacy goodies. He triumphed on the first count, but on the second it turned out that it was a national holiday - the Assumption of Mary - and so the pharmacy was closed. Upon his return, I felt the need to get out of the room. So we packed beach items and walked to a nearby wood, which led to what would hopefully be a more secluded beach off the tourist trail. We crossed the road onto a grassy area, before finding the main trail through the trees. As we walked along a Croatian woman in her late 40s, whom we were slowly passing, spoke to John and me. We struck up a conversation, the usual of where did we come from and such, and soon her male companion joined in. It turns out that she is an Istrian native, and her husband was originally from Canada.  

As we approached the coastline, our new friends gave us a tip on the best place to pitch up, and so we diligently followed their instructions. We found a quiet spot, but still surrounded by enough people to peer at and guess at their lives. As ever, John went in for a dip a few times, whilst I lay as still as possible, so as not to disturb the mild nausea, and read my book. By 5pm, we decided to head back, and that was the end of the day for me. I rested my eyes, only to wake up again the next day.

The sleep is what I needed, as I woke up feeling a lot better. As we got ready, we decided upon a boat trip. There was one that left the old town harbour and was a comfortable 25-minute ride to the Red Island. We packed our beach things and went to town. 

We approached the south-eastern part of the quay, as this seemed the place where there were pontoons from which to board a handful of the larger, passenger carrying boats. Other boats offering services were for those who wanted a more private experience. It seemed that this island also had on it a hotel, and so many of the passengers had suitcases and whatnot to get to their final destination. We boarded for a mere 40kn and got a seat. At the point at which it seemed we reached capacity, a few more people were wedged on, and then the gangplank was removed, and the engines began to roar. 

We sort of reversed out of the dock, rear end into the quay, but now pointing in the right direction to head out to sea. As we picked up a little speed, the sea breeze was a welcome addition as it cooled us just as the sun’s heat began to rise. It was such a pleasant journey. We slowly bobbed along, admiring the passing mainland, then sporadic rocky outcrops, whilst being entertained by some sea birds flying alongside us, and played a guessing game of which island was our one.

Once our final direction was set, we knew which island was ours. A quayside had a few people near a quay house, possibly waiting for our boat to arrive to take them back. Over the horizon of a small knoll, you could see a brutalist inspired hotel complex peering out. Disembarkation was smooth and we made our way, along with our fellow passengers, up over the small hill, and into the main area of the hotel, which had a cove like beach, with sand, which was made up of an isthmus that joined two separate islands. This area had beach party vibes, what with the pumping dance music. But at least there were food and drink options for later. We carried on over the isthmus to the southern island and found a more tranquil and secluded spot.

For the first time in a long time, I went into the sea. Its clear waters were very enticing, and its temperature very cooling. As always, I never want to have to repeat going into the water, what with the sharp, cold pangs of horror each time, so I spent a good 20 minutes just paddling about with John. I dried off, and carried on as normal, rotating between reading and people watching. A few of our fellow beach dwellers were rather more revealing than others. How Mediterranean!

By about mid-afternoon, we used the handy beach showers to wash off the sand and salty sea water and decided to get a drink and snack. So, we ventured back to the party part of the island and grabbed a table overlooking the busy beach that was, ideally, under some shade. John went to get us some beers and, almost to type, he returned with cheese and ham toasties. This moment was bliss. Just sitting, chatting about anything and nothing at all, and slowly sipping beer.

We decided to try and get the second last boat back, so we walked back to the dock for the 5pm ferry. It was very busy. Perhaps other people had my very own fear of being stranded, so leaving a cushion of 1 or 2 services more before the last one just in case. We boarded, and I recorded the journey back. After we departed the boat, we went back to the pansion to change, and grabbed a gluttonous ice cream on the way.

It was a quick change around and we were soon back in the old town. After wondering around as the sun was setting, we decided to eat at somewhere near where we were the other night. It was a place that predominantly had fish, but I opted for the risotto. It was gorgeous. With our dinner, John and I sank a litre of white wine, such was the occasion - our last night in Rovinj. After food, we returned to the bar from the other night, which we thought was part of the restaurant. It had seating within the restaurant. But you could then descend some stairs to take you on the concrete buttress at almost sea level. Makeshift seating was made up of cushions, and small café tables were dotted along the walkway to the seats.

The night was warm and clear. The sound of the sea lapping up against the stone was soothing. We drank beers and cocktails, slowly, as we took in the stars and the moon, illuminating the town and reflecting in the water. Small boats again returned to the dock for the night. It was a truly sublime last night for our visit to Rovinj.

The Road to Rovinj - Sunday 13th August

It was a familiar start to the day as we departed another city. We packed and cleaned up our underused accommodation, and left the keys in the box outside as instructed. John unclipped the chain allowing me to reverse out, and replaced it before he jumped in the passenger seat. I was confident enough to drive out of the city, as it was a straight-line west from the apartment and out of the city to the nearby motorway.

It was a lovely, sunny day, and just as we were leaving the city limits, we hit upon some intense traffic. Unbeknownst to us, we were embarking on the well-tread route of central European holiday makers to the Dalmatian coast - in the middle of August! Looking around in the traffic, I noticed a smattering of licence plates from Slovakia and even Poland, a handful from Hungary and Serbia, but a sizeable volume from Austria and Germany. I did note that there were few from Croatia itself. The reason for the queue was the motorway toll booth up ahead. It took about 20 minutes to reach, as we inched our way forward.

Once we paid our fee, the motorway was freed up before us as the mass of cars reduced to a moderate trickle. The journey from Zagreb to the outskirts of Karlovac was uninteresting, but the scenery was luscious. Agricultural land interspersed with large rolling green hills of grass and forest accompanied us on our route southwest. It became slightly more rugged and mountainous after Karlovac, and the traffic loosened as cars and campervans left our motorway to turn south, and eventually south east, towards Split and Dubrovnik.

For a good hour or so we just carried on meandering between hills and mountains, but then slowly we noticed we began to descend somewhat. It was also at this point that we began to notice the scenery change to a more dry and rocky terrain. We had now reached the Dalmatian Littoral, the slice of land between the Adriatic Sea and Mountainous Croatia, stretching north-west from Istria south-east to traditional Dalmatia. Our descent towards the city of Rijeka accelerated once we passed what looked like an abandoned airfield on the hilltop outside of the city. And the descent was even more winding than our previous meandering. We soon hit the outer suburbs, and felt close to the city centre itself, until we plunged into a tunnel, and emerged on a by-pass behind the city travelling west again.

The crystal blue waters of the Adriatic were enticing, but we could only see dashes of them between the high-rise apartments that were dug into the hillside. As we drove through, I did ponder why I didn’t think to make a pitstop here, as it had an attractiveness I would have loved to have explored on foot. It also had Tito’s yacht, the Galeb, in residence. But as we neared an elbow of coast, our sat nav told us to turn off the by-pass, heading to Slovenia, and onto the Istrian Peninsula. It was also here that we now noticed the roads signs had become bilingual, with Italian hinting at Istria’s Venetian past.

We crossed Istria from east to west, and the environment was almost arid, but still held the ability to cultivate certain crops. Our pace had slowed a little as we passed through rural settlements and wide expanses of fields.

As we approached the western side of the peninsula, we paid a toll for using the main road. We were now on a country road with a slower speed limit. We then saw signs of urban build up, with the odd hotel or restaurant built for passing trade, or tourists from the nearby coastal towns, pop up along the road. But this was sparse until we hit the city limits of Rovinj.

One of the reasons why I was keen to come to Rovinj was because I met a Croatian woman, who was a former MP, at a Labour event the previous year. She said that the Istrian peninsula was one of two counties in Croatia to vote against the constitutional amendment to limit marriage to a man and a woman. I was told of Istria’s liberal mindedness, and that is what initially attracted me to visit.

We reached the city and made our way to the southern suburb where a number of holidays homes and pansions were located. For the pricey sum we paid, the 3-star accommodation was as basic as it could get. Keen to not be sat down for much longer, we just grabbed some beach essentials and went straight out. We went to a nearby Koznum store and bought picnic supplies. John said he would drive back from the beach, so I bought a bottle of rosé to keep me refreshed as we sunbathed.

We drove through the compact town centre, and round to the north where a stretch of land jutted out into the sea. You had to get to this part of the coast via a drive in a forest that stopped literally at the water’s edge. As we got closer to the parking area, it was evident that the area was popular. But we managed to find a spot to park in the woods, the fresh smell of pine warmed up by the days sun was something to savour.

We walked past a beach bar and walked along the now familiar rocky Adriatic coast. We hurriedly made our way through a popular beach and on to a more remote beach. Here, we settled on the rocks, and then sunbathed and picnicked. An impromptu airbed was inflated by one group nearby, for added comfort on the rocks, I understood.

We must have spent a good couple of hours there because, as it was in the latter part of the day, the lowering sun brought a golden sheen to the rocks, followed by fellow sunbathers beginning to pack up for the day and return to their cars. I did a good job on that bottle of rosé, so I may have stumbled a little on our return to the car. Plumes of dust wafted up from car wheels as we left the car park and made our way to the concrete road and back to our apartment.

A shower soon freshened me up before our first proper trip into the city, which was a good 20-minute walk. The crisp and dry evening was a pleasure to walk in, as we commented on all the villas and apartment blocks we walked past. We began to notice the bilingual road signs again as we entered what was obviously the outskirts of the old town. The streets narrowed, and the buildings began to reflect a Venetian form. The number of people around us began to rise rather quickly too.

At a small square, where the city’s bus station was situated, we joined what on appearance looked like a pedestrian street, but turned out to be used by a considerable number of cars despite it being packed with tourists. There was a real hive of activity here. Gelato and pizzerias seemed to dominate this stretch - and as it turned out, most of the city - so we carried on in search of further options.

We ended up at another small square, but sort of turned back on ourselves to reach the small harbour of the city. Small and medium sized boats were tightly packed in, and were sometime three or four deep. The now dark sky was lit up beautifully by the moon, which radiated onto the marble quayside and brought out the pastel colours of the nearby harbour side buildings. A slow yet pleasantly warm breeze brought with it a fresh smell of the crisp, salty sea waters.

Where we had walked through seemed to have been the ‘mainland’ of the town, and where we stood now seemed to have been built up to connect the mainland with, what I presumed to be, a former island of the old town. That part of town was packed tightly in ahead of us, spiralling up to the point where a church spire dominated its peak.

We made a small adventure of going up one of the first lanes that wound around and up the old town, but decided to retreat back to the quayside and eat at what looked like one of the first and finest hotels of the city.

The aptly named Hotel Adriatic did not disappoint. We sat out on the quayside in order to both continue our people watching, and to really take in the wonder of our surroundings. Cocktails were ordered, and for my main I had a lovely steak with parmesan and greens. We ordered a bottle of Croatian red to prolong our stay.

It was getting late, and the quayside began to slowly quieten down. We paid our bill and walked to the north part of the town to sit outside a bar that formed the centre of a fork of two roads going into the city. We noticed a taxi rank, and located a gay club just outside of the town that would take 5 minutes by car. Its unique selling point was that it was the only gay venue on the Dalmatian coast. Interesting.

We travelled along the same road to the beach we visited earlier in the day, but turned on to a country road that was pitch black. Here we got out and in the near distance there seemed to be a villa that was lit up but with few people around it.

We gingerly walked up the path and heard voices, and then muffled music. It did seem it was a converted country house that was the gay club. We walked past a couple of people smoking outside and went in. There weren’t many more people inside, but we walked over to the bar and ordered two beers. Contemporary Euro-pop was being played yet no-one was dancing. Clearly, Sundays are not the busiest.

After another round of beers, and a little disappointment, we spent 30 minutes trying to get a taxi home. We eventually did do, and collapsed on the bed after a tiring day.

A Secret Tunnel - Saturday 12th August

The weather turned overnight, so we would have to contend with rain showers throughout the day. Yet the rain was a welcome relief from the searing heat we’ve had up to now. We dressed accordingly and left the apartment.

We were next to a tram stop and John was keen to try out the vintage looking metro system. So, we purchased a ticket, and boarded one that we thought would take us to the main square via a loop around to the west of the city. We stood at the back, to get a good view out of the windows. The tram was of a similar style as those in Sarajevo, cigar-shaped if seen from above and, if like the Sarajevo ones, second hand from Vienna. They were painted a near deep blue and white, presumably as part of the city network branding. The rain was trickling down the back window, but we had swift view of our surroundings as we saw cars weave in and out behind the tram.

We jumped off at the main square, and headed up the hill in the general direction we went last night. We carried on past last night’s restaurant and continued further on up what seemed like a narrow valley. There were numerous cafes and bars along here, but we spotted one that was serving Israeli food. I saw the menu and instantly fancied a shakshuka, so in we went. It was an outrageously decorated venue, with lime greens and aqua blues sploshed everywhere. However, pride of place, above the staircase to the mezzanine level, was a painting of the one and only Dana International. I think we chose wisely.

The food was ordered, it arrived, and we devoured it hungrily. I was keen to head back out so that we could make most of the dry spell that had arrived. So, we walked back down the street, which had a bit more life on it now the rain had stopped, then turned right to venture up the hill to the government area. It was a steep old climb, up part cobbled, part tarmacked roads alongside central European, baroque style buildings. We weaved our way through, and then came to the Stone Gate, the old entrance to the old hilltop town. A few pilgrims paused here, as it also has a shrine to the Virgin Mary.

We continued on up, and arrived at the Sabor, the Croatian Parliament. But the dominating feature of the square was St Marks Church that sat in the middle of it. Its glazed roof tiles displaying two vivid coats of arms were the draw for people to come here. We meandered around the narrow lanes and found ourselves on a viewing platform with great views over the city. After some time of pointing out landmarks and points of interest, we wound our way down the hill, alongside the funicular, and took in the sight of the National Theatre, in its faded, yellow glory. We passed the former Trg Masala Tita, and onwards to a square I had visited before, tucked off the main roads, and so had the chatter of patrons, flutter of pigeons, and clinking of glasses as soothing background noise. 

We chose one of the cafes that had a canopy, to shelter from the unpredictable rain, but was half perched outside as it was still mild temperature wise. We flicked through our respective books, between sipping cool beers and commenting on people around us or plans ahead to make. I ordered an ice cream, as a reward for my hillside walking. After more than an hour, we paid our bill and made our way towards the market and cathedral area. We stopped off for some burek on the way, to stave off initial hunger following our two beers. 

At the cathedral, I kept to my thoughtful and default mode of not entering a functioning place of worship as a tourist, out of respect for those have faith. But John was eager to have a look at the impressive building from the inside. He spent about 10 minutes inspecting whilst I checked out the surroundings outside. As John re-emerged, he clocked that he had misplaced his coat. He thought it may be at the café, so we walked back at a pace in order to retrieve it. Now we had come full circle, we thought it may be best to walk further west, so after some searching online, John found the rather homely sounding ‘British Market’, so we set off for it.

We walked along one of the busier streets, but it was narrow and had a bohemian vibe to it, what with its artisanal shops and cafes in many low-rise, almost bungalow style buildings. It was on the quieter side, perhaps the time of day, but small groups of tourists were busying the pavements. The rumble and clanging of trams occasionally disturbed the peace as we strode along. We reached the British Market, but we must have come on the wrong day, as there was just a smattering of stalls open. The space itself had an almost small French town square feel to it, with a couple of taller buildings jutting up that could easily be a hôtel de ville or bureau de poste. Indeed, a pošta on the square!

We headed north, over cobbled stones to a park that was on a hillside. It was here that we saw the brown tourist signs for a ‘Tunel Grič’. Intrigued, we went back down the hill onto a quiet, treelined side street, then to a junction, on which a small tunnel doorway was situated, looking almost like the entrance to a garage for the neighbouring property. Upon inspection of the tourist sign, the hidden tunnel was built in the 1940s during the Ustasha regime, as a bomb shelter and promenade. We ventured in and walked the length, which brought us out into a courtyard just off a street adjacent to the market.

We made another pit stop and had a few hours sipping on beers and chatting, before deciding upon a čevapi place to eat. We returned to the apartment and, after a full day of walking, slept.