Cro(w)atia, pt.3
Wednesday
I wake up and am again not feeling all that well-rested. I wonder if I'm getting cold in the night - in flagrant defiance of my paranoid brain and its fear that I will be burgled and/or raped, I have been sleeping with the window slightly ajar to provide a plentiful supply of air (and disperse the foetid ventings of my bowels).

Today, however, I am more confident. I know my way around the hotel, so I lie in bed a little longer and stroll down to breakfast with a look of certainty on my face: I'm bloody hungry and will take full advantage of the breakfast buffet this morning. I shall not be deterred by my fear of what the other guests may think of me - hell, if they're German, they'll probably start competing with me.

I have noticed that there's a trick to this buffet system: if you're not careful, the staff will clear away any plates of cutlery you leave behind as you go up for additional helpings. I decide that if I'm going to go back to the buffet, my best bet is to take along everything I intend to refill or, failing that, dash back and forth, wasting minimal time browsing, before the staff can clear away a plate or coffee cup they think I've finished with. The gripping tension as I wait, one eye on my distant table, the other on the dawdling toaster, is virtually unbearable.

After an adrenaline-fuelled running of the breakfast gauntlet, I head to the reception to buy my bus tickets for the day.
"Dvije autobus karte, molim Vas,"
I request, in my best Croatian.
"Ah, where are you from?"
Asks the guy behind the desk, in English far superior to my Croatian.
"Er...verilike Brittania...Engleska."
"Why do you speak Croatian?"
I sheepishly produce a phrasebook from my pocket. It seems a shame to shatter the illusion that I have perhaps been learning this chap's native language, but I fear my cover would soon have been blown anyway as I don't even know the word for "phrasebook."

He sells me my bus tickets and tells me to "have a great day. And spend lots of money!"

Today I decide to do the city walls of the Old Town. The view is supposed to be quite lovely, and if nothing else, it means I'll have a ticket which will get me in the fort into which I failed to get yesterday. I decide, given the time it will take for my postcards to arrive, I should also try to negotiate the post office as well.

The city walls are spectacular. I stand high above the Old Town and have views of that on one side, and a stunning vista of the Adriatic sea on the other. The weather is far better today, and I get a chance to bask in the sun atop the tower in the Northwest corner.

The city walls were, as one might expect, built for defensive purposes, and therefore have many sheltered gunning points built into them. (I suspect I would have been a lousy Croatian solider on account of my shoulders being too wide for me to easily get in and out of these.) One such point is, I work out, the most Southeasterly point of the city, looking straight out onto the sea, and the beautiful island of Lokrum. Sadly, somebody has managed to tread poo in there. I decided to forego that view.

At one point, I look down into the Old Town and espy a house which has outside it no fewer than five cats. 3 tortoiseshell, 1 black and 1 ginger. Five beautiful cats. I amaze myself sometimes: here I am, walking round a historic monument and I distracted by a house that has five cats. Why does this excite me as much as it does?

On the way round the walls, I visit the Maritime Museum. It's quite interesting, and suggests that Ragusa, as it was back in the day, was a major shipping power, and that Dubrovnik still held its own on the seas until relatively recently. Here, however, I get another taste of the resentment towards the Serbians. The very last exhibit does not really summarise Croatia's maritime achievements, instead it condemns the Serbians for destroying them. My brain is assuring me of a place in hell for reminding me, in its best John Cleese impersonation,
"Don't mention the war!"

I head out of the town and up to the fort on the headland. It's very nice but doesn't take long to look around. I therefore decide I might as well use the afternoon to attempt Mount Srd.

I still have no idea how one pronounces the name of this mountain. When I first read the name, with its absence of any vowels, I assumed it had been named by a Welshman. I have already embarrassed myself by asking for directions to "Mount Shrujj....Mount Shrrerjuh...erm...the mountain."

I'm also increasingly convinced that it's less a mountain than a large hill. Either way, it's a lovely walk, and it's great to feel some sun on the bones and open up the lungs. It's a long, winding path up to the top, but the higher I go, the better the view gets. I can see miles of Croatian coast. I can see the town of Lapad, where my hotel is situated. I can see the islands off the coast. And gradually I get closer and closer to Fort Srd.

And at Fort Srd, I am greeted by the sight of several cows, a couple of builders and a JCB. The fort is being repaired and the cows are being...well, they're being cows. The building site does rather detract from the view, but if I look in the opposite direction then it's fantastic. I can now see the hills behind Srd, behind which is presumably hidden the rest of Croatia. It looks like a perfect place to explore, but it's now late afternoon, and without a map or any lunch inside me, the idea seems a little foolhardy. Paranoid brain would never let me get away with it.

I doubt it's the altitude that causing me to feel tired and slightly out of it - it probably has more to do with me being bloody hungry. I head back down to the Old Town and find somewhere to eat. I remind myself not to end up spending a lot of money and find a cheap pizzeria next to the harbour. I eat heartily but at far less expense than last night and take a stroll to digest my dinner. I then go and purchase an ice cream for similar purposes. And then head to back to Caffe Talir for a similarly digestive pint of beer. Or two. It has been a good day.
(LongJohnBaldry, Wed 6 May 2009, 22:53, Reply)