Cro(w)atia, pt.5
At long last, the final part of Crow's egotistical wank-fest visit to Dubrovnik, in which not very much actually happens.

All in the reply. Then it stops. Honest.

(The rest can be found here, here, here and here)
(LongJohnBaldry, Mon 11 May 2009, 23:53, 9 replies, latest was 16 years ago)

Cro(w)atia, pt.5
Friday
Today begins my last day in Croatia. And, it appears that my holiday is set to end much as it began, with my brain constantly nagging me with thoughts that something will go awry. I check my flight booking before I head down to breakfast, just to make sure I really did read and memorise the correct time the last fifteen times I looked at it. I even check my hotel booking to make sure that it is today that I'm supposed to check out...and then start to look for some evidence that today is indeed Friday.

I anticipate some sort of complication when I try to check out - I'm sure I booked and paid for my hotel in advance, so the least rational part of my brain is convinced that there will be some confusion and that they will tell me they have received no such payment, following which I decide it will be easier to settle up with them, take a receipt and bang the desk of the website through whom I booked all this before both said website and the hotel simultaneously take me to the small claims court for not settling a bar tab I didn't know I had and just generally being an arse.

Of course, no such nonsense occurs. I check out, with no problems, and find myself at a bit of a loose end. I decide, since I have spent the last four days staying in Lapad, I may as well explore it. I spend a couple of hours wandering along the coastal path in search of good spots to stop and bask in the glorious sunshine. I'm a little hesitant about undoing my shirt and exposing the white pallor of my beer belly to all and sundry, but the warming sun is just too damn nice.

After a while, I decide that I've seen enough of Lapad, and also that I was going to buy gifts for people today. For this purpose, I have already planned to go to back to the Old Town and visit a couple of shops in particular. There's a coffee shop, where I can hopefully get something suitable for my vegan housemate, a chocolate shop, where I can get some nice Croatian confectionery for the other housemates, Ms Crow and my family. There are plenty of souvenir shops, where I can get the sort of useless trinkets that amuse my sister. And finally, there is the bookshop, where I have spotted a children's picture book, which teaches you the names of various animals in Croatian. I will buy this for my housemates.

I also recall one of the reviews for my hotel claiming that Pile (and the Old Town) were just forty minutes' walk from the hotel. Given it seemed like such a long journey on the bus, I had previously assumed that I'd mistaken this for a review for one of the other hotels I'd looked at. Nevertheless, I decide to test this, and from Lapad I pick up the route towards Pile. Eventually I follow the road out onto cliffs along the coast, and it's a delightful walk.

And, bugger me, it takes me all of half an hour. I kick myself (mentally, of course - actually kicking oneself up the arse in public is liable to attract strange looks in any part of the world, I'm sure). Arseham - I could have saved myself a fair few kune if I'd known, and enjoyed this delightful walk each morning. (Though with less time to enjoy the view of several very beautiful Slavic women.)

The Old Town is teeming with life. The buskers are there as usual, but in greater number...and in period costume. In the town square I come across a vaguely military-looking brass band fronted by a group of baton-twirling girls. Clearly, I picked the right day to come back here...or did I? What could the cause be for all this music and merriment?

Of course. It's May 1st, and Britain is one the few countries obtuse enough to insist on having its bank holiday on the first Monday after this date. So in Dubrovnik, it's a bank holiday. And all the shops are shut. I even wander up the hill into Pile to verify that, indeed, only the bars and restaurants are open today. I thought things had been oddly quiet on the walk in from Lapad. I can't buy my presents. Arse.

On the way back down to the Old Town, I find the entrance to a small beach. I get a cheap laugh out of the Croatian-English translation on the sign next to the entrance which asks me not to bring glass bottles onto the beach, not to drop my fag ends in the sand and, most importantly,
"It is forbidden to sex on the beach."
Still, if I can't do my shopping, I at least have a place where I can lie down and bask in the sun for a little while.

In the middle of the afternoon I delve into the town in search of a late lunch - I've only a sandwich to look forward to on my flight back, so I might as well enjoy a decent meal here. I return to the pizzeria by the harbour, where the waitress recognises me from Wednesday evening. Her exclamation of,
"Oh! It's you again,"
is, I'm sure, intended more as a friendly recognition than out of genuine amazement that I have come back.

As I enjoy my risotto under the large shade covering the front of the restaurant, it starts to rain. In a couple of hours, it's gone from blazing sunshine to a proper Mediterranean-style thunderstorm. I am really quite glad of the shelter as I watch sheets of rain pour down, hear rumbles of thunder and see the whole place illuminated by the occasional flash of lightning, and I begin to really hope that this clears up before my flight.

Shortly, the storm ceases and I go in search of an ice cream. It starts to rain again, but I find a tree which, from the right angle, provides surprisingly good protection from the rain.

When the rain finally gives up, I go for a stroll back up on to the headland for a final look at this gorgeous stretch of the Adriatic coastline. Disconcertingly, where I would normally have been able to look out to the South-East and been able to make out the headland which conceals Cilipi and the airport, all I can see is fog and cloud. Looks like the storm is sat right over the airport. This is of absolutely no help in appeasing the paranoid side of my brain.

It is a combination of the rational side of my brain suggesting that this adverse weather might cause complications in getting to the airport, and my paranoid brain saying,
"Now, I know you've got your return flight booked, and you've got the booking form in your bag along various other bits of paper which prove you're supposed to be on this flight...but what if you get there and they don't recognise your booking? You'll have to try and buy a ticket when you get there, won't you? Won't you? Are you allowing enough time for such an eventuality?"
that send me back down the hill to the taxi rank.

The taxi was, it turns out, a good idea, as it's a bloody long way to the airport. The driving rain through which we pass only confirms my suspicion that I could not feasibly have, say, walked it. Though, to this day, I will never understand how I let my paranoid brain talk me into arriving three hours before take off. Granted, two hours tends to be standard for international flights, but given how empty the terminus was, even that was excessive.

After checking in, I go for a stroll in the car park, and enjoy the view of the sun sinking below the trees. There's a cooling breeze which feels nice on my sunburnt bits. I really like this place.
(LongJohnBaldry, Mon 11 May 2009, 23:54, Reply)

You bastard
Now I want to go on that trip to India that was offered to me :-(
(The Oscillating Gibbon is eating curried squid, Tue 12 May 2009, 9:39, Reply)

When were you offered a trip to India?
Why were you offered a trip to India?
(LongJohnBaldry, Tue 12 May 2009, 22:06, Reply)

Was back in the summer of '69
No in all seriousness I was offered to go on a charity race from Goa to Delhi in a rickshaw. Would've been fun but I can't take 6 weeks out of the PhD to go. Alas.
(The Oscillating Gibbon is eating curried squid, Wed 13 May 2009, 9:17, Reply)

I want
a holiday now.
( The Light in Chains don't touch the Pope's boner, Tue 12 May 2009, 7:42, Reply)

Good stuff,
Although I'm kinda wondering, wasn't it a bit weird going on holiday on your own?
( Cawl, Tue 12 May 2009, 10:04, Reply)

I also wondered this

( whenanimalsattackhumans clad in global hypercolour, Tue 12 May 2009, 10:22, Reply)

I felt this.
And believe me, though I'm naturally more of a quiet person, it was very odd not to have a proper to conversation for 4 days.

Basically I ended up in this predicament due to various awkward timings relating to my PhD - over the Easter week, Ms Crow did invite me up to the Lake District with her family, and my parents asked me whether I wanted to come to France with them. Alas, due to important stuff happening that week, I was unable to accept either offer.

So, I decided I'd take a week off a little later, when my supervisor buggered off to a conference in Vancouver (alright for some...). Based on how various people around me basically hijacked my last summer holiday, as I was foolish enough to just stay in London for that, I decided to get out of the country. Alas nobody else was really available to come with me.
(LongJohnBaldry, Tue 12 May 2009, 22:14, Reply)

I was. BUT YOU NEVER INVITED ME :'(
It's okay though, because once the weather machine is complete I'll exact my revenge!!! Mwahahahaha etc.
(The Oscillating Gibbon is eating curried squid, Wed 13 May 2009, 9:18, Reply)