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.

Around the Balkans in 20 Days - Part 15

It was rather a rude awakening, our first morning in Dubrovnik, as loud refurbishment-induced noises came from the apartment above. We had hired a small studio flat, which came with a private balcony that was furnished functionally. A large double bed, a cream and slightly worn three-seat sofa, a glass coffee table that matched the 4 person dining table, and a TV and stand all occupied the main section; with a galley kitchen coming off it opposite the balcony doors. After the banging had stopped temporarily, we collected our things and departed, looking and feeling rather scruffy.

Having not been in any water to swim, let alone the sea, since Belgrade, we decided to explore the Babin Kuk shoreline. As we were on the top of a hill, we walked to the houses that backed on to the steep hillside, and descended from there to the shoreline. What I was told was true; the coastline was pure jagged rock. I should have listened to all those people suggesting I get the appropriate shoes. Before us, though, was a simple dock for leisure boats, bobbing as they were in the clear blue sea. However, at some places, sand had been placed for that more familiar beach feel. At one point John became very amused, as we passed the dog pool. It was a ring-fenced part of the sea that dogs could have for themselves. I saw an Alsatian, and felt for the poor sod in the penetrating heat. We walked around, and then back for about 1km to find a spot to pitch, and duly did so where more of a crowd had gathered. This patch had gravel laid on it, so at least the rocks weren’t jabbing in our backs.

We laid here for an hour or so, turning over and over to get some sun on our pale backs and fronts. A cruise ship emerged from its berth, and passed before us at a snails pace. A toot from its horn vibrated across the water, with the waves from its slow passage reaching us some minutes later. After our stint here, we decided to go further round to the west of the coastline, as we saw that there was a bar there. It was mid-afternoon at this point, so we thought some refreshments were in order. As we walked, there came a point where the path led away from the water and climbed up. It led towards a number of hotels on this more remote part of the area. However, before we reached the hotels, we came to a sign that pointed back down a series of steps to a bar.

The beach bar was very glam in its appearance. Nice wooden loungers, or chairs with over-sized canopies or umbrellas covering them. Some were sectioned off, presumably for reservations. The bar and facilities were built almost into the hillside. It was quite quiet, so we had the choice of seating. We decided on a large, deep sofa – enough for 6 people – that sat directly in the sunlight. We thought, “Sod it”, so ordered a jug of cocktail. The price was an eye-opener, and a sign of things to come. Dubrovnik is very expensive, something I claim to be because the city can cash in on cruise ship passengers who have money to burn in the few hours they are on land. That leaves us, more committed holidaymakers, worse off. The second jug, this time taken at a table under an umbrella, soon loosened me up to ignore the price.  After an hour or so and a further round of beers, we paid our bill and slovenly walked back to the apartment, where we napped for a few hours.

That evening we decided against the “Brits abroad” area, and opted to see Dubrovnik first at night. We looked at the helpful portfolio that the apartment had for public transport, and located the bus number and bus stop we needed. We retraced our steps from the previous night to the roundabout, and joined the gaggle of people also waiting for the same bus.

25 minutes later, we arrived at the northern gate. There was almost a carnival atmosphere here, with masses of people passing by, others eating at restaurants under the walls of the city, and more people funneling in and out of the gate. We walked in that direction. The walls of the city, when looking at the gate, came from the hill to our left, and down towards the sea to our right. It was discreetly lit to give it that medieval feel. We went inside, and then down some steps into what may have been the vestibule area to check arriving visitors in eras gone by. Here, you could pay to go up on to the walls. We decided against that, for tonight at least. We then passed through another gate that opened up on to the familiar main boulevard running almost north-south through the city. I have to say, it was very pretty. Smooth stone slabs on the floor were almost slippery through being worn down by visitors over the years. The buildings on either side could easily have been a film set for a 14^th century royal court drama, adorned with regal banners and such.

The only downside was the tourists. I know we were of them too. But having avoided the hoards up to Mostar, this really was intense. We did our best to have a wonder around, because off the main boulevard were a myriad of alleyways and side streets to explore. To the east, these alleys immediately went up at a steep gradient. To the west, towards the sea, they were laid out on a flat, gridded system for about 4 or 5 short blocks, before they too rose up. So the main city was in a small valley, it seemed.

We hit upon one of the main plaza areas, and decided we were both hungry and thirsty. So we people watched for over an hour, as we sank two beers over pricey food. It was then that I noticed John glowing, and not in a romantic sort of way. He had really caught the sun. He did admit that his skin did feel rather sore. After that, we went to a bar back near the entrance and began talking to two other tourists, both from Germany. The night ended at an Irish pub back in the centre of the old town, downing shots of Jager (or was it Rakija?).

The next day, we woke up rather late and had sore heads. John now started to feel his sunburn, and it didn’t look too good either. We decided to explore the old town in daylight, so we could soak up the history and admire the architecture. We meandered around the part of town nearest the sea, getting lost in the maze of streets, sometimes following tourists we thought knew where they were going, and at other times eerily alone thinking we were intruding into someone’s private garden or such.

The alleyways were one and a half meters wide, at best, and the grey, stony, functional buildings rose up three or four floors beside us. The Italian/Venetian appearance was no surprise, given that at one time or another, when not its own independent city-state, it was run by Venice. It also played on my image of the quintessential Mediterranean way of life – wooden shutters in place for when the temperatures rose, or the plastic cables for hanging the washing on stretching between the houses above. My immediate observation, though, was that there was no apparent trace of the damage done by the JNA during their siege of Dubrovnik. It was one of the handful places to seemingly have itself protected by the few instances of international public outcry, because of its status as a UNESCO world heritage site. It’s shaming that the international condemnation did not extend to other parts of the former Yugoslavia during the Bosnian war. Buildings counted more than people, it seemed, as the shelling of the Mostar Bridge could also highlight.

We ended our little exploration in a different square to the one last night, on the south side of the city. Again, we sat and people watched whilst making plans for what to do next. We settled on a further walk to the old port of Dubrovnik, where we saw that in the sea a football goal was erected, and a group of people were playing, whilst the rest of their group were on the rocks having a BBQ. In the distance, across the water about 2 km away, was Lokrum. Although we had never watched the show, this was apparently where they filmed some of A Game of Thrones. I’m sure others would be thrilled, but we wanted to visit because it involved a boat ride. We planned that for the next day. We walked to a pharmacy on the main avenue, so that John could get some after sun. It turned out that he needed some extra special industrial cream, as his skin was very puffy.

Despite his ailment, and in a seeming pang of motivation and energy, we decided to walk back to the apartment. It was a good few kilometers, but we fancied the challenge. Beyond the old city to the north, we passed through mostly suburb, but often we would happen upon a “secret” cove occupied by an extended family or a smattering of couples - locals, I presumed. At one point we could see a fancy hotel that was built into the south-facing hillside of Babin Kuk. It looked luxurious, with its own private beach. That evening we stayed local again, going for a few drinks to “Brits Abroad” boulevard early on, as it had a bit of a buzz about it that evening.

The next day was the boat trip. So we made our way back to the old town, and the old port. There were about 4 or 5 boating companies offering a range of services, from a functional boat taxi, to a full on tour around the islands - one even had a glass-bottom. We decided on the direct boat taxi one. It was a busy service running every half an hour, and had an early last departure service from the island at 6:30pm or so. Given its popularity, and my anxiety to have a plan, I decided we should get the second to last return one at the latest, lest we arrive to a full boat and become stranded.

We disembarked at a thriving entry point to the island. But the first thing to hit you was the all-encompasing and constant sound of crickets. There must have been millions of them on there, as I though I was experiencing the onset of tinnitus. We reconfirmed the return journey times at the port house, and then walked clockwise around the island. The island was more or less covered in pines, which provided relief from the shade, and gave off a fresh smell. Aside from the crickets, two forms of wildlife emerged out of the bushes that surprised me - rabbits and peacocks; the latter being in abundance. We passed the FKK sign to our left, and circled around to the north west of the island. Here we pitched up and sunbathed for a couple of hours. The bottle of wine I packed was a lovely relaxant. Afterwards, dehydration mixed with genuine hunger led us to seek out food at one of the two available restaurants on the island. The one we chose was in the centre, and had landscaped gardens, presumably one of the reasons why the TV show was filmed here. As we tucked into pizza, the odd peacock appeared, scavenging for scraps as if they were a stray dog.

The return journey was sufficiently busy but not full, and the breeze that came over us was welcome in the late afternoon sun. Instead of heading straight back, John had discovered a bar that perched out from the old city walls, with views to the west. We decided to head there. What initially was meant to be the odd drink, turned into a wonderful 3 or 4 hours sipping beers and cocktails as we chatted, or just sat in silence admiring the view. This consisted not solely of the sea and islands, nor indeed the passing boats and kayaks, but also the handsome men diving into the sea from the cliff edge below us. As our intoxication increased, so did my slight irritation at a couple sat in front of us. Not their presence as such, or the volume of their conversation, but the sheer absurdity of what they were discussing; especially the ignorant opinions on the history of the region. John, I believe, showed solidarity with me for once, rather than the usual eye-roll he does when he sees it as my problem not other peoples.

A bar tab that again raised my eyebrows, saw us leave very much closer to drunk than sober. And in that spirit, we tracked down a pizzeria and endeavored to make a night of it. We hungrily ate our two slices of pizza, and then went to a bar that promoted itself as a rock music place. We climbed up the steep steps of the east side of the city, and then into a doorway, and up further still to get to the bar. It had echoes of an Irish pub, but it certainly wasn’t that. The darkened room with dark oak effect paneling was the backing canvass for an array of Americana/rock paraphernalia. The rectangle room was divided in two by a central wall with door-less doorways either side, with the bar occupying the central wall on the opposite side to the entrance. We sat at a table under the gaze of two members of Fleetwood Mac, which basically represented the style of music we heard and enjoyed through the night. Afterwards, a taxi was in order to get us home in one piece.

We yearned for a fancy brunch with views. So after 10 minutes of searching online, John found one nearby that was set in a small marina. It also overlooked the cruise ship docking area and the modern, steel road bridge that had echoes of the sails of a yacht to it. We walked down casually, to sea level, and saw a white wall stretch from our left for about 500 meters, with an entrance halfway down. We walked over and into the private marina.

Small boats and pocket-sized yachts were moored here on a few wooden jetties. We sat down on the quay and ordered a set menu for lunch. This was indeed what we wanted and needed, but the service was incredibly slow. Still, it meant we had the time to admire the view. The cruise ships before us, on the other side of the bay, were gigantic. How they stay upright always fascinated me. After two hours, we finally managed to leave. We decided to walk around the bay to see what was what. There were a number of passenger ferries, charged with taking people up and down the Dalmatian coast as well as across to Italy. The one I wanted most to try was the catamaran. It looked speedy and grand, and the classiest way to travel.

We’d packed for the beach anyway, so we walked the same route as on our first day; the bottom of the stairs we took previously began near to the brunch place. We walked past the fancy bar and up to a similar level as the apartment. We got wind of a secluded beach, so turned off at some ruins surrounded in long grass that then led to a dense but low-rise forest that occupied the cliff edge. We walked over and entered the forest. We soon began a steep descent and clung on to the dry, fragrant branches as we skidded over gravel on slate-like rock. After emerging out of the trees, we were still 10 meters above the water, on the cusp of a more or less sheer drop. We managed to locate and navigate a series of outcrops and lowered to near sea level. There were literally two people here. So we found possibly the only two remaining “flat” spaces to drop our towels. We un packed our belongings, and as I settled in with some Factor 30 and a book, John went straight into the sea.

We lazed about for hours, in and out of the sea, applying and reapplying sun cream. We observed one cruise ship after another depart north westerly into the distance. Parties of kayakers streamed past. A furry looking guy near to us constructed some sort of bear cave with a shawl draped over and between two high-rise rocks around him. A woman in her 50s seemed high on life, and raved with him to his trance music. They were far enough away for it not to be annoying, but close enough that it agreeably blended into to the sound of the sea.

We returned to the apartment to shower, and possibly snooze, before our booking at a recommended restaurant. John’s parents had come to Dubrovnik earlier in the year and visited Otto’s. After brunch this morning, we dropped by to book at one of their only two sittings a night. We opted for the 7pm sitting. We decided to smarten up as best we could with holiday gear. We sat down to a lovely three-course meal, outside but under a canopy, with only about 25 other diners. The service was impeccable, and the wine was very complimentary with the food. As the sun set on us, we became drowsy with booze and rather giddy. We made plans to return to the Fleetwood Mac bar.

After settling the bill, we returned to the apartment and ventured to the bus stop. Once in the old town, I had it on apparent good authority that there was a bar frequented by the LGBT community. It was described as a jazz bar, which I thought I could stomach so long as it wasn’t too avant-garde. We negotiated the maze like side streets, to come to a diagonal thoroughfare that had a small square to the left, and then proceeded to have one on the right. All rather jagged, no doubt planned to accommodate the grand church that occupied one of the spaces between the squares. We found this “jazz bar” located in the space between the two squares. Most, if not all, of the patrons were outside sat at cabaret-style chairs and tables, all facing towards the door of the establishment. We sat down at one about two thirds away from the door, so that we didn’t have to lead the interest in any jazz performance. I ordered a wine, third up from the lowest price. It cost me the equivalent of £10. As the performance started, we concluded that it was not a gay place, but that a smattering of the patrons clearly read the same review as us. We stayed for 20 minutes or so, and left feeling slightly cheated by the price of the wine and mediocre number of gay attendees. Instead, we returned to the rock bar and made a night of it.

The next morning, the banging upstairs reached a peak. I even videoed it as proof for the people we were letting it off. I banged the ceiling with a mop handle, to no avail – and John’s eye rolling. In a huff, I immediately sent off a further, angrier message on Airbnb. Profuse apologies came later that day, but at that moment we just packed our bags and left for the beach. We decided to get some breakfast on ‘Brits Abroad Alley’ and, following that, we went to the beachy cove that lay at the other end. This was very family centered and had a little café, unlike the secluded beach. Overlooking us, to the south, was just another rocky cliff face. To the north was a steep hill, cut horizontally by a road, with a couple of smart looking hotels below, and private houses above.  After an hour or so here, we decided to walk along that road, and follow it clock wise to the secluded beach in the north.

Once we walked past the hotels and houses we saw from the cove, the roadside became bare and arid. But the views to the west were unspoiled. The road was quiet with traffic, possibly because we only passed two hotels on the way to the beach, so we were undisturbed, but thankful for the water we carried, as there was no shade from the sun. We descended back to the beach and occupied it for a good few hours until sun set. This time the sea was less choppy than it was the previous day. John was put to use with his skills of finding great restaurants on TripAdvisor, and located one near the brunch place. After a snooze at the apartment, we left for our final night in Dubrovnik.

The restaurant served gastro pub style food, with a coastal edge. It turns out that the guy who ran the place was from London and this was the second season that the restaurant had been open. The food was delicious, and the setting in a private, open aired courtyard next to the marina screamed Mediterranean life.

The next day we packed up and left the apartment in a taxi to the quayside where the bus station was. This was only the start of our ‘Planes, Trains and Automobiles’ trip back home. We booked the flight back from Split, as it was considerably cheaper than Dubrovnik, even with the bus fare. We allowed 45 minutes before departure, so we could grab snacks for the journey. It was going to be 3 hours or so to Split, and half of it on road already travelled, so there was less intrigue that usually comes from seeing pastures new.  We threw our bags into the undercarriage and boarded. Again, the bus was an improvement on the last - modern leather seats, air con, and a toilet. We set off on time and meandered our way back to the Bosnian border, stopping off at the hotel restaurant again. We then crossed back over, on towards Ploce and beyond, to new territory. The terrain was much the same. To our left was the Adriatic, pocked with islands long and short; to our right was the Balkan hinterland, ascending both steeply or slowly in equal measure away from us along our route.

I nodded off for a while, and came around as we hurtled down a modern highway about 40km away from Split. The scenery was much the same. I felt somewhat drowsy, possibly from lack of water and the air con. Once we turned off the highway for Split, it became a lot rockier and mountainous. It so happened that as we approached the city from the east, we had to navigate around then through a horseshoe of peaks that encircled the city, leaving it as an enclosed enclave looking out to the sea.

Once through a tunnel, the city before us was the largest we had seen since Sarajevo. I noticed lots of Hajduk Split graffiti emblazoned on walls and houses on our route in. We arrived at the bus station, which was again next to the dock. This one was a lot busier, and made not just for passenger, but cargo. We booked our shuttle bus to the airport (another 50 minutes away) but had an hour to kill. So we walked to the main square nearby, that looked out on to the sea. We surmised that perhaps Split could be a future destination. It seemed more like a city, and one that was not just filled with cruising tourists.

I think we had reached the pinnacle of buses, on the one to the airport, but there was a bit of commotion on how many people could fit onboard. We were fine though, as John and I had seats. But I did my usual huffing, aimed at those tourists, who seem never to have planned or organised anything in advance. Anyways, we set off on our last bus journey, which took us anti-clockwise 180 degrees around the wider bay Split was set in. The airport was a small affair, surprising for what I could only assume would be thousands of tourists this time of year. John and I got suitably tanked up for the flight, Wizz Air no less, boarded and settled in for the return home.