Ha long, has this been going on?

Two nights, two days, sailing the calm waters off the coast of Vietnam. what could possibly go wrong? 

A visit to Vietnam's north is not complete without a boat trip to Ha long bay. Ha noi is the launching pad for numerous travel agencies who supply excursions, accommodation and activities to this natural wonder of the world and proud UNESCO world heritage site for the Vietnamese people. Who certainly know a thing or two when it comes to squeezing as much money as possible from unsuspecting tourists. Having travelled to Ha long bay previously, I knew what to expect in terms of haggling and the back and forth tussle you have to endure to get a good deal. And even after that you are never quite sure what you've signed up for. But, that's all part of the fun in Vietnam, and you just have to learn to go with the flow.

Which is happily what we did, and after a bumpy four-hour bus journey, we arrived at what would be our floating home for the next two nights. There is no denying that Ha long bay is dramatically beautiful. Nine thousand flora-covered limestone karsts claw their way out of the ocean twisting and turning through am archipelago of larger islands. The whole area looks like a series of giant spiked serpants or Vietnamese 'loch ness monsters' poking their arched backs towards the sky. There is possibly nowhere else like it on Earth, and its scenery is certainly very special.

Not our boat, but you get the idea...

Our fellow crew mates for our voyage consisted of an Australian, two Welsh, a Scot, a Brit, a Turkish couple, a Pole and a Ukrainian, three malay girls and a guy from Antigua who kept being pulled over by officials because they had never heard of his country and were suspicious he had a fake passport. At one point he even had to open google maps to prove this Caribbean island actually existed!

Soon, we were on our way, making friends and weaving through the rock formations, and trying to dodge the HUNDREDS of other boats who were sharing our idyllic excursion. Our first port of call were the 'magnificent caves', subtly named for their um, magnificence. And impressive they were, except that all the boats deposit all their passengers at the entrance at the same time. Suddenly, we were sharing this magical wonder with 5000 other people, following each other like a long snake through its subterranean home. Everyone was vying for the best view, jostling for camera space and looking out for well-known stalactites that vaguely resembled phallic appendages. I have never heard so many people ask the same question that most 7-year-olds could answer with confidence - 'so what's the difference between stalactites and stalagmites?' (come on people!), and so unfortunately the experience was marred a little. But! onwards and out of the cave and back onto the boat for an evening of fine food and revellry... Ais and I decided to decline the opportunity to take a swim at a 'hidden beach', which from the reports of our fellow shipmates, was a cordoned off area of brown water next to a building site (bummed to have missed out...). Instead, we opted to stay on board, as we desperately needed to plan the Laos leg of our journey. 

View from the 'Magnificent Cave!'

Dinner was certainly delicious, the people were grand and we were treated to a bizarre event involving a birthday cake, a happy hardcore version of the song, happy birthday - on repeat... (my ears, my ears) and free red wine that actually was vinegar. After the celebrations our crew were keen for us to get out the ship's karaoke system and 'party til dawn...' Thankfully none of the guests were like-minded, instead choosing to sit on the top deck, drinking beers and watching the fairy lights twinkle back at us from the other ships, all surrounded by karsts looming at us under the cover of darkness. Unfortunately, bad karaoke did boom at us from the other ships. Bill Murray in 'Lost in Translation' it was not, but it still gave us plenty of entertainment for the evening...

The next day we were up early and ready for our day's activities. Because we had booked two nights on the boat we were able to leave our bags in our cabin and join a smaller boat which would take us off for a day's kayaking. We sat down to breakfast opposite the Polish and Ukrainian couple who we had yet to speak to. After the pleasantries were over with, the conversation turned to food (as it invariably does) and we enquired about their favourite Vietnamese dish so far. Now, if you could please imagine the thickest European accent you can think of for the following, the conversation went a little like this:

"So, what has been your favourite dish so far?"

"Oh no, we hate ze Vietnamese food. It's disgusting. So many noodles and strange vegetables and nothing is fresh. I mean, what kind of nation eats noodles for breakfast?"

"Oh, that's a shame. We really like it. How can you say it's not fresh when everything is made on the street in front of you?"

"No, it iz horrible. In Poland, we have the finest food.

Biting tongue, biting tongue, trying to be really good and not say anything, as I sat there quietly open-mouthed in disbelief.

"Ve used to live in the UK. The food there is shit too. We had to move back to Poland because we couldn't find fresh food to eat. The food in Poland is by far ze best."

Red. Rag. To a. Bull. Now, we all know I may have a tiny problem when it comes to speaking my mind;  and I tried, really I did, but I just couldn't keep it in.

"Funny that, I always thought Polish food was just cabbage, potatoes and borscht, with a bit of dried meat on the side".

That shut her up, although she did respond with "yes, but the cabbage is the finest in the world."

Lucy 1, narrow-minded polish woman 0.

Thankfully, they were heading back to port, so we were spared any more awkward moments. We said our farewells to our friends from the previous night and headed towards our kayaking destination... Which was lovely, and a great way to while away a few hours, floating between karsts, through caves and around hidden lakes, plopping in the water every now and again to cool off. Although it was probably slightly less fun for Ais who had an uncoordinated Lucy in the front and had to do all the steering, otherwise we would never have got anywhere! At one point we got stuck in some overhanging trees, and it took us 20 minutes to break free. Whoops....

We arrived back to the boat just in time for a couple of leaps off the top deck into the water before lunch. Afterwards, the plan was to sail to a traditional floating village before spending another night lolling around on the water. Just as we arrived to the village, the boat made a sudden about turn and headed in the other direction. With increasingly confused looks on our faces our guide proceeded to tell us that a typhoon was on its way and all boats had to return to port. As we looked out the windows at what-seemed to be extremely calm waters, we weren't quite sure he was speaking the truth. But, he informed us, everything would be ok because we could stay in one of their 'luxury' hotels on Cat Ba island - the biggest land mass in the archipelago instead of having to go back to Ha long itself. There was only one problem, our luggage was still in a cabin that was now destined for the mainland. And not just our clothes. EVERYTHING, from our passports, to my camera, our phones, money, Ais's iPad etc, basically everything we had been clinging on to ever since we embarked on our journey. They are just not the sort of things you can take on a kayaking trip! Not only that, we hadn't packed our bags so our cabin was strewn with clothes, wash bags, chargers, small kittens etc. Our guide assured us that someone would go in, pack up our things and deliver them to us halfway between our current position and our destination. Now, this was fine, but if anything was left behind our chances of recovering it were pretty small. In addition, our electronics, as all electronics are, are fairly fragile and wouldn't survive being casually thrown from boat to boat. As we tried to get this across to our guide, his English suddenly went downhill and he all of a sudden couldn't understand what we were saying. We decided to risk it, but it was a tense two hours waiting for our stuff to arrive on a tiny boat. Would everything be there? Would it be intact? Of course, it was fine, but there were a few frantic minutes of checking everything once our bags arrived to ensure nothing had been broken or forgotten.

So, on to Cat Ba island we sailed, still in very millpond-esque waters and on to our not-so grand hotel. The evening was fine and we were taken to a bar where drinks were free for women (not sexist, or encouraging promiscuous behavior at all!), and where you could choose your own YouTube videos to play on a large screen. It was fun, but not the tranquility we were hoping for from a second night on the boat.

The next day we were up and headed back to the mainland where we would catch the bus back to Ha noi. As we filed into a restaurant and were told to wait, while 300 women tried to sell us postcards and hammocks that wouldn't sustain the weight of a three-year-old, we got a sneaky suspicion something was up. Turns out a typhoon did hit Hoi an, further down the coast, and was responsible for severe flooding that displaced thousands of people and a plane crash in the Laos jungle. The tour companies knew this and that, as a result, all boat trips from Ha long were suspended for another day, yet the tour companies still merrily brought people down, all the way from Ha noi, only to tell them their trip was cancelled, give them lunch and drive them all the way back again! And because the buses were full with the people they were taking back there was no way for us to get home. So, it was a very long six hours sat on the roadside waiting for the bus to come back to get us. The guides magically vanished in order to avoid getting hassled from increasingly grumpy tourists and I swear at one point, someone chased a guide down the road waving his fist in the air...

Still, make it home we did, and at least we got to spend two nights in Ha long bay instead of sitting on a bus for eight hours and seeing nothing at all. You have to look at the positives!

After a few more nights in Ha noi it was time to embark on our longest bus trip yet - 30 hours from Ha noi, via Hue and over the border into Laos and on to Luang Prabang.

Laters Vietnam! 

Ha noi - a story of two halves

Nothing prepares you for Ha noi. And I stayed here three years ago, so I knew what to expect. Still, nothing prepares you for Ha noi. After driving down into the old quarter, locating our lodgings and dumping our bags in our extremely nice room for $10 a night, we psyched ourselves up for the excitement and assault to the senses that are unique to this city:

Bikes, scooters in their thousands, pho, noodles, coffins, wooden ladders, fish, canaries, dogs chopped in half, bun cha, cha ca, rats, banh mi, silk, tuk tuks, tourists (which have increased 10-fold since I was last here), bbqs, bia hoi, morning glory, people shouting, people singing, people haggling, tofu, fairy lights, phlegm, more scooters, coffee, sewerage, rucksacks, suitcases, incense, tea, rice and buses, all seem to come at you at once, as soon as you walk out your front door. You can only let yourself be swept up in it and embrace this city's joyous chaos. 

Grab a stool, sit down and watch the world go by!

As the title of this blog suggests we stayed in Ha noi twice: pre Ha long bay and post Ha long bay. Both times we tossed aside any form of agenda and spent our days wandering the streets, dodging traffic, eating as much street food as possible and drinking vast quantities of bia hoi. Yep, for 25 cents a glass you can drink beer that's brewed fresh each day, while chomping down on piles of tofu and morning glory that will set you back $2 a pop. Amazing and ridiculously cheap. 

Food photography? Not my forte...

After several hours watching Ais try to cross the street (not her forte, and I'm the uncoordinated one!), taking in a couple temples and sauntering around the lake, it was time to suss out my favourite Vietnamese dish: cha ca. A Ha noi-ise classic, there are several restaurants that only serve this dish, such is their dedication to this cook-it-yourself specialty. Fish marinated in turmeric, ginger, sugar and soy, then fried in a shallow broth at your table. Add huge quantities of fresh dill and spring onions, then serve over thin rice noodles and accompanied with fresh garlic, chilli and a few teaspoons of fish sauce. Heaven in a bowl and one very happy Lucy. 

The next day we sussed out the national museum, a rather dreary place detailing the anthropological history of the 'great Vietnamese people' (its amazing how many things they invented!). Afterwards we felt a little decadence was in order, so we popped in to the Metropole hotel for a cheeky tom collins. Because SE Asia is so cheap, it's very easy to spoil oneself every now and again, and indulging in the odd cocktail at some grand old colonial hotel has become a bit of a treat we like to do every now and again. We looked like a couple of street urchins wandering through its very well air-conditioned corridors, gaping in wonder at the silk furnishings and having doors opened for us. It felt like the kind of place my mum would have whispered loudly 'don't touch anything', accompanied by a 'I mean it' glare, if I had been six, but I'm not, so I went around stroking chaise lounges with gay abandon. As we lounged by the pool sipping our drinks, Ais pointed out that for the price of our cocktails we could have bought 43 bia hois, each, which dampened the experience slightly and made us remember why we don't frequent 5 star hotels too often. Still, it was nice to play grown-ups for the afternoon before slumming it back in the old town.

That night it was early to bed and early to rise the next day, as we were heading for a boat cruise on Ha long bay.

Which was definitely an experience (soon to be posted in a separate blog). 

But back to Ha noi - part deux. Having missed the worst of the typhoon that may or may not have affected our boat trip, our second experience of Ha noi was certainly more cold and wet than the first. We also swapped our hotel for a hostel (at this stage of the game saving even a couple of dollars is worth it), but in hindsight was probably a mistake, as it was yet another 'party hostel', misrepresented in the Lonely Planet. The first warning bell went off when we were perusing the activities organized by the hostel and came across the 'snake charmer experience', which involved being driven to the edge of town, watching a man split open a very live and writhing snake, watch him pull out its 'still beating heart', which you then eat, before finally downing a shot of snake bile from the inner depths of its digestive system. A fun night out for all the family and involving three of my favourite past-times: animal cruelty, snake hearts and vomit shots. What's not to love? And at $12 a pop a total bargain! 

Our second alarm bell rung later that evening when a young lad came round to each dorm to explain the theme for that nights party. Now, imagine the Aussiest, most bogan accent you can think of. The following conversation went something like this...

"Laydees, what are you doing sitting in your room?"

"Ah, just chilling."

"Well, I'm here to tell you that tonight we're going to have a kick-arse storm party in the street. We're then gonna hit the streets of Ha noi and rip this town a new one!"

"Ok, thanks for letting us know. Why is it called a storm party?"

"Because there's going to be a storm tonight, d'uh."

"Ah, makes sense. Silly me. We'll be sure to avoid, I mean join you later if we see you."

"Ripper!"

No matter how far away from Australia you go, the bogans will find you and draw you away from any cultural experience you might be having. Hasten to say, we did not join in the 'storm' festivities, especially as the wonderful Ben and Alex were in town, and who had just got engaged (congratulations boys!), so our own celebrations were in order. Plus we hadn't seen them since our days in Colombia, so there was plenty of catching up to do. 

Another unexpected catch-up came the next day when we bumped in to the rather wonderful Martin, who was working at the hostel we stayed in Puerto Escondido, right at the start of our adventure. Five months later and walking down the road in Ha noi, it was not a face we expected to see again, and shows just how small this planet really is. Of course beers and merriment ensued, which resulted in us having a Ha noi lock-in and being sneaked out the bar at 2am to avoid the curfew police! 

In true Lucy and Ais form we spent our last day terribly hungover, waiting for a bus that would take us over the border to Laos and on to Luang Prabang. A trip that would take 30 hours and truly test our patience and our ability to sit in one position for what seemed like an eternity. On top of that, we are in

Vietnam, so who knows where we will really end up!

  

One night in Bangkok and the world's your oyster...

I know, I know, I am completely original. No one else would have ever thought to reference this song title on a blog post when spending one night in Bangkok. Truth be told we didn't even spend one night here, we spent two; the world did certainly not become my oyster, and I still don't know the rest of the lyrics to this Chess classic. Hell, I don't even know what chess is about. The musical that is, not the game. I used to play chess as a child, but my dad always beat me (not with a stick or anything, just at chess), and I'm a sore loser, so I gave it up and started to play the French horn instead, which looked huge on a 10 year old and made the most dreadful pharp sound, so I settled for the piano, much to the relief of my parents. Then one day..... 

Sorry, Bangkok. I have never been to Bangkok before. What an incredible, chaotic, beautiful, if not slightly crazy place. And so big. I think you could spend six months here and never see all its pavements. We stayed where all like-minded backpackers bed down in Bangkok (although I'm not sure why): just off the good ol' koh San road. Which really is as horrible as had been described to me. Yes, you can buy rip-off anything at dirt cheap prices, and yes you can buy deep-fried skewered scorpions for your mates and take hilarious photos of them trying to eat said scorpion; you can dance on the tables until 5 am in the morning and you can get many crap massages. But do you really want to when surrounded by the types of tourists who think this is the 'real Asia' and whose highlight is to see ping pongs projectiled from shaven female oriphoses into their ever-warming Changs? Just say no kids! I have never felt so ashamed to be British and Australian in such a short space of time. Just call me old...

Thanks guys...!

So, unsurprisingly we did not linger, but instead took advantage of the numerous street-food stalls that lined the pretty streets either side of koh San. Unbeknownst (such a cool word, it should be used more often) to me it was vegetarian food month in Bangkok with numerous stalls stringing up red and yellow flags to denote their 'meat-free status'. Suddenly I was a kid in a very large candy store. So many options opened up, I didn't have to spend hours looking at each cart weighing up if the contents of their dishes contained meat, fish or tofu; there were no tentative bites into sandwiches wondering if it had been slathered in pâté. It was basically awesome! Mushrooms on sticks basted in butter, cooked over hot coals and then smothered in the fieriest green curry sauce I have possibly ever eaten (Simon, you would love it!), pad thais, tom yums, and of course, the classic roti pancake with chocolate and banana. Such was my enthusiasm for seeking out these stalls that we spent most of the second day wandering around Chinatown trying weird and wonderful mock meat creations that resembled anything from meatballs to crispy duck, and not an animal in sight. Now, I'm not usually a fan of faux meat, and I definitely didn't like everything that went in my mouth, but it was incredible to be able to sample absolutely everything. How I would cope if I was a carnivore, I do not know. 

Money exchanged for delicious pancake no. 1. Shame about miss grumpy in the background; she ruined my photo!

So good!

Delicious pancake no. 2 (I can see a pattern emerging here, and it's not one that's favourable for my waistline....)

Our only other daytime excursion was to see the reclining Buddha and annoyingly miss out on the emerald Buddha because the tuk tuk drivers told us it was closed, when of course it wasn't. Welcome back to Asia! I forget how savvy you have to be and remember to always suss things out for yourself when it involves someone trying to make money out of you. At least the scam comes with a smile...

He's a big Buddha.

After filling our tummies for the umpteenth time it was early to bed for a 3.30 am taxi to the airport and our flight to Hanoi. Bangkok, we will be back!

P.S, I have no access to a desktop, so picture quality will be rubbish, apologies!

A quick g'day to the folks in the motherland

While Ais carried on her merry way to Ireland to attend a wedding in a stately home, chow down on multiple Irish sausages and seek out her favourite suntan lotion, I raced up and down the country saying hello to friends and family alike. Blessed with unusually mild weather I wiled away the days with family members in Lincoln before heading back to Horsham for a couple of nights at home with the rents. 



Me and me Nana. Not looking too bad for an 88-year-old grand dame. Sadly, I look as though I've been tangoed.

It was then on to London to quickly soak up some British culture and see as many people as possible in my few remaining days. To:

Nick

Jane

Mary

Jenny

Nicola

Neil

Dave

Alicia

Thank you for the good times and making me feel like I've never left. The food was delicious, the wine certainly flowed and your company was delectable, as always. Until next time...

Some friendships will never change, or grow up!

I was also dead chuffed to see several of my HG books that I sent to print before I left, on bookshelves in Waterstones with Horsham, of all places, boasting the largest volume of HG's list. I was particularly proud to see The Food of Vietnam standing out and A la Mere seems to be getting a great reaction, and was spotted in the front window of several bookshops. As much as I don't want this holiday to end, it made me excited to get back in the cookbook editorial saddle when I land back in Melbs. Speaking of which, we will see our antipodean crew in just over one month. Not long to go now!

A quick over-the-border trip to Italy...

In order to get to England/Ireland as quickly and predominantly cheaply as possible we have taken an overnight bus from Split to Trieste in Italy. One day, one country. And yes, just a bit stupid.

Thankfully we have both visited this ancient land before, and so the pull to linger was not as strong, as say our unexpected stop in the Bahamas. Trieste is also not on the Italian tourist map - a small working city that serves as a gateway to the Adriatic and not much else. Still, where there's an Italian city there is Italian food and we spent our six hours here doing what any like-minded foodies would do: drink copious amounts of espresso and eat pizza. It's so easy to forget how pizza should be served until you visit Italy. Thin as a pancake, crisp round the edges and with a handful of toppings, slathered in buffalo mozzarella. Perfection made easy, and that is all I have to say. Grazi! 

Split-ends

Yep, pun aside, Split is the last destination on our tour of Croatia. Smaller and less touristy than Dubrovnik, Split boasts a Roman retirement palace at the centre of its old town and a sprawling modern promenade lined with over-priced restaurants and a smell of sulphur that would surely put anyone off their mussels and chips.

Le harbour

Thankfully we were staying in the old town, hidden away in a seemingly never-ending maze of streets that are hundreds of years' old and lined with pavements smooth as butter. Split is a lovely town to spend a few days and do little other than roam around at a relaxed pace and get lost in its alleyways and hideaway bars. And this is precisely what we did. Drink cocktails in an open-air 14th century atrium complete with creeping ivy and awesome French trip-hop? Done. Eat freshly caught fish alongside a carafe of wine? Done. Drink one-too-many happy-hour beers at the local backpacker bar while making new friends? Done. 

Some buildings...

But, our absolute highlight happened while walking back to our hostel on our first night. As we turned a corner and entered the heart of the Roman ruins that also double up as the town square, we were greeted with a spectacular sight. Ambient lights shone down onto the plaza, where people lined its edges sipping wine and beer. A small band rolled out smoochy hits from years gone by, and in the centre couples danced away, sweeping each other through this 2000-year-old piece of architecture. It was magical to watch and we spent two hours watching the lovers play and the local Croatian men serenade unsuspecting female tourists onto the dance arena. Ais succumbed; I did not, remembering my heady days failing (or should that be flailing) to dance salsa in Colombia. Take away the music and the electric lighting and you really could be in Diocletian's palace all those years ago, where the wine and woman would have flowed just as easily. It's often hard to completely immerse yourself in history, to be in a time long since forgotten, but visit Split at night and that's exactly what you get; just don't forget to being your dancing shoes.

Diocletian's retirement home. Not too shabby.

And so ends our visit to Croatia: a country that has surprised us both and made us keen to explore more of Eastern Europe. But, sadly there is no time for that. We have an overnight bus to Trieste to catch followed by a flight to London. It's time to get spoiled! 

Islands in the sun - Korchula to Hvar



Sail away, sail away, sail away...



The best way to see Croatia is undoubtedly by boat. Croatia's coastline is peppered with hundreds of islands, all easily accessible and interconnected by ferries, catamarans and yachts, making it super-easy to get off the beaten track and find your own slice of beach paradise. You also have to be careful to not inadvertently stumble into nudist territory, which seems to be relatively common and possibly a little far-reaching for my liking. Grannies, fat Germans, Russians, Croats, all lounging about in their naked glory, letting it all hang out for passers by to gape at. No one needs a hairy ball-sack while munching down on their morning cocopops. As we all know, I'm a bit of a prude and some scenes were just a little too much for my innocent British sensibilities. I'm not quite sure what the Eastern European fascination is with lying out sans clothes in the sun, cos its not like they've got much to show off...

Our first stop was the island of Korchula, four hours from Dubrovnik and accessed via a large ferry that reminded me of cross-channel holidays to France and school trips where the aim of the game was to hide from your teachers and kiss as many boys as possible. No such luck on this excursion...

Korchula is a small island where the main town looks like a mini Dubrovnik - ancient winding streets occupy a small outcrop of land culminating in a cathedral at its apex.



Looking towards the cathedral


It also has a spectacular array of fruit trees, bushes and vines that gives each resident their own personal fruit bowl without ever having to leave the comfort of their own gardens, which is just as well as the choice of fruit and vegetables in Croatian supermarkets is shockingly bad. But then why do you need to buy fresh produce when you can grow it? Pomegranates, oranges, nectarines, olives, peaches, grapes, kiwi fruit (who knew they grew on hanging vines? I realise probably me, given my job), apples, lemons, limes and endless summer berries, just all there for the taking. And scrump we did, until we remembered we didn't have the the wherewithal to get into a pomegranate...   

We stayed at an awesome hostel at the end of a fruit-filled street, just out of town (the best ones are always a little further away, it seems) and quickly made friends with Brits, Aussies, Scandys and Kiwis, resulting in a couple of classic card games and even messier heads the next day. To deal with our pounding brains Ais had the bright idea to go cliff jumping at a recommended spot round the coast. Was she brave, was she stupid? Possibly both, yet I was going to be neither and instead watched her descend 8 metres into the water from the comfort of my own rock where I could nurse my head in relative safety. Rid Ais of her hangover, it undoubtedly did, and my lasting memory of Korchula will be of her disappearing under the waves only to bob up a few feet away. 

Our only negative experience of Korchula was a cheap boat tour that sold itself as a trip round the small islands filled with snorkeling and swimming. The price tag should have given us a clue - 12 euro for a day's excursion? Surely not. Yep, that would be a no. Unless you consider being taken out on a small boat, dumped on an island with no amenities (not even water) and left there for six hours with nobody but several naked women for company. And no, this didn't include Ais and I. Actually, this probably sounds like heaven to any straight guys and gay girls reading this, but we are neither and thus spent the day rather thirsty and hungry perched on a pebble beach. Not a highlight.

The next day we were on the silly o'clock 6 am ferry to Hvar - Croatia's playground for the rich and famous; where yachts the size of football fields compete with each other for the world's most exuberant and over-the-top boat prize and restaurant prices match the overt wealth of the visitors who dock their sun seekers along the pretty harbour. 

One advantage of getting up at the arse-crack of dawn is that you arrive at your new destination in time for breakfast. We eventually found the cafe that was our pickup point to our hostel and discover that residents and tourists alike are milling around at the bar. Drinking. Beer. At 8 am. Croatia, where alcoholism could easily become a national sport. Now, I like my beer, but 8 am is even too early for me, so I settled for an Americano and a slightly judgemental look on my face. Drinking in the morning? At least make mine a Bloody Mary.

Our hostel was again, slightly out of town and a pleasant walk along the harbour to the old town. Run by two Aussies and an American we were greeted with free pancakes and coffee for breakfast (a rare treat at a hostel), especially when one of the owners has a second life as a chef, which involves cooking on private yachts sailing the Caribbean for half the year. (Lucky bastard.)

There is not much to do in Hvar, except lie on one of its numerous, if slightly uncomfortable beaches and pick which boat you would have if money were no object. Which then of course moves on to discuss what name you would pick, how many berths it would have, where it would be moored etc, you know, all the important questions. I have loved boats for a long time (probably encouraged by living on a canal boat for two years; although I do have a tendency to look back on things through rise-tinted glasses...), and one day would love to learn how to sail. Although, if living in Melbourne hasn't inspired me yet, I'm not sure there's much chance of this land lubber lifting anchor and sailing off into the distance. Mind you, if it was in the Caribbean...

yacht of choice

After killing our budget on a night on the town, followed by a BBQ put on by our hostel, and an unfortunate incident involving a pug and a Geordie, which can not be repeated here, we spent our last two days exploring Hvar's surrounding islands and the local town. 

On our last morning I was treated to the spectacle of three parachuters navigating their way down into Hvar's tiny town square. For what purpose, I am not entirely sure, but it was certainly an impressive sight. 

Coming in to land

After a little more wallet bashing it was time to pack our things and leave - a hop, skip and a quick catamaran over to Split: a return to the mainland and our last destination in Croatia before some well-deserved time at home with our friends and families.   

Dubrovnik

 The water is so clear! And I don't mean in a luscious turquoise Thai sort of way, more like looking through the floor of a glass-bottomed boat into the depths below. The sea is dark blue, but transparent for metres down to the ocean floor. And boy was it rocky, and a little chilly, but incredibly beautiful.

But, I get ahead of myself. We landed in Dubrovnik with a bump. Not in a cultural way you understand, but by literally dropping onto the tarmac with a hard smack that made us understand why planes have seatbelts. You know when you come into land and sometimes the plane speeds up; sometimes the plane slows down, and if you're lucky you get a smooth landing without any side wind? Well not on this flight. The pilot had clearly misjudged his landing, and due to a rather large range of mountains directly ahead of us, couldn't veer up and have another crack. As the plane coasted over the landing strip, and it became clear that we were still several metres up in the air, the pilot made the decision to drop the plane on to the ground. We bounced, we swayed, we braked bloody hard, and we all gave each other that acknowledging look of 'that was close'. Still, safe we were and after collecting our forever swelling bags we hopped on a bus and ventured down to the twinkling lights of Dubrovnik.

Who has been to Croatia? Anyone? If you haven't been I strongly urge you to go. I have seen a fair bit of France, Italy and Greece in my time, you know, the classics, but none of them compare to the sheer beauty and history of Croatian towns. Perfect picture-postcard scenery wherever you look, layer upon layer of historic architecture all melded together, where Roman ruins are still part of the inhabited landscape and ancient pavements are as smooth as marble after serving for centuries as well-trodden walkways. And this is after a war only 20 years old that nearly decimated the heart of Dubrovnik. And did I mention the sea was blue?

Getting lost in Dubrovnik

Dubrovnik is clearly the jewel in the Croatian crown. Thousands of tourists, mainly from visiting cruise ships, pour into the old town daily and fill its winding streets and cobbled stairways with countless languages, flashing photography and Jesus sandals. The best way to see it, is to throw away the map, duck down a less busy side street and immerse yourself in the narrow lanes and billowing sheets that smother the skyline. The town is still very much lived in and I can only begin to imagine the frustration of the locals, having pictures taken of their smalls while trying to enjoy a relaxing afternoon in their garden. And heaven forbid if anyone ever wanted to build an extension, such is the preservation of authentic building materials throughout the old town. In between local abodes, restaurants and bars vied for custom with inflated prices, which could only further damage our wallets. But, if you're going to spend money you might as well do it in style, so we opted to have a drink at a bar perched precariously on a cliff outside the city walls where the view looked out to the sparkling waters of the Adriatic and Croatia's yachting elite. It was only marred by several groups of drunken Australians daring each other to jump off the surrounding rocks and plummet into the waters below. Bless their cotton socks. And they missed the rocks every time. Shame...

Chillin'

And the view behind

 After getting our fill of historic buildings, sweeping landscapes and half-witted bogans we opted for a tour of the city walls, the second best-preserved in the world, so we were told, although we never did find out whose walls they were second to. Having seen the city from the inside looking out, it was time to climb the defenses and see the city from the outside looking in. We weren't disappointed, being rewarded with glorious views that gave my camera an extremely good workout and me another small dose of vertigo. (It really gets me at the strangest times).

View from above...

After successfully navigating our way back down to ground level Ais took the opportunity to take a quick dip in the crystal waters. Refreshing for her, freezing for me (and that's after getting used to Melbourne sea temperatures), so I sat on the not-so soft rocky shoreline and read up on the next leg of our trip: island hopping from Dubrovnik to Split.

Sunset from our balcony

Barcelona

 Barcelona! (Whenever I say this word all I can hear is Freddie Mercury and that fat woman singing). Barcelona! Olympic operatic anthems aside Barcelona is a truly cosmopolitan and global city, the kind you could see yourself living in if it wasn't for the difficulty of understanding the Catalan dialect and the vast quantity of tourists. 

Our digs was a brand new hostel decked out as a 1930s tailor's shop, complete with worn leather furniture, a beer vending machine and a defunct bathroom door that managed to trap Ais twice in two days, resulting in the staff having to break down two doors consecutively in order to get her out. Hilarious, if you're on the outside. Which I was was... Not so much fun if you're Ais. Our hosts were generous in ensuring their guests had a good time, and took it upon themselves to take us out each evening to see the bright lights.

After a rather racous night out where we got to know our fellow hostelites - three Aussies, four Swiss, one Brazilian and a German (we are sooo multicultural!) we set to discovering the cultural treats and vistas this great city has to offer. We began with a trip to the Picasso museum (I'm going to be a Pablo expert by the time we leave Europe) at its designated free time and when, unsurprisingly, everyone else decides to go along too. We joined the back of the queue and waited patiently in line (that favourite British past-time) surrounded by fellow tourists and homely-looking pinxos bars that lined the street enticing you in and drawing you away from the task in hand of queuing to see some Picassos. As we neared the front of the queue two garish-looking middle-aged Eastern European ladies of unidentifiable heritage (what is it with Eastern Europeans and tacky gold jewelley? You can spot them a mile off!) casually sauntered up to the couple in front of us and enquired after what they were queuing for (this much we could work out. We could also ascertain that they knew very well the answer to their question and were using the 'language barrier' as an excuse to push in). They had time to kill if they were going to stay in their position until the museum entrance, so they pulled out their maps and dutifully asked their new friends to point out where every single tourist attraction was located (even though they were clearly marked) and then gather directions on how to get to each place. That should kill about 20 minutes. Which of course it successfully did, and all of a sudden, surprise surprise they were through the front doors and on the way to the front counter. Now, I know its a bit pointless, but this made Ais and I FURIOUS! Especially when the imposters refused to make eye contact with our ever-rising eyebrows and disdainful looks on our faces. They know they did bad. 

So, we each hatched a plan. Ais wanted to get them kicked out for spitting on the gallery floor, and I decided to freak them out by following them around and looming over their shoulders whenever they stopped to look at anything. Such was my anger that I was perfectly prepared to sacrifice my own enjoyment of seeing some of the finest artwork in the world in order to secure revenge on two middle-aged women. We decided that trying to explain (or worse, acting out) phlegming on the floor might be a bit tricky in Spanish, so it was down to me. I took great pleasure in following their every move. They turned around, I was there. They looked at a painting, I was there, they went to the bathroom, I was standing outside. Before long I was looking like the definition of a song by the Police and it certainly started to have the desired effect. They quickened their pace, I followed suit, they gave each other a wary eye to say, 'who is this freak?', I positioned myself to be caught in the corner of each glance with a disturbing stare that couldn't quite be ignored. Eventually my pathetic tenacity paid off and our two friends left the building missing over half of Picassos collection. Success! Feeling thoroughly pleased with myself I resumed my tour of the museum at a leisurely pace.

 Day two was reserved for the wonder of Gaudi, Barcelona's most famed architect, whose ethereal and almost macabre Disney-esque buildings and constructs pop up in squares, parks, along the sea front and just about anywhere you care to look up. Our first stop was the La Sagrada Familia, a grand cathedral that could be mistaken for the worlds largest termite mound, complete with cubist depictions of the crucifixion and an imposing concave entrance that reminded me of human entrails reaching down to the underworld. The building is still a work in progress after nearly 100 years of construction, and sadly we didn't get to see inside due to budgetary constraints, but there was no escaping the impression that this mighty construction encapsulated heaven and hell and everything in between. 

La Sagrada Familia - certainly one of the more unusual-looking cathedrals I've seen on this trip

Our next stop was the Park Guell, a Gaudi architectural village originally intended for Barcelona's elite to reside in, but left to wrack and wonder after Gaudi ran out of money. Twisted stalagmite columns rise out of the earth and double as a market space, while gingerbread houses perch precariously on hillsides overlooking the city.

Detail from Gaudi's marketplace

 Gaudi also built his own house here, which is by far the grandest. The whole experience felt like we were wandering through an eerie Hans Christian Anderson story, not quite for children, not really for adults, a landscape stuck between idealistic fantasy and reality. And although impressive, I must admit I wasn't a fan and I even began to wonder if the term gaudy, comes from Gaudi? Insulting to one of architectures greats? Maybe. Subjective opinion? Totally. Still its mine and I'm sticking to it. Especially the pun...

We spent the next day hanging out at the beach, Aisling's all-time favourite haunt, and an opportunity for us both to relax after two days of heavy sightseeing.

Which yacht shall I have?

We reserved our final day in Barcelona for a visit to the Olympic park (I've never been to one before...) and the extremely awe-inspiring national museum that overlooks cascade upon cascade of fountains that tumble down to the city centre.

The 1992 Olympic stadium

I'm sure the inside would have been just as impressive, but it was a public holiday (they seem to have a lot in Spain) and it was subsequently closed. So instead, we wandered through the streets with the rest of the Barcelonian population who were having a hand-holding shindig to promote their desire to be an independent Catalonian state. Either way, it was an opportunity for us to mingle further with the locals before chowing down on our final pinxos for the evening. I don't think I have ever eaten so much bread in my life...

So many bready options!

Barcelona has definitely been the highlight for me of our Spanish adventure and I would recommend it to anyone who had yet to visit its cultural skin (I realise I'm probably one of the last people to visit it). I could easily spend a week living the Spanish life, dodging the tourists on las ramblas, and ploughing through the Catalonian wine that is on hand in every bar. Still, one can not dwell when there are new adventures waiting. Due to an unforeseen wedding in Ireland and fast-disappearing weeks left, we have opted to skip France and Italy and hop on a plane to Croatia. Eastern Europe, here we come!