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Spencer and Cath's backpacking adventure from London to Brisbane via America, Europe and Asia

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Welcome to our website! From July 11th 2004 Spencer and Cath will spend a year backpacking their way from London to Brisbane via America, Europe and Asia

From the Great Wall of China to swimming with dolphins in the Florida Keys this site conveys our thoughts and experiences in the months before, during and after our big trip. We hope you stick with us through our journey and would be delighted if you Leave us a message!

Saturday 30th April 2005

It had been a while since we had had to wake up early so it came as a bit of a shock to the system when our mobile phone buzzed into an unsociable frenzy at 5.30am. Yet today was one very rare day where we did not grumble too much about the rude intrusion to our sleep. For having cut short our stay in Athens by 24 hours we were finally heading to the Greek Islands.

If there is one good thing that the olympics bought to Athens, I have been reliably told, it was a significant improvement in its metro system. Not so long ago it had a bad reputation for being a grubby, dingy network where having to watch your belongings was as mandatory an activity as trying to determine how late your train was going to be. But now, as we found out for ourselves as we made our way to the port of Pireaus, it has been transformed into a model of efficiency, cleanliness, reliability and public safety. Where fittings gleam and the station's screens countdown to the precise moment a train arrives. A remarkable and welcome change and one that would greatly benefit London if their bid for the 2012 olympic games is successful.

With Dan and Bron for company the 7 hour crossing from Pireaus to Santorini was very convivial as we spent the entire time talking on the deck of the ferry, whilst the sun shone brightly and the water twinkled with the glow of a million different sparkles. It was incredibly relaxing and as the ferry progressed further along its route we became increasingly oblivious to the presence of anyone or anything else around us. That is until our first glimpse of Santorini came into view.

Right from the onset we were awestruck. For Santorini enjoys a unique, volatile and incredibly spectacular setting. Once part of a chain of volcanoes more than a million years ago the area's landscape changed dramatically around 1650 BC when a series of destructive earthquakes and eruptions came to a head in the form of what is believed to have been the largest explosion in the earth's history. As more than 30 cubic kilometres of lava overflowed and a jet of ash 36 kilometres high shot into the air the resulting carnage was catastrophic. The middle of the island caved in, forming a caldera that quickly became submerged by the sea. Furthermore huge tsunamis were generated that travelled as far afield as Isreal and caused devastating damage to everything in its path, most notably according to folklore, Crete's entire Minoan culture. The most powerful Aegean civilisation at that time. By the time the dust had settled mother nature had well and truly kickstarted the process of turning Santorini's landscape into one of the most inspiring and striking in the whole of the Greek Islands.

Such was its magnificent visual impact that our first view of Santorini's setting was hard to take in. Indeed that first sight of the dense clusters of gleaming white buildings teetering on the edge of sheer lava layered cliffs which almost entirely encircle the submerged caldera and plummet more than 200 metres down to the sea was as dramatic as it was sensational. I had simply never seen anything like it. It took my breath away.

I just hope our time in Santorini can live up to such a wonderful introduction.

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Friday 29th April 2005

2004 was a good year for Greece. They held a successfully run Olympic Games. Won the 2004 European Football Championships and continued to enjoy the lowest crime rate in Europe. Add to this a glorious history as one of the world's greatest civilisations and over 300 days of exposure to the wonderfully warm Meditteranean sun and it becomes clear that there is plenty for the Greek nationals to cheer about. Yet for the traveller their capital is not really a city that makes you share in their euphoria.

For a start their cafes serve the most expensive, and quite possibly worst tasting, coffee in Europe. A full euro dearer than cups in Italy, almost 2 euros more than that of France and Spain and a seemingly close relation of dirty dishwater. But more pertinently despite possessing a rich collection of historic monuments that render the city a living monument to its status as the birthplace of western civilisations it is hard to ignore the fact that Athens is, for all intents and purposes, a bit of a dump. A huge noisy, urban sprawl afflicted with chronic pollution, crippling traffic jams and a rapacious mob of touts who constantly urge you, sometimes to the point of harrassment, to frequent their restaurants, hotels or bars. And this is after a major pre-olympics effort to clean up the city. Heaven knows what it must of been like beforehand.

Despite this though Athens, whose name was inspired from that of Athina, Goddess of Wisdom, really is a must visit destination. If only because it holds one of the world's most famous and culturally significant ancient sites. The Acropolis.

From its dominant position atop a hill The Acropolis rules the skyline and can be seen from pretty much anywhere in the city. The one shining light in a grey cloak of smog, radiating its powerful allure to all and sundry. It is a majestic sight and one cannot help but be attracted by its imperious aura, which draws you towards it like a moth to a flame. Yet for us, as we were tired after our extended transit, and because we wanted to be fully fresh the next day, it was something we did not succumb to immediately. Instead we spent the remainder of our first day in Athens wandering serenely around the district of Plaka. The congenial old Turkish Quarter, arguably the most beautiful part of the entire city, whose narrow cobbled streets contain a huge, vibrant range of restaurants, shops and tourist hotels, including ours.

Here we wiled away a couple of pleasant hours roaming in a private world of contentment, before heading back to our hotel's rooftop terrace bar. Whereupon we watched in awe as the brilliant illumination of the setting sun gradually shrouded the Parthenon, itself bathed in the golden glow of the lights that decorate it at night, in a fantastic fusion of colours. An orange, red and pink canvas of the most scintilating composition and one that emmersed The Acropolis in a magnitude that I would almost impossible to compute. Other than to recognise that it was most befitting and will remain an image that will stay with me for the rest of my days.

After the majesty of what we saw the night before our visit to The Acropolis turned out to be a little disappointing. For sure the structures were very impressive, and in particular the famous Parthenon, which was completed in 438 BC and the especially arresting Erechtheion, replete with the 6 maidens who hold up its souther portico, still retain its sense of magnificence and grace. But unfortunately with literally thousands of people rambling around the complex, The Acropolis is not something that you get to enjoy with any degree of peace, or at any great length. Infact it gets so busy that after a while the process of muting out the volumnous drove of the tourist chatter, or having to constantly stop yourself from walking into their camera shots is so irksome that you find yourself merely going through the motions. Completing a half hearted circuit of the site, then leaving, without taking the time to truly take it in.

Still it was not too bad for us I suppose. For we could always appreciate its view from the rooftop terrace of our hotel bar. Even if it was with the most expensive coffee in Europe.

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Thursday 28th April 2005

Today had been a long time coming. We were finally heading to Greece. Yet considering that we had been looking forward to this part of our trip ever since that horrible night in Cuenca, when the rustic stone walls and inadequate central heating system of our room provided little protection from a -16 degree celcius blizzard, and it was the image of us sitting on the sun soaked beaches of Santorini, Amorgos and Rhodes that got us through the night, it was with slightly mixed feelings that we boarded the ferry in Dubrovnik.

Of course we were very much still looking forward to going to Greece. But a small part of us was reluctant to leave Croatia. More to the point we were rather indifferent to the process involved in getting there. For despite its relative proximity we were surprised to learn that there were no direct flights from any of Croatia's major cities to Athens. Instead if we wanted to adopt this mode of travel we would have to catch a flight to a major city like Paris, London or Dublin (like Charles and Grant) and then catch a connecting flight to Athens. A rather pointless and pricey endeavour all things considered.

However the alternative, albeit it cheaper, was hardly something to get too excited about. A 12 hour overnight ferry ride from Dubrovnik to Bari in Italy. Followed 12 hours later by a 15 hour overnight ferry to Patras in Greece. Which in turn would see us board a four hour train to Athens. Before finally catching a metro train and then walking to our hotel. It seemed a rather protracted and tedious process and in truth was something we did not want to, yet had to, do. Oh for that Star Trek transportation system that whizzed Captain Kirk and his mates tofar flung destinations in the galaxy in a delightfully quick fuzzy fade!

As it turned out the transit was not as bad as we thought it was going to be. For in order to minimise the tedium of the journey we engaged in a rather novel activity for us. That of socialising.

When you are all in the same boat as it were, with oceans of time to kill and nowhere to go, it is amazing how easily you strike up conversations with people that you would not usually chat to. Especially with fellow backpackers. But if you do manage to enter into a dialogue with someone you actually like and who is not a weirdo, religious freak or recent escapee from a lunatic assylum, it is amazing how quickly time can pass. And so it did for us.

In particular the ferry ride from Dubrovnik to Bari was very fast. Mainly because having spent a couple of hours talking and playing cards with a pair of young Cornish lads called David and James, Cath and I retired to our cabin shortly after 11pm to enjoy a sleep so restful that when we woke up 7 hours later we found ourselves less than 20 minutes from the port of Bari. But even after parting ways with the boys, having spent a pleasant but uninspiring afternoon wxploring the quaint tangle of narrow streets that makes up city's old quarter with them, the tranist continued at a swift, agreeable pace as we immediately found ourselves in the presence of a brace of Australian couples. Initially Alex and Katherine from Perth, then laterly and predominantly Dan and Bronwyn from Sydney, whose company was so delightful that before we knew it we had arrived in Athens.

A 40 hour transit that, if you will excuse the pun, just seemed to sail by.

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Tuesday 26th April 2005

Croatia had not originally been penciled in to the itinerary for our big trip. Infact other than being a very warm place whose football team finished third in the 1998 world cup, we knew very little about the region before deciding to come here. However we are extremely glad that we did. For our visit to the country which bore the inventors of the ball point and fountain pen, the neck tie and the first working parachute was both a surprise and delight.

From the old world regality of our hotel in Opatija, to the unique pebbled formations of Zlatni Rat beach, the serenity of island life on Hvar, Brac and Korcula and the majesty of Dubrovnik's old town, Croatia is a country that captivated us with its beauty, friendliness and cultural diversity. One that we would not hesitate to visit again. Yet with its ever increasing popularity set to bring an even more volumnous influx of tourists it is one that may well struggle to retain its secular sense of magic. So much so that if we ever did come back I seriously doubt if it would be the same.

So all in all it is probably a good thing we decided to come here when we did.

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Monday 25th April 2005

Despite being inundated with a flood of tour groups and tourists it is impossible not to be instantly seduced by Dubrovnik's majestic old town. Nestled gracefully at the foot of Srd Hill, almost exactly halfway between Gruz Harbour and the Cape of Sveti Jakov, the old walled town, a world heritage site, radiates a charm and magic that is simply irresistable. A dreamlike quality that makes you question whether what you are witnessing is actually real.

Accessed through the iconic Pile Gate at the western entrance, or the no less impressive Ploce Gate on the eastern side, the foreboding concrete boundary contains a magnificently preserved fusion of marble paved squares, narrow cobblestone sidestreets and a collection of stunning structure, -churches, palaces, museums-, uniformly built with fine white limestone and topped with striking red tile roofs. A pedestrian zone divided almost equally in two by the Placa, a broad marble paved street lined with cafes, shops and monuments that acts as the area's main artery, Dubrovnik's old town retains the grandiose facade for which it is famous. Infact such is the quality of the restoration work, which used traditional methods and materials where possible, that it is almost impossible to conceive how badly the region was damaged during the war. And how it was damaged.

Of the 200 shells that were fired at the old town between 1991 and 1992, over 560 buildings were hit. All but around 10 were left with gaping holes in their roofs. In addition 9 historic palaces were completely gutted by fire and the wall itself absorbed no less than 111 direct hits. The destruction was so severe, estimated at about US$10 million, that if the fighting had continued for much longer there may well have been nothing left to protect. A sobering thought and one not lost on us as we strolled around the confines of the old town. For if it had of carried on we could well have spent the day looking at Pompeii style ruins now.

With this in mind we really savoured our visits to the old town. Taking the time to wholly appreciate our surroundings and the atmosphere in which it existed. In particular the walk across the length of the Placa, from the famous Onofrio Fountain to the iconic clock tower was compelling. Providing a splendid ground level view of the exquisite and intricately detailed facades of the buildings, as well as an intriguing stage for people watching (or more aptly people dodging!). It truly was an arresting sight and wonderfully showcased the old town's architectural elegance. Yet despite this it was a perspective that only seemed to partially hint at the site's overall magnificence. So to fully experience it we decided to climb up and stroll around the perimeter of the city walls.

It is only when you start to behold the entire span of the old town from a lofted position atop the wall that you finally start to comprehend how beautiful, yet imposing the structure really is. With a circumference that runs for 2km this stone shield, which rises imperceptibly up to 25 metres high, stands between 1.5 to 6 metres thick and is strategically fortified by 15 forts, is an incredible feat of engineering. Built between the 13th and 16th centuries it would have provided an almost impregnable barricade during medieval times. Yet for all its defensive capabilities its most impressive feature is how seemlessly it not only blends into, but enhances the surrounding environment.

Be it against the backdrop of the sky, the hills or the sea, the contrast of the white limestone glistening, and the red tiles roasting in the hot sun, against the brilliant blue and green shades of the natural landscape was simply awe inspiring. A multi dimensional visual masterpiece to rival anything we have seen.

After what Dubrovnik went through in the early 1990s I feel very privileged to be able to say that.

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Sunday 24th April 2005

Our arrival in Dubrovnik represented a significant moment on the European leg of our big trip. Not just because it would be the last city we stayed in before heading off for 5 weeks in Athens and the Greek Islands, but also because the emphasis of this new phase of our trip would change from that of sightseeing to one of soaking up the sun. Consequently with half an eye on this our choice of hotel was very deliberate. In essence we wanted somewhere that provided easy access to the old town and the beach, and most importantly somewhere that was relatively cheap. What we found was the Hotel Sumratin.

On the face of it the property met all our requirements. At 62 euros a night it was cheap, certainly in comparison to its competitors and its location in Lapad, a tranquil suburb that seemlessly integrates residential and tourist accommodation in a peaceful harmony, was just a 10 minute bus ride away from the old town and a 5 minute stroll to the beach. Furthermore as it was supposed to back on to a pedestrian tree lined walkway that hosted a number of restaurants and bars it also promised a variety of options for eating and drinking.

However the reality was far from a rose garden. For our hotel, which had literally just opened for the season on the morning of our arrival, was stumbling into full stride. The central heating system in our television-less room, had yet to kick in. The breakfast buffet provided only half the choice its literature promised and minor cosmetic repairs were still ongoing. However the biggest shock was discovering that the Kralja Zvonimira, the pedestrian tree lined walkway, was undergoing a makeover that turned it into a major work in progress construction site.

With dusty mounds of rubble strewn across a crumbling terrain of drilled asphalt, where planks of wood stretched over deep holes to provide the only way of reaching the other side of what used to be the pavement, the area was more like a war zone than a tourist hang out. It made walking to the beaches a rather treacherous expedition. One that left us slightly on tenterhooks. So much so that when the workmen started their jackhammers and a machine gun roar hit the area, it was all we could do to stop ourselves from diving for cover. Still it was not all doom and gloom. The sun was shining and the beaches turned out to be very nice indeed. Besides we could not get too disgruntled.

For after all in just a couple of days time we would be in Greece.

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Saturday 23rd April 2005

After the horror show that was Wednesday's catamaran ride from Hvar it was considerably heartening to find a big sturdy Jadrolinija ferry waiting at the dock on a calm sunny day, to take us to Dubrovnik.

As it transpired the journey turned out to be very pleasant indeed. As seemless and enjoyable a crossing as Wednesday's had been harrowing and uncomfortable. Whilst basking gratefully on the sundrenched deck at the rear of the vessel we watched serenely for almost 3.5 hours as a series of captivating images unfurled before us. The sensational view of Korcula Town jutting out into the Adriatic. The stunning white, sandy, tamarisk and pine lined coves of Orebic on the Peljesac Peninsula. The bubbling trail of white sea foam stretching out from the back of the ferry and the dense lush landscape of Mljet Island all contrived to render the transit as an extremely compelling experience. So compelling infact that the journey seemed to finish almost as soon as it had started and we actually arrived 30 minutes ahead of schedule.

Formerly known as Ragusa up until 1918 Dubrovnik has long since been revered as a wondrous place to visit. However during the war with Yugoslavia the city and its tourist industry literally took a major hit as more than 2000 shells were launched at it during 12 months of conflict between 1991-92. The historic old town was particularly effected. Thankfully now though much of the urgent restoration work has been completed and travellers have begun to flood back to the area in their droves. Very good news all things considered. For Dubrovnik used to enjoy a fabulous reputation. Byron labelled it 'the pearl of the Adriatic'. George Bernard Shaw called it 'Paradise on earth'. Very high praise indeed.

Over the next few days I look forward to discovering if their opinions are still valid after all these years.

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Friday 22nd April 2005

As if to compound the misery of our catamaran ride from Hvar it rained solidly for most of our first evening in Korcula Town. The kind of infuriating rain that seems to toy with you. When it is too light to really stay indoors but too heavy to stop you from venturing out for too long without getting drenched. The bane of every cricketer's and tennis player's professional life. However once the precipation began to fade, out from behind a dreary sky of grey cloud cover emerged a mustard sun that illuminated the landscape for the rest of our time here.

At 47km long and up to 8km wide Korcula is the sixth largest of the Adriatic Islands. Detached from the Peljeski Channel, it is a lush island rich in vineyards, olive trees and orchards. The kind of place where modern conveniences seem to take a back seat to tradition and culture. Where the locals co-exist in a world of congeniality that turns simple tasks like buying a loaf of bread or posting a letter into a major social event. The kind of place indeed where helpfulness comes as naturally to locals as breathing. Not least in the amiable teenager who walked 300 metres up a hill with us to assist us to find our unmarked accommodation. An especially kind act considering that his sizeable frame suggested that exercising was not his favourite past time.

Korcula Town, the island's biggest town, port, and our base for the duration of our stay holds a terrific setting. With round defensive towers and a neat, yet, cluttered collection of striking red roofed houses situated upon a small jagged peninsula that juts out into the deep azure waters of the Adriatic, it is a photographer's delight. But surprisingly, considering its decent transport links to Hvar Island and the mainlaind, it was one that seemed to attract few visitors at this time of year. Not that we were complaining of course. It is not often when you travel that you get to enjoy a town so beautiful amidst the tranquility it deserves.

Korcula Town's most entrancing feature is its historic walled city which predates the 15th century. Entered through the iconic Veliki Revelin Tower, (the southern land gate), whose grand, wide, white stone steps gracefully enhances an ornate facade resplendent with coats of arms of the Venetian doge and Korculan governers, the old city is a timeless, comely monument to Korcula's past. Containing narrow lanes that lead off from a pedestrian throughway, known as Cathedral Square, which houses a treaure trove of stunning medieval architecture, the old city is full of character and provides an interesting place to wile away an afternoon.

In all our time in Korcula was pretty relaxing, albeit it in a fairly uneventful and stoic environment. Infact aside from visiting the old town or exploring the rocky shoreline there really was nothing much to do. However having said after spending 3 very low key days here I will always remember Korcula two reasons. Firstly, as the birthplace of that intrepid explorer Marco Polo. Not an official fact. Indeed opinions vary widely and theories of where he was born are at best circumstantial. But one which Korculan's fiercely, passionately and proudly propose. And secondly as being the place where we struck up a friendship with a couple of Australian guys called Grant and Charles. The first such bond we have made since we started our big trip back in July last year. Something of which we are acutely ashamed. Still you know what they say.

It is quality that counts.

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Wednesday 20th April 2005

To date our big trip has seen us utilise a wide gamet of transit methods, both through the air, over land and across the sea. Variously we have been on planes, trains, and buses, driven in cars and been transported in cruise ships and ferries. All with varying degrees of comfort and interest. But nothing had prepared us for what we had to endure as we made our way to Korcula Island. The emotional rollercoaster of riding in a catamaran.

At the best of times hurtling across the water at breakneck speed whilst you watch from your window as your eyeline struggles to maintain a clear amount of daylight from the surface must be somewhat unnerving. Particularly if, like us, your relationship with dry land is very much a love-love sort of thing. But when the sea bubbles ferociously below brooding swirls of dark grey clouds it can be a positively harrowing experience.

And so it proved today.

During what turned out to be one of the most emotionally testing hours' of the trip so far we watched helplessly as the vessel gamely fought the Adriatic's punishing assault. Struggling to maintain its course against a vicious and relentless onslaught of angry waves. Tilting so violently from side to side that each side of the vessel's windows took turns to provide a view of the sea that was almost perpendicular. It was a gut wrenching experience. Very much like being in a washing machine or tombola. No fun at all. Infact such was our pleasure at reaching dry land in one piece that as soon as we stepped off the catamaran it was all we could do to restrain ourselves from performing a papal style kissing of the ground.

Still as we made our way to our pension, safely back on dry land, it did not seem so bad after all and we were able to draw some crumb of comfort in the knowledge that it would be a full 3 days until we would have to take to the water again.

More than enough time to restore our faith in sea travel.

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Tuesday 19th April 2005

Even though Cath was holed up in bed for 24 hours with a mild bout of food poisoning after consuming some dodgy pork chops, our stay in Hvar replicated one of those rare travelling situations where everything fell majestically into place. So much so that in retrospect our time in Hvar will figure as somw of the most cherished moments memories of our entire trip.

The principal cause of our overwhelming satisfaction was a trio of factors. The brilliant sunshine, which for the first time in over 5 months of travelling proved warm enough to wander around in short sleeve t-shirts. The island's breathtaking landscape, with dark patches of green intersected by a wonderful tapestry of lavender, rosemary and heather, and the positioning and excellence of our hotel.

Located in a secluded cove about 500 metres from Hvar's quaint harbour the Hotel Amphora was a pleasant surprise. A well established resort hotel replete with a 25 metre indoor swiming pool, private beach, gym, sauna, restaurant and bar, our accommodation combined all the amenities we could wish for with the major benefits of travelling during the off peak season. Namely at half the cost and amidst a wholesome and becalmed atmosphere, with no rampaging toddlers or raucous teenagers to shatter the peace. However its most arresting feature was undoubtedly the splendid balcony attached to our room that provided a fantastic place to sit and enjoy the breathtaking view that lay in front of us. Where the deep blue waters of the Adriatic shimmered brightly around a brace of small islands densely decorated with a cloak of dark green foliage. Something we spent many lazy hours admiring.

Hvar Town itself is very small. So small infact that none of the streets had any names. Yet as the area predates the 13th century it holds a number of architectural points of interest for tourists. Not least the imposing Fortress Spanjol which sits regally on a hill above the harbour and the Trg Sveti Stjepana, the main town square which at 4500 square metres is one of the largest in Dalmatia. However none of this really seemed to float our boat and we spent most of our time enjoying the relative luxuries that our hotel had to offer. Straying only occasionally to explore some of the invitingly remote, rocky beaches that lead off from the seaside promenade that stretched from the harbour, past our hotel, as far as the eye could see. Against the brilliant sunshine and pale blue sky we were not really inclined to do anything else.

Besides with such an awesome view to enjoy from our balcony, we did not really need to.

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Saturday 16th April 2005

Ordinarily for me the day after a particularly enjoyable birthday is a bit of an anti-climax and I tend to meander through the following 24 hours with an over-riding sense of flatness and lacklustre. However this year had always promised to be different. Not least because I knew that we would be travelling on our big trip. And so it turned out to be, for today was a rather special day of its own accord. We were heading to Hvar Island.

Birthplace of Ivan Vucetic (1858-1925) inventor of finger print identification, Hvar is best known for being the warmest and greenest of Croatia's islands. With more than 300 days of sunshine per year it is a reputation that seems entirely justified. So it is hardly surprising that the region, which is often referred to as 'Croatia's Madiera', is the country's most popular island getaway.

Surprisingly we were unable to catch a direct ferry to Hvar from Brac Island, despite there only being a couple of miles distance between the two. So instead we had to undertake the rather protracted process of taking a ferry to Split before catching a connecting ferry from the mainland to Hvar. A somewhat logic defying proposition considering the close proximity between the two islands.

However one, on what turned out to be such a clear, beautiful sunny day, that turned out to be very, very pleasant indeed.

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Friday 15th April 2005

Whenever you see pictures of Croatia's more arresting sights the chances are that one image in particular will stick in your mind. A protruding sliver of beach, shaped like a tongue, that extends into the perfect blue waters of the Adriatic for almost 500 metres. This is Zlatni Rat. The most famous beach in the country and thus the perfect place to spend the afternoon of my birthday.

Located near the town of Bol, which if Brac Island's landscape was to be used as a loose rectangular style mould for a clock face would be situated at the 6, the bus from Supetar, which itself would be at 11, provided a fascinating insight into island life. Passing through a series of sleepy hamlets and tranquil villages amidst a lush meditteranean terrain of pines, maquis and rough crags that slope dramatically onto the rocky shoreline, the route wonderfully showcased the island's breathtaking natural beauty. Furthermore as children as young as 7 or 8 were being transported without supervision to and from school it also provided a heart warming conveyance of the secure, unsinister environment that they are growing up in. They would never be allowed to do this is London, New York or even, I suspect, Zagreb. Such is the potential for danger they would face. It is a traversty really. One that is indicative of big city life today.

After an hour and 20 minute journey bus journey, which would have been substantially longer had it not been for a kindly young fellow who directed us to change onto a connecting, waiting bus, (an act for which we will be eternally grateful), we arrived in Bol shortly after 1.30pm. Instantly we were transfixed. Out of season, with its small harbour full of fishing boats, slumbering ambience and quaint backstreets, the town centre resonates a seductive appeal that is at once full of character, charm and tranquility. In season on the other hand, when tourists and watersports lovers descend in their droves to shatter its peace and clog up its throughways it must be a sheer, tormenting, maddening hell. That is except for the restaurant and shop owners who must make an absolute fortune.

Although you would never guess it from its appearance Bol possesses a number of resort style hotels. But as most of them are hidden within a pine forest that is set back from a 2km promenade walk which overlooks and leads from the town centre to the beach, the town planners, to their credit, seem to have devised a successful formula that maximises tourism whilst preserving the essence of the landscape. It works very well and should be used as a blueprint for all major tourist beachside hotspots the world over.

It was from the shaded promenade walk that a gap in between 2 leafy trees provided us with our first glimpse of the famous beach. It was immediately entrancing. Not least as there was virtually noone on it. In an instant we left the promenade, climbed down a nearby stairwell and approached the beach from ground level.

After perhaps 20 minutes of jovially clambouring over rocks and trudging through coves we eventually reached the start of the main body of Zlatni Rat's famous feature, with a heightened sense of pleasure. Surveying its beauty which was lamented by the solemnity bourne from its almost total absence of patrons (we counted less then 10 people in total, most of whom were a good 300 yards away), the beach was even better than it had looked from our vantage point on the promenade. For more than 2 hours we cocooned ourselves in a dream like state revelling in the radiant sun, marvelling at the translucent ripples of the sea, the breathtaking views of the neighbouring hills and the heavenly solitude we found ourselves in. We ate a home made picnic lunch, skimmed stones off the water's surface and even gained some (more) colour.

It was a fantastic day. And a fantastic way to spend my birthday.

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Wednesday 13th April 2005

If you were to pick 100 random British people in London and asked them to name an island in the Meditteranean the chances are that they would say somewhere in Spain or Greece. None I suspect would mention any of the one's in Croatia. Yet as strange as this response may seem, they would be perfectly correct if they did so.

Although the Croatian riviera is very impressive it is the islands that receive most of the plaudits. It is virtually impossible to find any tourist information without seeing or hearing reference to them. Having been fortunate enough to have previously visited the likes of Ibiza, Mallorca, Crete and Lesvos I had developed, ever since we arrived in the country, a strong interest in experiencing what their Croatian counterparts were like. So much so that after a relaxing week in the pleasant coastal towns of Opatija and Sibenik the thought of honouring our original plan of spending a couple of days in the bustling city of Split was just too overwhelming. Consequently no sooner had we arrived in the city after a 2 hour bus ride then we decided, that even though it meant missing out on visiting Diocletian's Palace, we would leave Split straight away to catch the first connecting ferry on to Brac Island.

Lying just one tantalising hour away from the mainland, Brac Island is the largest island in the Central Dalmatia region, measuring over 40km in length and 12km in width. Although you may not have heard of the island itself, or even be able to locate it on a map, you will however be familiar with its main export. The illustrious white stone that was used to build not only the Diocletian Palace in Split, but also the White House in Washington D.C. With 2 major resorts, year round ferry connections and over 2700 hours of sunshine per anum Brac Island is extremely popular with tourists in high season. Particularly for those with a penchant for windsurfing or diving. But out of season, away from the tourist rampages that the summer brings, it exudes the kind of sleepy small town stoaicism that one expects from island life.

As we arrived in Supetar, the main town and transport hub of the island, this soon became evident. For after the ferry's docking was welcomed by virtually the entire island's population, we found ourselves as the only guests in our hotel. A mid ranged property that our guidebook, Lonely Planet, had quite rightly given a favourable review. Not that we were complaining mind you as it was very nice to have the hotel staff, for all intents and purposes, waiting solely on us. A privilege that made us feel rather like movie stars, though not one that we overly abused.

With very little to offer in the way of sights Supetar's main focal point is its harbour and it is here that we spent most of our time during our stay, perusing the shops or people watching from the comfort of our seat on the patio's of one of the many restaurant bars where we drank tea. It may not have been as frenetic or even as exciting as the time we would have had in Split, but with the sun shining brightly and the locals displaying an infectious air of contentment, we knew undeniably that we had made the right choice in coming here. If this is what island life is about then it is something we could definitely get used to.

It is the perfect environment for a holiday home.

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Tuesday 12th April 2005

Aside from providing a more pleasant alternative to undertaking a 7 hour bus journey to Split the main reason for our coming to Sibenik was to use it as a base for visiting Krka National Park. Situated some 10km or so north of Sibenik, Krka National Park is a scintilating containment of rocky cliffs, shimmering lakes, dense woodland, dark caves and deep chasms, as well as a number of notable cultural landmarks. However its most famous feature is without doubt its waterfall and it was this majestic wonder that we had come to see.

As often occurs when you travel out of season, even to the more popular tourist attractions, transport links can be much more relaxed. This was certainly the case today when, having rolled into the depot 10 minutes after a bus had just left, we found out much to our annoyance that we would have to wait another 1.5 hours until the next one departed. Thankfully though after a couple of teas, a delicious piece of cake and a session of checking emails, the time seemed to elapse fairly quickly.

For such a short distance and time frame the 30 minute bus journey was a real eye opener. Even though we only travelled about 10km the road took us deep into an arid desert land not to dissimilar from that of Nevada or Utah. Much of which, with small clusters of decrepid smashed up abandoned houses, resembled a war zone. As the bus ventured deeper into this inhospitable terrain we began to wonder where we would end up, particularly when we saw locals being being dropped off seeemingly in the middle of nowhere. With no buildings at all in immediate view we wondered where they could be possibly heading for and the only explanation we could come up with was that they were about to embark on an aboriginal style walkabout. So it was amidst a welcome sense of relief when the bus eventually reached the town of Skradin and we found it to be a homely, sleepy community with a small picture perfect harbour and conveniences like restaurants and coffee shops.

After a quick cup of tea we took a 25 minute boat transfer along a stunning gorge of jagged cliffs, lush woodland and placid emerald water we eventually arrived at Krka National Park. Almost straight away the distant rumblings of the tenacious cascade informed us that the journey had not been in vein. For we were about to witness something truly special.

Originating from the mighty Krka River which extends for 72.5km, the waterfall, otherwise known as Skradinski Buk, is an incredible natural phenomenon. Covering 17 steps, across a span of 800m, that descends from a height of 46 metres, the sheer awesome power of the water, which at the last tier gushes at a rate of 55 cubic metres per second is truly electrifying. The sound of the deafening roar alone is so scintilating that it makes your hair literally stand on end. But coupled with the sight of the rampaging water fizzing violently down each slope the vista is simply awe-inspiring.

For more than 90 minutes we marvelled at the sheer magnificence of the waterfall as we strolled along the path that sneaked around it, taking in its splendour whilst rueing our bad luck that the water in the lake at the bottom tier was too cold to swim in. Still as we would have probably had to of shared it with scores of people it was a small sacrifice to make. Instead we settled for the privilege of revelling in our discovery of yet another fantastic dimension to this wonderful and beautiful country.

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Sunday 10th April 2005

Some champion mountains. Others may say the stars. Even canyons, meadows and glaciers might get a mention. But to us there can be no more captivating natural vista than that of a rugged, beautiful coastaline. In this respect Croatia certainly does not disappoint.

Under normal circumstances having to spend more than 5 hours on a bus in transit is an experience about as pleasurable to me as having your wisdom teeth removed without an anasthetic. But on this occasion as the route from Opatija superbly showcased the stunning contrast between the Adriatic's magnificent tapestry of blues and greens and a series of ragged cliffs, timeless fishing villages and secluded coves, the resulting scenic views proved so mesmerising that before we knew it we had arrived at our next destination.

Located roughly halfway down Croatia's coast, Sibenik is a pleasant community of around 40,000 residents. With only one hotel the town can hardly be refered to as a tourist hotspot, which considering the area was heavily shelled by the Yugoslav Federal Army in the conflict that followed Croatia's declaration of independence in 1991, is no real surprise. However with the soldiers long gone and no visable architectural damage to be seen, or dangers to encounter, tourists are slowly begining to trickle back. If not in their droves then certainly in their pairs as we were just two of a number of couples who seemed to be enjoying Sibenik's new found tranquility.

The town itself has a dearth of bona fida sights to see. There is of course, like seemingly in every town in Europe, a number of notable churches and a rather striking cathedral, but after a while, when you have been on the road as long as we have, they all tend to look the same. However its intriguing lay out, with a pedestrian old town, complete with narrow Venetian style sidestreets, that crawl up a hill from a charming Dawson's Creek-esque harbour that sits within a large picturesque bay, does provide a comely environment to explore for a couple of days. However as the town centre's sole hotel is located by the water the harbour is where most of the action takes place.

The term 'action' it has to be said should be taken as relative for although there are no loud disco's or rowdy bars in the vicinity there is a vibrant coffee scene. So vibrant infact that all the locals seemed to do all day is sit on the patio's of the various establishments that line the waterfront, sipping beverages, whilst watching sailing boats go by. I am not sure if they actually have jobs, and if they do not then how they can afford to do this all day, but I can't say I blame them. For when one evening we witnessed the brilliant orange sun set whilst drinking a cup of tea we quickly realised that the things you often take for granted are exactly the things that make life so great.

Having lost 3 years of their social lives during the conflict with the Yugoslav Federal Army the locals have alot of catching up to do.

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Saturday 9th April 2005

Hands up if you have ever heard of Opatija? No I did not think so.

Contrary to what it may sound like Opatija is not some kind of teenage miracle cream for zits but is infact a picturesque coastal town in North West Croatia, which after a 2.5 hour train journey from Ljubljana, and a 13km bus ride from the neighbouring town of Rijeka, served as our next port of call.

Despite my complete ignorance as to its existence up until a couple of days ago Opatija has a long history of being a popular seaside resort. Up until World War II it was a frequent haunt for senior members of the Austro-Hungarian empire and even now it attracts a steady trickle of German bus tours. It is not all that difficult to see why. Situated at the top of the eastern side of the Istrian Peninsula, upon a leafy hillside dominated by grandiose hotels that overlook the shimmering blue water of Rijecki Bay, Opatija enjoys a stunning setting and a distinctly stately air. For a short break, off season, from any big noisy city, its sleepy ambience provides the perfect place to get away from it all.

Feeling a little sick of big cities we originally detoured to Opatija partly to avoid visiting Zagreb and partly to experience the sensational coastal views from the celebrated Lungomare, a 12km waterfront promenade that lines the Gulf of Kvarner. But as much of our time here was spent under a cadaverous grey skyless cloud the latter was not something we were able to enjoy at great length. However as this meant that we got to spend more time within the confines of our hotel it was not the greatest disaster to ever befall us.

Sitting imperiously on a crag filled with palm trees the Hotel Opatija was a welcome throw back to the good old days of the 1920s. With its long carpeted high ceilinged halls, elegant chandeliers and palatial facade we felt like we had stumbled into an Agathe Christie novel and as we ambled around its plush interior we half expected to bump into the likes of Hercule Poiret and a sprinkling of distinguished members Europe's aristocractic elite. For 3 days we took full advantage of the luxuries that lay before us, enjoying long dips in the hotel's inviting indoor heated swimming pool, dining on good quality food in its plush and spacious restaurant and drinking copious amounts of tea on one of the wickedly comfortable overstuffed chairs that lie in the vicinity of the bar.

It was pure heaven. A real treat. And for only 58 euros a night, gave us an affordable taste of how the other half live.

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Wednesday 6th April 2005

It is not often that one can claim to have been in three capital cities in one day but this is what happened to us as we made our way from Budapest, via a brief stop at Zagreb train station to Ljubljana.

Slovenia's capital is one of those places you instantly warm to. A mercurial city, big enough to house a population of 280k people, about the size of Cardiff, Arhus or Graz, yet small enough to exude a similar principality feel to that of Monaco, Ljubljana's vibe is more in keeping with the third or fourth city in a country and not its capital. Nonetheless it is a quirk that only serves to accentuate the city's considerable charm.

Although hardly crammed with attractions its hillside castle and picturesque old town provided interesting excursions for our first afternoon in Ljubljana. But with over 50,000 students attending its university the city's main appeal was its relaxed, laid back, convivial way of life. Essentially one big campus, Ljubljana, like any university dominated city has a young at heart feel. So it was with no little relief when we were not treated as being too old, or more satisfyingly, too untrendy to belong. For this pleasure we spent most of our time here emulating the students busy schedules of missing lectures to go window shopping, drinking in coffee houses and generally loitering around the town centre. Activities that took me fondly back to my own students days.

How I ever managed to get a masters degree I will never know!

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Sunday 3rd April 2005

After spending a couple of days exploring the many architectural delights of Pest, including the unashamedly patriotic Heroes Square, St Stephen's Basilica, the largest church in Budapest and the indomitable neo-gothic Parliament building, we decided to focus our energy for the rest of our time here to visiting Buda.

Of the 9 structures that span the Danube to link the historic district of Buda with the more commercial district of Pest, the finest is undoubtedly the iconic Szechenyi Chain Bridge. The brainchild of one William Tierney Clark, an English designer and Adam Clark, a Scottish engineer, the bridge, which was the first permanant bridge to cross the Danube, is replete with magnificence and offers fantastic views of both areas. However the one thing that it does not prepare you for is the fact that the more interesting part of Buda is, in essence, very hilly. Having spent our time up till now exclusively within the billiard table that is Pest, Buda's craggy location came as quite a shock and as we made our way up the steep staircase to its medieval Castle District, muscles that had gone into early retirement, suddenly and painfully announced their existence to us.

The Castle Hill district is quite unique. Especially considering that it contains no existing traces of a castle whatsoever. What it does possess though is a number of other notable buildings. These include the rather unloved but nonetheless stunning Royal Palace which, having been demolished and rebuilt no less than 31 times since the 15th century now seemes exclusively to house several museums. The spanking Matthias Church with its striking neo-gothic tower and multi coloured tiled roof. The ornate equestrian statue of St Stephen, Hungary's first king, who died in 1038, and the sensational Fisherman's Bastian, an exceedingly beautiful neo-gothic structure, which now offers superb views of Pest and the Parliament building. However by far and away its most arresting feature is its spellbinding Labyrinth.

Considering that Cath discovered it on her previous visit here 6 years ago, but yet there had been no mention of it at all in either our guidebook or the literature we received from the tourist office the Labyrinth seems to be a well kept secret. But for those who are lucky enough to stumble across it, they quickly discover that it is quite a find.

Situated 16 metres below ground level the Labyrinth is a 1200 metre long complex of caves that are connected by a network of spooky and dimly lit tunnels. With ghostly muffled groans eminating from ominous vacuums of blinding darkness traversing the Labyrinth is not for the faint hearted, and as you shuffle past the life size stone statues that stand guard in each passageway, your mind can't help but recall every episode of Scooby Doo you watched as a child. So much so that it becomes impossible not to cast an anxious gaze on the figures without wondering whether their eyes will move. However once you manage to rein in your neurosis you soon realise that the Labyrinth is not just a rather intriguing experience but also a wonderful man made construction which during medieval times proved an important and effective method of defence, particularly against those of a fragil nerve.

A concept we had fun testing on each other by jumping out from dark corners and loudly shouting 'Boo!'

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Friday 1st April 2005

March had been a very hectic month. Eleven destinations in four countries had seen us cover quite a bit of distance. There had been many highs, and a couple of lows, and we were still having an amazing time. But lately our nomadic existence had begun to take its toll. Over the last couple of days we had started to feel a listlessness that was negatively effecting our desire to sightsee. What we needed was a day of total relaxation. To completely invigorate our bodies and minds. So it came as a flash of inspiration when we hit upon the idea of spending the day at the Szechneyi Baths.

Of the strong Turkish influence in Budapest's architecture and lifestyle, which stems directly from the country's 160 year occupation of the city between 1526 and 1686, without a doubt the most appealing facet is the thermal springs. In my opinion the greatest pleasure you can bestow upon yourself, apart from listening to a Guns n' Roses or LA Guns CD, there can be no better way of rejuvenating weary limbs, or refreshing one's mind, than a long soak in such a warm liquid heaven. It is no coincidence to me, but with half a dozen or so thermal baths dotted around the capital it is no wonder that Budapest's residents are so serene.

Our day at Szechenyi Baths was exactly what the doctor ordered. Located in Pest's City Park the establishment is a huge palatial complex containing 9 pools, a sauna, steam room, massage area and one particularly uncongenial tub of deathly cold water. However its most appealing feature was that it was full of locals of all ages. A warming mix of shy, spotty teenagers, free spirited forty somethings and worldly wise pensioners. There were hardly any tourists around. Perhaps only one in twenty of people were from a foreign land. But instead of feeling conspicious their absence only served to heighten our experience as it felt like we were enjoying something most travellers to Budapest do not get to do.

After a quick evaluation of what the locals were doing it quickly became apparent that the correct protocol was to visit the various pools in a kind of orderly circuit. Starting with no more than 20 minutes in the 38 degree celcius luxury of the magnificent outdoor pool, where elderly men in swimming caps played chess on boards near the edge of the pool, etiquette degreed that one should move indoors to the 35 degree celcius pool filled with soothing minerals. After a ten to fifteen minute soak here one should then spend an additional ten to fifteen minutes sitting in the adjacent 37 degree celcius pool before submerging themselves for as long as they could bear it, usually no more than three seconds, in the 16 degree celcius cold water tub. Having done this, the process should be repeated again and again, in between quick detours to the sauna.

Well after almost three hours of this I excited the building a new man. The whole endeavour had been simply incredible. Such was the pleasurable sensation of the various warm pools that throughout our time here my body sang happy show tune style songs to outline its overwhelming happiness at its current state of well being. That is until I plunged manfully, albeit foolhardily into the freezing cold pool whereupon its manner quickly changed to a mortified cry of 'Hey Spencer, what the hell do you think your playing at?'.

Despite being the singularly most unpleasant thing you can make your body do, apart from maybe forcing yourself to go to a Celine Dion concert, wadding into the icy chill of the cold water tub was surprisingly rewarding. For after a couple of seconds of feeling like our lungs were about to burst and that our skin was being pecked at by a thousand ravenous piranas we soon became emmersed with an overwhelming feeling of invigoration and joy, like the endorfin rush that Scotland supporters must get when their football team wins a corner.

All in all it was a fantastic experience and as our blood circulatory system kicked into overdrive we really felt as if we were alive.

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