Croatia, eh?
5 days of in-jokes, quotes, obnoxiousness and awesome. It’s gonna be long…
(Let’s turn this into a story with pictures. The photos are here!)
Day 1 (Saturday)
A typical Friday evening is had by all parties, so we meet at lunchtime at the Uppsala train station stifling yawns, nursing miiiiiild hangovers. I’ve been awake since about 8am, unable to sleep, excited like a kid on Christmas Day. There are 5 of us: Taco (Jacob) from NZ, Katelyn of Canadia and Emma, Lloyd and I make up the Australian contingent. We jump on a train to Stockholm. I start eating a sandwich, apparently in the most amusing fashion Emma has ever witnessed and we collectively piss ourselves laughing for far too long. We’re already obnoxious tourists and we haven’t even left the country. We’re flying Ryanair, which means another 1.5hrs on the bus out to Skavsta Airport, a trip which sees the couple sitting in front of us get up and move to the front of the bus. Ahh, our bad? Killing time and hunger, the boys attack an abandoned bag of cheeseballs, whilst I get clucky over any child under the age of 5. Mannnnn, if I had a dollar for every time I squealed “ooohhhhh muffin!” on that trip…
In the air sleep proves elusive and two empty, miniature bottle of gin to the back of the head alert me to the fact that Lloyd and Taco have started drinking. Em and I nab a couple of mini Baileys and suddenly air travel ain’t so bad. We touch down in Zadar (having at least doubled our air fares), smiling in the balmy air that greets us as we walk across the tarmac. Waiting for the bus into town, the boys discover the overpriced airport beers are $3. The bus trip is decidedly merry. At the terminal we buy our tickets for a bus to Split after it was supposed to have left, it instead arriving 5 mins later. We love this country already. We grab seats up the back, but I’m restless as hell and can’t sit still. Em and Katelyn are sleeping, Taco’s trying to not piss his pants, Lloyd’s raving and I’m fidgeting. Good trip. Around 10 we pull into Split earlier than anticipated (another tick in the win column for Croatia), find our hostel in the historical/old town bit and discover the receptionist is at a bar. Cool. She’s drunk, checks us in without any of the usual red tape and we follow her back to the bar, grabbing pizza on the way. Cool. We sink pints until close, then follow other backpackers to some club across town, encountering some dick of a taxi driver along the way. It’s a shit club, populated mainly by dudes who look 30+, but they’re shouting drinks, so it’s all good. It’s super good when Soulwax’s NY Lipps comes on and we dance like idiots for ages. Finally we depart, stopping to muck around (and plank) in a playground. Taco and I have an argument about the difference between an ocean and a sea. 5am, head hits the pillow, out like a light.
Day 2 (Sunday)
Ugh, 9am, wake up, gotta leave to catch a ferry. For some reason I’m in a shitty mood and I accidentally leave without returning my key. We’re just in time at the ferry terminal and it leaves just as we get on board. Why is everything in this country working out for us? An hour or two later we dock on the island of Hvar and jump straight on the bus to Hvar, the “city”. We find the dude whose apartment/villa thingy we’re staying in, squish into his car and are driven up the hill that overlooks town. The apartment is small, simple and has an awesome view. We dump our gear, lie in the sun then descend into the town for food. Lunch in the sun at an Italian restaurant in the main square hits the spot. We hit the supermarket (champagne and lollies) then hike back up to the house. Some ominous looking clouds have rolled in, but Lloyd, Katelyn and I decide to go try and find a beach. We find a “beach” down past a resort; concrete jetties, sun lounges and freakishly blue sea. The wind has picked up, there are sea urchins and swimming suddenly isn’t so enticing. Lloyd makes it in, whilst I lie on the jetty getting just as wet from the waves that have cropped up suddenly. We retreat home for nanna naps, rising a few hours later to play a few cheeky drinking games before dinner. We hit up the supermarket to resupply then check out every restaurant in town, finally settling on a nice looking place we’d never even consider in Sweden. The main selling point is that they serve taquitos (“I want some taquitos”). (I should point out that til now we have been quoting the Simpsons ad nauseum. The quoting does not abait. Ever.). We sit outside, watching it rain, drinking cocktails, eating good food. So much Croatia love. We hit another bar, then traipse back up the hill to escape the wet and get our drink on. Circle of Death is our game of choice (like King’s Cup, but without the stupid cup in the middle. Man, I hate that game), and we make fauxjitos (our version of mojito with dark rum, sprite, lemon and mint. Surprisingly good), whilst also watching Deep Impact dubbed in German. We’re having stupid amounts of fun and next thing four of us have demolished 7 bottles of champagne and a bottle of rum. Well, that explains the merriment. Someone, probably Lloyd, suggests a cheeky trip down the road to use the pool at the resort near the beach. Genius. Katelyn elects to stay home whilst the rest of us march down the road, expecting to climb a fence, but instead walk through a wide open gate. We wade into the water in our undies, the epitome of stealth (at least, in our heads). I see a light turn on in a room by the pool deck and we freeze. After a while we realise it’s just a screensaver on a compute, relax, and head for the waterslide. At some point we’re trying to climb up the slide when we’re overcome with sudden paranoia that someone is watching us from above (I’m sure there’s a helicopter). We flatten ourselves against the bottom of the slide, forgetting the fact that our voices are echoing like crazy and we’re about as subtle as a kick in the crotch. Again we’re just being paranoid. Naked watersliding is suggested. Turns out to be the fastest way to go down the slide. Eventually we head home, Em dead certain we were being watched back at the pool. Before bed we realise we all independently feel that someone is missing, even Katelyn, who is completely sober and stayed back at the house. Odd. We all describe a similar person. Seriously odd. We christen him Steve, freak out for a little longer that we’ve all imagined the same guy… then crash.
Day 3 (Monday)
10am, we’ve overslept. We’re supposed to be out at 10. We have a ferry to catch. We’re hungover. It’s pissing down rain. Bleurgh. In town we discover there isn’t another bus for 2 hours and the afternoon ferry doesn’t leave til 4 or something. I step in every puddle Hvar has to offer. We wander up and down the aisles of the two local supermarkets. I buy tartare sauce and a slab of bread that’ll end up lasting me 2 days. I also invest in the first pack of those silly bands things. I’ll admit that I’m easily enticed by bright colours. We jump on a bus and take the windiest (like, curvy, not breezy) and scariest drive I’ve ever been on. None seem to be struggling as much as Lloyd, who is threatening to spew. The bus nearly causes two collisions and I’m plagued with visions of the bus launching off the edge of a cliff. Finally we pull up in Starri Grad, Lloyd magically appears next to a tree in the carpark and proceeds to projectile munt his guts out. It’s almost a thing of beauty. Rarely have I, or the others, laughed so hard. We wander into the town centre, I step in more and more puddles. The words “fucking Hvar” are uttered with increased frequency. No cafe is really grabbing us, until Jesus emerges from an alleyway and offers to take us to his cafe. Seems legit… Actually, it is legit. We eat good food (awesome seafood risotto) and laugh at “rump steak slap slap” and the local drunk chef. As has become tradition, we head to the local supermarket, checking out what brekky cereals are most beloved by the Croats. Back on the street we try to avoid the creepy, drooly, rabies-y dogs, then head to a playground. I’m having hysterical fun. Another trip to the supermarket (I cave and buy cookie crunch cereal. My god, it’s not actually that good, but rivals heroin in its addictiveness), then to the bus stop. We make it to the ferry and play round after round of uno. Back in Split we hit up the tourist markets and buy more wrist bands, hoping to obtain the elusive glow in the dark ones. We check back into the Booze n Snooze, grab some pizza and find a quiet bar. We have grown up conversations that aren’t laden with in-jokes and innuendo. Wwwwweeeeiirrddd. After 1am the only place that seems to be open is a strip club with an overpriced cover charge so we head back to the hostel, but not before I fall down a some stairs on the super slippery tiles. Goddamn.
Day 4 (Tuesday)
Wake up feeling dandy. How novel. Shower for the first time in days. We wander around, cursing the huge number of old people tourists that all seemed to have arrived at once out of the blue… or maybe it’s just that we’re actually out and about being touristy during the day. We breakfast at a cafe, willing the rain away. Em’s muesli turns out to be the most elaborately served thing I’ve seen in a longgg time. We tourist, we shop, we hit the supermarket (of course) and then we Split (aaaaaaaaahahahhaha yeah), i.e. we jump on a bus and haul arse back up to Zadar. Claiming the backseat once again, we devour pringles, coke, cookie crunch and gummi lollies. Nutritious, delicious. Conversation is once again oddly mature, ranging from learning to drive to good showers we’ve had and foods we miss from home. A healthy dose of Simpsons quotes and Lloyd falling backwards off his seat balance out the adult factor. We pull into the Zadar bus terminal, quickly locate the bus that’ll take us to the old town (by now we’ve started calling Croatia the ‘country of requirement’) and I receive the dirtiest looks from two teenage girls. You’d think I’d axe murdered Edward Cullen and given Justin Bieber AIDS or something. Psht. Anyway. Zadar is sunny. Zadar is hot. Zadar is pretty. Zadar is awesome. In our search for the hostel we pass numerous street drinkers and bars, then find ourselves at the water’s edge, where our plans for the evening become very apparent. Drinkswimdrinkeatdrink? Yyyyyeaaaaahhh, everything’s coming up Milhouse. We drop our gear at the hostel and make our way back to the waterfront, planking and obtaining hideously cheap beer from the newsagent/milk bar en route. Lloyd and I jump in the Adriatic in our undies, receiving many a look of bemusement and amusement from passers by. I float around with my beer, stupidly content, but soon it’s time to see what Zadar can give us to eat. We grab more roadies then wander around the restaurants, indecisive as ever, but eventually settle on a place that does fish and chips (harking back to our conversation about foods we miss earlier in the day). Feeling… spirited… we jump to the pub next door, grab drinks, yell in unison at people with good pizza and accidentally do a runner (which we rectify soon after. There’s a difference between convictitude and being shit). The next bar has cool music. The bar after that has cheap cocktails, huge straws and shag carpet on the walls. The bar after that sees us playing drinking games and I try to wash my hands in a urinal. Hi, Mum. 1am. Bars close. Em and Katelyn head home. Lloyd, Taco and I sit in the middle of the street, playing more games, making friends. We make our way to a club on the other side of the river. I don’t remember much from here on in, but I just remember everything being weird. The club doesn’t serve beer, so we drink vodka. That alone is retarded. How old are these people? Why do you hate English speakers so much? Damn straight we’re speaking shit Swedish. Is that the police? Suddenly we’re not at the club anymore and we’re wandering the streets, kicking my purse around. Back at the hostel someone has nicked my bed. I nick someone else’s bed. Aaand I’m out like a light.
Day 5 (Wednesday)
Wake up disoriented. Do I want to come to the waterfall park? Ughhhh yeah sure whatever. What happened to last night? Dress, pack, supermarket (of course). It’s going to be a beautiful day in Zadar, but we’re cramming into a minibus to go to Plitvice Lakes National Park. For 2 hours we try and sleep off hangovers, but it’s a futile effort and when we arrive a few of us present a definitive depiction of struggle. It’s cold, overcast and we appear to be the youngest people there, but Em’s been excited about this for a while, so we rally and trudge down to the ferry. Aaaaand we end up spending the afternoon amongst some of the most beautiful scenery I’ve ever seen. We mosey along boardwalks checking out these seeeeriously coool and amazing waterfalls, cursing the old people and the ‘no swimming’ signs. It’s one of those things you can’t really write about (well, if you’re an uncreative, lazy specimen like yours truly), you just need to see it. Seriously, chuck it on your bucket list. 3.30pm we pile back into the minivan and hurtle down the road towards the airport. Or so we think. Out of the blue the driver (who pretty much speaks no English) pulls up behind a few shops. Next to us is a fenced enclosure with two big brown bears. Okaaaaay. Behind it is a dilapidated, Soviet-esque factory. Apparently the restaurant is filled with taxidermy stuff. Yeah, this seems legit. Thankfully we make it to the airport without any more bear-stops. Zadar airport is bathed in sunshine, so we lie on the concrete soaking it up, killing time. We play uno and eye off some stupidly tanned, stupidly attractive Swedes. Our plane is early. Country of Requirement, you magical bastard. I plank on the tarmac and cut my knee. I regret nothing. One of the flight attendants introduces herself as Barbara Streisand and ends every announcement with “OooooOooOooooOoooOoOoOoooh” (you know how it goes). We land in Sweden and everything turns shit. Why did we leave Croatia? Em gets held up at passport control. The boys make one bus, but Em, Katelyn and I wait half an hour for the next one to leave. We miss the train back to Uppsala. It’s cold and we’re dressed in shorts. We sit in Maccas, contemplating how we can kill time in Stockholm before we realise we can take a bus to another airport, then get another bus. Joy. We pull into Uppsala around 4am. I limply bid farewell to the others and trudge home in the ridiculous brightness that is Swedish mornings approaching summer. I fall into my room and check my watch. 4.30am. I’ve been in transit for 13 hours. Croatia’s over. I survived. Well then, that was something.
I read back over this and it seems like the trip was simply a 5 day piss-up. Yeah, it was sort of, but not every trip is about being super touristy or immersing yourself in a new culture or seeing every sight. These are all good, but sometimes it’s nice to party hardy (yes I just wrote that). I had such a ridiculously good time and would do it again. And again and again. And again and again and again. (And there ends the paragraph in which I try to justify this whole thing to my mum).
