Cro(w)atia, pt.4
Because I'm sure you've all been waiting to find out what I did last Thursday.
Previous instalments are:
www.b3ta.com/questions/offtopic/post415404
www.b3ta.com/questions/offtopic/post415336
and
www.b3ta.com/questions/offtopic/post415942

(For those sick to the back teeth of this ego-massaging drivel, don't worry, there's only one more day left to write up.)
(LongJohnBaldry, Thu 7 May 2009, 23:26, 4 replies, latest was 16 years ago)

Cro(w)atia, pt.4
Thursday
Today begins with some considerable excitement. I wake up well-rested, having shut the window and found a large blanket in the cupboard. I throw the curtains back and see that the weather is gorgeous. It's going to be a good day.

I head down to breakfast and find further excitement: on the cooked breakfast counter, they've laid out a different kind of sausage. I'm so excited I fall upon this counter with relish and pile my plate high with this new sausage and a similarly increased portion of the scrambled egg that is also there every morning. (That is to say, I get a little excited and take a lot of food with great enthusiasm - if I had actually toppled into the trays of food clutching a jar of chutney then I might have had to forego breakfast and make myself scarce.)

It is only after eating it in a such an enlarged quantity that I come to realise the true horror of the scrambled egg. I don't know what they've done to it, but it seems less like it was made from eggs than from some unholy combination of gelatin and cornflour and then fried to buggery. I'm sure I can feel it bounce on the bottom of my stomach as it plummets from oesophagus. I try to mop up its greasy, rubbery substance with additional toast. I even venture over to the fruit bowl, after I realise that I've had no fresh fruit or vegetables since Tuesday night - and even that came with butter. As I head back up to my room I can feel my digestive system straining in protest.

Yesterday, I resolved to visit one of the islands. I had my eye on Lokrum (because it's visible from the harbour in Dubrovnik Old Town), so I went up to one of the stands on the pier. It was the only one with anybody still on it - a scrawny, middle-aged woman with an interesting variety of facial piercings, whose job seemed to be to stand behind this information stand and yell "Elaphiti?" at anybody who passed within a fifty-foot radius.

I asked her about the ferries to Lokrum, but they were operated by a different company who would re-open their stand in the morning. She then offered me a booking for a cruise around the three Elaphiti islands, stopping at each one for a couple of hours. The boat would provide two meals and an unlimited bar. Leaving at 11, returning for 6.

On the face of it, the cruise sounded like a great deal. I could see, not one, but three of the islands and get blind stinking drunk at the same time. I would be fed. What could be better?

Well, on the other hand, I could get my return journey to Lokrum for a fraction of the price and I could have the day to myself, instead of running to the schedule of the same people who pay a woman to stand at a table and yell "Elaphiti!" I wouldn't have to spend a day with a load of strangers...more importantly, I wouldn't have to spend a day worrying that I might bump into...Brits.

You see, perhaps I am just a unsociable, misanthropic arse, but when I go abroad, one of my motivations is to get away from my home country. And I don't feel I've managed to do that unless I'm shot of its populace. It's not that I mind meeting other British people in foreign climes - sometimes it's quite nice to have a chat, and indeed I've made a few friends abroad with whom I still keep in touch. I just flinch when I've travelled for hundreds of miles only to hear an unashamed British accent cutting through the dull rumble of foreign tongues trying to explain slowly, condescendingly and at deafening volume that they want
"Doo-oh sir-vey-shass, por favor, Manuel,"
to an unfortunate waiter. Who is Italian.

I therefore catch the boat to Lokrum. And I'm so glad I do. It's a gorgeous island, and I've got a whole day to roam around it. After a browse of the map, I go and investigate the island's "Dead Sea." It's a lovely spot, but this little inland sea is, I decide, not very dead, based on the presence of algae and a crab.

I pick up a footpath and decide to traverse the island in the blazing sunshine. It's a beautiful walk, and I detour briefly to visit the fort, which is the highest point on the island. In fact, I visit to fort twice. The second time is an accident and makes me feel slightly foolish, as it's quite a steep climb, from either approach. Oh well, I need the exercice.

I have a light lunch at a small cafe on the island, and again manage to impress a waiter with my attempt to speak Croatian. He can quite clearly see that I'm just reading the words off the menu, but he seems quite pleased with my efforts nevertheless.

I decide to take advantage of the weather and my beautiful, tranquil surroundings and find a spot on one of the limestone beaches to bask in the sun. Unfortunately I only get about half an hour to do so before I feel spots of rain, and notice a number of gathering clouds, which I can't reliably identify but which look like they should have 'nimbus' somewhere in their names.

I put my coat back on as the wind gathers and have a look round round the botanical garden. This has an interesting selection of plants, and also several signs reading "Please do not write on the plants."

I also find the entrance to the nudist beach. I decide not to pop my kit off and venture into it; I think the tan lines round certain parts of my body would give me away instantly. However, I notice a sign depicting a couple in bikini and speedos, within a red circle with a line through it. I wouldn't have given it a second thought, except that I'm sure I saw the same sign on the door of the post office yesterday...and I went into that fully clothed. I begin to worry that I may have offended them and make a mental note to be stark naked if I have to visit the post office again.

Late in the afternoon, I catch a boat back to the Old Town and go to find some dinner. I settle for a restaurant which has simply called itself "Tomato." I decide that, since it will be my last night in Croatia, I should look for some form of evening entertainment other than sitting in Caffe Talir drinking lots of beer.

I had walked past the Jazz Cafe earlier, and spotted a sign advertising "Live Jazz Tonight!" Alas, when I walk past, there's no sign of any jazz taking place. I even walk back past Caffe Blues, and I still can't hear any blues from inside.

I stroll out to the pier to enjoy the fading light, and am eventually treated to the sight of the city walls being lit up. It's a lovely sight, and makes me think it's a pity you can't get up onto the walls after dark. Though I expect the visibility's not so good at that time.

And so, in the end, I spend my last evening drinking lots of beer in Caffe Talir. It's a little awkward at first - I sit down with my book and order my beer and realise I'm the only customer in there. Am I doomed to spend my last evening in Dubrovnik sat alone in an otherwise empty bar drinking myself into a stupor? I know I'm only going to sit in the corner and read my book, regardless of the number of people, but without them it doesn't have the atmosphere that I've previously found so enjoyable.

Fortunately, after about half an hour or so it starts to fill up. The atmosphere becomes lively again and I remember why I like this place. Even if it is a little odd that it's spread over three rooms, of which only one contains a bar. (The other two are monitored by CCTV so the bar staff can see when somebody's come in.) And even if the poster above the urinal - a montage of photos from a "www.toilet.cam" - is a little unsettling. Though not as unsettling as the automatic paper towel dispenser after you've had a few...
(LongJohnBaldry, Thu 7 May 2009, 23:27, Reply)

Still enjoying this,
Looking forward to the final part.
( Cawl, Fri 8 May 2009, 9:26, Reply)

Re: The scrambled egg
It's made from powder, they add water, stir and (usually) microwave. If you do it carefully it turns out kinda ok, in the same way that smash is an ok substitute for mash. But hotel staff are usually both thick and lazy, and so when they use powdered ready scrambled egg, it usually comes out as a powdery, watery, pathetic excuse for food. I'm surprised you've never had it before.
(The Oscillating Gibbon is eating curried squid, Fri 8 May 2009, 9:52, Reply)

I'm enjoying these
Have to say they are quite funny and I've read worse stories that have actually been published, so well done!

I've got a bit of an Eastern Europe fascination right now so it's great to hear a first hand account...
( whenanimalsattackhumans clad in global hypercolour, Fri 8 May 2009, 11:32, Reply)