After much deliberation last night, we decided to move on eastwards to Lake Garda. We nearly had a last minute change of heart, as whilst we were showering, there was a sudden exiting of the campsite, and as we sat eating our breakfast, we were the only ones left in our row, having been virtually full over the weekend. Clearly the Italians come away to Venice for a weekend break, too. But having half packed up ready to leave, we decided to continue, and move on.

We had forgotten how foul the Italian roads are, having been lulled into a state of false security in Croatia and Slovenia. Come to think of it, the toilets without seats or no toilet paper, and no soap to wash your hands, had also faded into our distant memories – but then the penny dropped – we were definitely back in Italy. I guess Venice is an exception to the rule, being so reliant on their tourist market, but once out of Venice and it’s environs, it was business as usual. We did, however, notice a stark difference between these parts of northern Italy, and the norm further south. Here the streets are clean and well kept. There is no rubbish lying around, and if it is, it is quickly cleared away. There is clearly much more wealth in this part of the country. The miles upon miles of olive groves have given way to rich pasture and arable land, and plenty of vineyards.

Our drive along the motorway past Padua and Gerona was grotesque. It was wall to wall with lorries trundling along the main artery route out of Croatia, Slovenia and Northern Italy. I took to reading, since I couldn’t bear to watch the road, but just after lunchtime we arrived at Lake Garda. We are staying at the southern end of the Lake, near Sirmione. Since we were in good time, we opted to take a look around the ancient town of Sirmione, which sits on a narrow peninsula jutting out into the southern shores of the lake.

In my guide book, it tells me that Sirmione is the prettiest of the towns bordering Lake Garda. It has walls and fortifications that date back to the 13th century.

When we arrived, we couldn’t believe the crowds! Bearing in mind it was a Monday lunchtime in late April, we were stunned by the numbers of tourists. First pass by the car park, we were waved on since it was supposedly full, but when we returned five minutes later, the attendant waved us in, and we parked up next to the Big Whites, which absolutely dwarfed us.

We then had a pleasant wander around the town, stopping for pizza and salad at the quietest restaurant we could find. I also had a small glass of the local white wine, Lugana, which apparently is only grown in a very small area around the southern part of the lake – very nice it was too. 

After lunch, we took the scenic walk around the periphery of the town. At one point we stopped to look, as tourists queued to have their photograph taken under a sign that read ‘Kiss Please’ – most odd!

We then headed on to our campsite a few miles along the road, besides the lake. Since we’re only here one night, we opted to pay an extra 3 euros, and get a pitch overlooking the lake. We struck gold! The pitch we have looks directly out over a small lagoon in front of the reeds, full of birdlife. There are currently about ten pairs of grebes, reed warblers, jumping carp, and to our astonishment, a large water vole type creature called a Lake Garda Coypu.

I sat mesmerised by the wildlife for at least an hour, telephoto in hand, but sadly no real good shots – everything was just that tadge too far away. I will try again on the morning maybe, before we leave. Of course, the main disadvantage of being camped right by the lake are the flies. Now it is dusk – they are out in force. So Howard and I are sat here, trousers tucked in our socks, lathered in midge lotion, burning a large Citronella candle. We also purchased some strange citronella joss stick type things from the campsite shop, and as I type, Howard is sat with joss stick in hand. He just commented, “It’s just like being back in the sixties!” He has also moved on from people watching to grebe and jumping carp watching – so easily pleased! However, I can barely see the wildlife now through the fug – if anything gets past our defences, it’ll be a very plucky mosquito indeed!

We’ve just spent a brilliant day in Venice, and have arrived back at our campsite absolutely exhausted, and maybe very slightly inebriated!

Having both been to Venice before, ten years ago to be exact, for my fiftieth birthday – we felt no pressure ‘to do the sights’. So we leisurely took the ferry across the lagoon this morning, and then just pottered. The city wasn’t as busy as last night, but nonetheless, the popular spots like St. Marks Square and around the Rialto Bridge were still pretty crowded. But as soon as you took yourself off from the main thoroughfares, it was remarkable how quickly you could loose everyone. We stopped for coffee down a little side street near the university, and apart from a group of four Venetians, we were the only ones there. We meandered around, through little squares, and over bridges, with streams of gondolas passing below. Last time we had visited Venice, we had done the statutory gondola ride. As I recall, the gondola Howard had selected for me on that occasion not only had a gondolier navigating the canals, but a rather corny Italian at the other end of the gondola singing to us. When he got to the ‘Just One Cornetto’ tune, it was hard not to laugh. A shame, because I think the whole idea, is that the experience is supposed to be a romantic one, and not a comedy turn! So, on this occasion, we gave the gondola ride a miss, and just watched others paying their extortionate fees to have a ride.

We found a glorious square for lunch, washed down by a glass of wine. After that, we opted to utilise our 48 hour ‘do anything, go anywhere’ ticket, and like a couple of children, spent the next hour or so going up and down the Grand Canal in the vaporetto water taxis. At one point, we found ourselves across the lagoon in Lido, but the conductor just shrugged as everyone else alighted, and let us stay on board, and do the return trip back down the Grand Canal. Having sobered up sufficiently, we then continued to meander around the lesser known peripheries of the city. 

A little later, we stopped for an ice-cream over the far side of the main island, sat in a cafe just along from where the water taxis where dropping tourists off. Howard was in his element – I couldn’t drag him away. He is developing a severe case of extreme people watching. He sits and invents whole life stories of these people who pass him by in just a few seconds. I know when he’s up to it, because he just smiles, or chortles quietly to himself. He even commented today that sitting where he was positioned was ‘better then watching TV’. It took an age to drag him away, but eventually he was persuaded to leave his ‘prime spot’ and explore a little more of this lovely city.

Our day ended sitting in St. Marks Square watching the sun go down. We both agreed that this is a very special place. Despite the crowds, Venice has a certain something that no other city can replicate. It’s architecture is stunning, the canals unique, and the whole feel of the place is just very magical. It will definitely not the last time we visit this glorious city, maybe even later at the end of the year – but for now, we have had our ‘fix’, and tomorrow we move on again. Somewhere north – Howard is checking out campsites, as I type! So much for us getting more organised – we are taking our trip planning here down to the wire!

Our campsite in Bohinj started filling up last night, as many Slovenians and their families appeared for the weekend. There are great cycle routes in this part of the world, and we were encouraged to see that entire families were out cycling together, many with very young children.

At the final hour last night, we opted to head away from the mountains, and have one last ‘fix’ of the coast, before our pull across central Europe. Many of the places we have visited, both in the Mediterranean, and along the Adriatic, as far south as Montenegro and Sicily, have been under Venetian rule at some stage in their history – and so we thought it apt to pay this beautiful city a visit. We had originally planned to come in Novermber, at the end of our travels (and we still may), but neither of us have seen it in spring time, and so we decided to head back southwards in order to see Venice.

The sensible option, of course, would have been to take the motorway back towards Ljubljana, and then on past Trieste, and onto Venice. But for some inexplicable reason, we chose to listen to Boris, who was telling us that his route was faster. So we set off cross country from Bohinj. Boris’ route then led us up over the Julian Alps, up windy roads with too many hairpins to count, up above the snow line, and down the other side. I must say, that the scenery was truly stupendous, but at the time of driving, we were both so petrified of the roads, and with no opportunity to stop, I failed abysmally to document this tremendous route. It is clearly, though, one of those epic drives that motorcyclists adore, since we spotted many along these narrow precipitous roads, and in the valley there were several cafes advertising ‘Bikers Welcome’.

At the very top, there was still plenty of lying snow, but thankfully the roads had been cleared by the snow plough, leaving a wall of snow about four feet high at the edge of the carriageway. Back down in the steeply wooded valleys, there were crystal clear fast flowing rivers, and an abundance of spring flowers and blossoms. Visually, it was a profusion of spring green, as all the trees had just come into leaf. As the valley floor opened out, there was pasture land at either side of the road, with small cultivated plots adjacent to wooden alpine style houses. It really was a scene of rural beauty. I had no idea previously that Slovenia was such a stunningly beautiful country, which indeed it is.

So, in the end, we were pleased that Boris had led us on a long and rather tortuous route, since we managed to see parts of this lovely country that we would otherwise have missed.

It was gone five o’clock when we arrived at our campsite. We had planned to have a quiet evening and do the washing. But when the man at the reception explained that he could sell us a ticket for the ferries that went every half an hour into St, Marks Square in Venice, and that the ticket would be valid from this evening until we left – we thought, why not?

So within half an hour, the campsite courtesy van had dropped us off at the ferry, and we were on our way! It was a glorious evening as the ferry arrived in the city, and many people were out and about enjoying the last of the sun. I had forgotten just how stunning this city is. It has been ten years since Howard and I last visited, and undoubtedly busier than our previous trip in the depths of November, it retains it’s wow factor, however crowded.

The light on the Doges Palace was exquisite, and so we treated ourselves to a front row seat in one of the cafes in St. Marks Square, and enjoyed a cool glass of wine, whilst people watching. We opted against supper in the city (it had cost enough for the wine!), and so we headed back on the boat to our campsite, and grabbed a quick bite back at Oscar. Tomorrow we have all day to explore this lovely city.

It seems quite surreal though, that this morning we were sat surrounded by snowy mountains, and now we are camping besides the lagoon in Venice. All in a day!

Today started rather strangely. I returned from my shower, and as I walked towards the van, I saw that Howard was already back, setting up for breakfast. “How was your shower?”. I innocently asked. “Well, the shower was fine…”, and then there was a pause. “Yes?’” I enquired. “Well, I forgot to take a towel”. ‘Crumbs’, I said, “Then how did you manage?”

“I used my initiative, and improvised!” he announced proudly. “And that would be how?” I retorted.

So – it turns out, he stepped out of the shower cubicle, stark naked, having shaken himself vigorously. Then – wait for it – he dried himself with the hair dryer!

I should at this stage point out, that this shower block is not large. Three toilets, and three showers, entered by a key given to everyone staying on the campsite. Today, that included a couple camping, a couple in another California from Austria, a family from Slovenia in a camper van with a small boy and a toddler, and a German couple. At any point in this drying procedure, any one of these fellow campers could have walked in and seen my husband stark bollock naked, wafting a hair-dryer all over himself! Frankly, it makes the fat German in Cres look positively modest – at least he stayed in his shower cubicle.

As he told me this tale, my eyes watered, and my shoulders shook. I’m not sure if I’m pleased he sorted himself out, or horrified in the manner in which he did it. Save to say, Howard is looking quietly pleased with himself, yet again!

After the bathroom drama, and breakfast completed, we set off on our bike ride. The scenery here in the Triglav National Park is quite spectacular. Everywhere you look in this glacial Bohinj valley you are treated to vistas of the snow clad Julian Alps. The cycle path to the lake left from right by our campsite, and followed the River Bohinj through verdant pastures and tiny little hamlets, with a very Tyrollean feel about them, the six kilometres or so to the head of the lake. All along the paths pretty spring wild flowers were in bloom, and trees along by the water’s edge were only just in blossom. We even passed a herd of goats, with several small kids, whom we had to negotiate our way past on the path.

Once at the lake, we rode alongside to the place where the road joins it, with the inevitable cafes and a small hotel. Up until this point, the bike ride had been peaceful and quiet, with just the sound of the running water and birdsong along the route. At this far end of the lake is an attractive church, and several outlets hiring boats. We stopped at a cafe for coffee, then rode along the other side of the lake until the road stopped.

We then re-traced our steps, stopping for an ice-cream to cool us down in the heat.

It was four o’clock before we got back to the campsite. It had been a brilliant cycle ride, but by the time we returned, the heat was starting to get to me. Howard informs me that we completed fifteen miles, although it felt more. So after packing away the bikes, we are now sat on the cafe veranda next to our campsite, with the most amazing views of the mountains, and with a cold glass of wine in our hands.

Many people quibble as to which lake is more beautiful, Bled or Bohinj. For us, there is no doubt. Bohinj every time. Sure it doesn’t have a picturesque island in the middle, or a castle, but for pure raw nature – this is the one – and thankfully, without all the hoards at Lake Bled. It definitely gets our vote.

We now need to put our heads together, and decide where to tomorrow. Since just now, we are clueless!

I’m afraid to say that I feel that Howard’s Garmin is on borrowed time. I mislead you yesterday when I said that his Garmin was beeping to make him move (something that it does often if we have had a long drive). But no, it was beeping because it was giving him a ‘reward badge’ for exceeding his exercise goals every day last week. He positively glowed with delight as he told me. In fact, he was so spurred on by his new badge that this morning when he came back from his run (having been away rather longer than usual), he returned with an exceedingly smug look on his face. It turned out he had run not five, but ten kilometres, and as a result, as he walked through the door, he was being given a ‘special commendation’ for effort! I have come to the conclusion that ‘Garmin’ is the new source of his affections – and as such, may be on a sticky wicket! If he doesn’t stop looking lovingly at his wrist, then I think it’s days might be numbered!

Back to today. We checked out of our lovely hotel in Piran, and the hotel very obligingly drove us to their sister hotel, who were kindly baby-sitting Oscar for the night. The receptionist also helpfully told us how to acquire a Slovenian Vignette, in order to be allowed to drive on the motorways here. Without it, there is a stiff 300 euro fine. We opted for the longer motorway route, skimming past the outskirts of the capital, Ljubljana, and on to Lake Bled. As we turned off the motorway, we were treated to the most spectacular view of the Julian Alps, still covered in snow, up ahead.

We arrived in good time, and after a quick refreshment stop, decided on the 6km walk around the perimeter of the lake. It was a stunning walk, particularly in the quieter section, away from the tourist hotels. In the middle of the lake sits an island with the Church of the Assumption as it’s focal point. Many tourists had opted to take the gondola boat ride to visit the church, but on this occasion we decided to pass on that one, keen to avoid the crowds. On one side of the lake, looking out from on high, is Bled Castle. It stands perched on a steep cliff, and would have looked stunning, save for the huge crane sat astride it, clearly needed for restoration work.

The campsite open at Lake Bled itself had very mixed reviews, so we decided to stay a short distance away near Lake Bohinj, which is reputedly equally as beautiful. So after our walk, we drove the 10 miles or so on to our campsite for the night. The camp is in a truly stunning location, in the shadow of snow capped mountains, sat aside the River Bohinj, which feeds into the lake. The only disadvantage of such a site, as you can imagine, is that being situated next to a river, it’s prone to mosquitos. I’m sure Howard and I caused great amusement to all the other campers as we carefully chose our spot. I’m ashamed to say that we moved the van three times before deciding on our pitch. Each time we stopped, I opened the side door, and tons of the little biting buggers flew in. Eventually we settled on a pitch out in the open, away from any trees or shrubs, but with a magnificent view of the Julian Alps from our window. We had tea early, sat in the sun, and admiring the view. But then, as dusk approached, the flies came out. I dashed in the van and changed out of my shorts. I returned adorned in a zipped up hoody and socks tucked in my trouser legs. Howard was less than complimentary!

So after tea, we rummaged in our ‘other things we might need’ holdall, and raked out the mosquito nets. As a result, I am now sat very happily typing, behind the fly screens secured in our side door. It works a treat, and I’m sure will be really useful as we progress on our trip around Iceland and Scandinavia in the summer. The only problem being is that our neighbours had already spotted me in my rather strange ‘grunge’ outfit. They now seem to be giving us a very wide berth, and looking over their shoulders periodically. But frankly, I will do anything to save being bitten to pieces by mosquitos. Howard also reminded me of the rather fetching mosquito cagoules we had purchased on the first week of our trip in Inverness, whilst doing the North Coast 500. I’m quite sure they will be worn at some point – but not just yet.

Tomorrow we plan to cycle around Lake Bohinj –  that is, if we can work out how to extricate ourselves from the van, with all this netting attached!

This morning, we were very relieved to leave the ‘top-rated’ campsite near Rovinj. It just wasn’t for us. Granted the washrooms were indeed hotel quality, but some of their quirky touches started to rile. One was the constant piped music in the toilets and shower rooms. I know in Portugal I had raved about this – but they were playing decent 60s and 70s music! This was some strange sort of Croatian hard rock. But the worst crime was that they had fitted a children’s slide /tube down from the washroom level to the playroom below. Great I hear you say – child friendly. Well firstly, there wasn’t a child in sight. Secondly, every time you walked past the top of the slide to get to the toilets, the hard rock music was interrupted by ‘Let it Go’ from Frozen!. Cute, I hear you say. Well after the nth time of hearing it from our pitch, every time anyone went to the loo, it became exceedingly irritated. I am also very cross, because I always used to like that song – but not anymore.

We were too polite to say anything when we checked out, but we definitely wont be going back to that campsite in a hurry. We had a brief stop for morning coffee at a medieval town called Porec, situated above Rovinj. It was indeed very pleasant, and we had a quick wander around, and also stopped to pick up some more camping gas.

Then, it was farewell to Croatia. I have absolutely adored this country, and was sorely tempted just to put down roots and soak up the sea and sun. The people have been without exception polite, friendly and helpful. The campsites have without exception been the highest quality that we have experienced in all the countries we have visited so far, which I must admit, was a bit of a surprise. The roads have been good, and the driving courteous, without all the traumas of Italy. Without doubt, we will return here, maybe even later in the year on our trip, when we head south once more – who knows.

So it was onward to another country. Now did you know that Slovenia has a small section of Adriatic coast, sandwiched between Croatia and Italy? Well I certainly didn’t ! But that’s one of the joys of this trip – my geography is going to be excellent by the time we return.

So we headed the short distance north, along the Istrian Peninsular, and into Slovenia. It was an effortlessly easy border crossing. The Croatian lady just waved us through.,seeing British passports, and the Slovenian lady was way more interested in chatting to her colleague in the neighbouring booth, than to bother with us.

We drove the short distance across the border to the coastal town of Piran. Piran, it turns out, is simply delightful. It has retained it’s medieval shape and architecture, with the classic harbour and ancient walls, but has a definite Venetian influence. Not surprising, since it has swinged from being under the control of the Roman Empire, to the Venetians in 1283, to the Austro-Hungarians, to a monarchy after the first world war, and to being part of former Yugoslavia after the second world war. It’s claim to fame is the birthplace of the famous violinist Guiseppe Tartini, and it is blessed by a number of beautiful churches, the most spectacular of which is the Church of St. George, which sits majestically at the highest part in the town.

We spend two or three hours just wandering around, exploring the place, with brief stops for ice-cream and a cool drink. We are now sat on the veranda of the hotel where we are staying, sadly only for one night. I must confess to have broken my six o’clock rule on the gin, and Howard, beer in hand, has just exclaimed that, ‘This is ghastly – years of work, and I’ve had to resort to this’. So I guess he’s enjoying himself too!

It’s probably been our hottest day to date, and both of us are wilting a bit. We’re certainly the only ones holed up just now in the shade, but we can’t complain. We now need to do some serious planning, because as yet, we haven’t clue where we’ll be this time tomorrow. But that’s one of the joys of this trip. Everywhere is a bit of a surprise. Two days ago, I hadn’t even heard of Piran. Today, I am one of it’s biggest fans.

Ooh! Howard’s Garmin had just beeped to say he wasn’t moved in a while – so gotta go!

So today with heavy hearts, we bade farewell to our lovely campsite on Cres. We had contemplated staying longer, but in the end decided it was ‘better to leave wanting more’, to quote Howard. It is certainly somewhere that we will return some time in the future.

Last night we had a last meal at the lovely pizzeria looking out over the water. Howard decided to have something other than pizza to eat, and the proprietor recommended ‘Cevapcici’ – a local Croatian speciality. Howard thought he would be smart and use an App that Edward had shown us, where you just point your phone at the words, and it automatically translates the words into English. So he duly pointed his phone at the menu card, and what should pop up, but ‘puppies’! Undeterred, Howard decided to try the local dish. It turned out to be some sort of kebab, which was actually very tasty, but made from lamb rather than anything canine.

This morning, Howard had a final run along to Cres town. He came back very chipper – it was apparently his fastest time for 5km this trip, and so his Garmin had given him an award. Talk about obsessional! We packed away at a fairly leisurely pace, thinking the ferry time was midday, or possibly 12.30 (quote Howard). Remarkably, our little yellow plastic number disc turned up in the packing – it had become wedged in the back of the frame of the picture of the children – so our 50 kuna was saved.

We checked out at 11am, and Howard casually asked the lady at reception the time of he next ferry. ’11.30’, she replied. Yikes! It was a fast drive to the ferry terminal, but remarkably we made it with five minutes to spare. Once on the ferry, having not had time for a drink, Howard purchased two cups of coffee, and carried them up onto the top deck where we were sat. He had not taken into account the breeze, once the ferry started moving. His Americano stayed reasonable intact, but as he handed me my white coffee – all the froth blew everywhere – all over my glasses, my face, and the next two rows of seats behind us. Thankfully there was no-one else up on deck at the time, otherwise they would have been caked in coffee foam. Howard initially looked shocked, but then couldn’t help let out a poorly stifled laugh. I spent the next five minutes cleaning two rows of seats. I’m sure the captain of the boat, whose observation deck was immediately above us, was puzzled as to what was going on.

Once ashore, we drove northwards into the part of Croatia known as Istria. It is the large bump that sticks out into the Adriatic, just below Slovenia and Italy. This part of Croatia has a huge Italian influence, partly due to it’s proximity, but also because at very times in it’s history, was under Venetian rule. We headed to the lovely medieval port of Rovinj.

The Old Town of Rovinj sits within an egg-snaped peninsular. The harbour is surrounded by elegant Venetian town houses and piazzas. The main street through the old town is a narrow pedestrianised walkway that passes through a baroque archway, then curves through the old town. From here, narrow cobbled alleyways lead upwards to the star attraction of Rovinj, the Church of St. Euphemia, presiding over the summit of the peninsular, and visible for miles. The church was built in the 18th century in a Baroque style, and its bell-tower is a massive 60 feet in height. It contains the remains of poor St. Euphemia, who was thrown to the lions in AD 304.

The cobbled alleyways leading up to the church are made of polished limestone cobbles, and unfortunately, just as we arrived in Rovinj it started to rain. This makes the said cobbles extremely slippery. So Howard and I slipped and slided our way up to the church. As we arrived at the square in front of the huge white church a large group of students had gathered on the steps, and for one awful moment, I thought that they were going to ask Howard to take their photo. ‘Not again’ I thought to myself. But thankfully someone else obliged, saving the school party from the inevitable headless group photograph.

Once inside the church, we spotted the sign for visiting the bell-tower, and naively opted to do the climb. I should say at this point, that we had not researched this visit, and so had failed to clock that this was indeed a very tall bell tower. Neither did we realise that the climb upwards consisted of a wobbly staircase of partially rotten and slanting wooden slats, extremely narrow (much narrower than our feet), and with large gaps between the treads, so that as you ascended, you were able to see the floor below at all times! A lady in front of us tentatively managed the first two flights, and then started shaking, and gave up. Howard and I pressed onwards, but the final flight was just like climbing a ladder, and by the time reached the top, my legs were quivering. I’m not generally a great advocate of over-jealous health and safety, but I’m quite sure that no-one would be allowed up a staircase like this in the UK.

However, once at the top, the views were stupendous, and well worth the terrifying climb. We re-traced our steps, slip-sliding back down the cobbles. I did think that anyone watching us would have wondered what a pair of old codgers we looked, but believe me, wet limestone cobbles are very slippy indeed!

After a coffee, the sun came out, and we had a quick skirt around the harbour, before heading back to Oscar. We then wound our way to our campsite for the night, passing the Limska Draga Fjord – a 10km long inlet formed when the Istrian coast sank in the last Ice Age. We stopped at a viewpoint, where vendors selling their wares had cleverly constructed viewing towers for tourists to get a better view of the fjord. The deal, of course, was that you then purchased something from their stalls. Howard needed very little persuasion to purchase some ‘Mistletoe and Honey Grappa’. I had a quick sip and it nearly burned the back of my throat, but Howard seemed pleasantly satisfied with his litre bottle!

The campsite where we are staying had rave reviews, but rather unfairly, we arrived and instantly compared it to Cres. The washrooms indeed are hotel quality, but as Kirsty and Phil would say – ‘Location, Location, Location’! It sits nearly a kilometre from the beach, and is a bit like a glorified holiday park, not yet open for the season. We will only stay one night, before moving on to Slovenia. The WiFi and 4G reception are also rubbish, such that I can’t even download photos to my computer at present.

Hopefully I can add some photos once Howard manages to master his ‘dongle’!

As forecast, it rained heavily overnight, and was also quite blustery. As a precaution, we took down the awning and put away the table and chairs. We prevaricated as to whether to move Oscar to a more sheltered spot, but in the end decided to stay put. As it turned out, the wind wasn’t too much of an issue, but it did rain steadily most of the night, and without the external topper on, it sounded incredibly loud when lying upstairs.

This morning proved brighter, although still overcast. After breakfast, we de-camped to the lighthouse cafe with maps in hand for coffee and planning. Needless to say, little planning was done – we can’t decide on which route to take up through Europe. I think some of it will depend on which routes are open, since there is still plenty of snow around the Dolomites at this time of year.

After coffee, we got the bikes out and went for a lovely cycle ride, first along to the end of the peninsular, then back past the campsite and on into Cres town. We stopped at a little cafe in the square by the harbour, with the intention of having a light lunch. Being the only customers on this quiet Monday lunchtime was an error. First we had to try out the proprietors home made olive oil and home made bread, which, although delicious, frankly was a lunch in itself. Then came a huge plate of local cheeses. There was so much cheese on the plate, that Howard wrapped half of it up in his serviette, to save for later, and hid it in his cycle helmet. This was followed by a tuna salad for Howard (I’m guessing half a tuna by the size of it!), and grilled vegetables for me. Both plates were enormous, and although undoubtedly very healthy, by half way through we were completely full up. We decided to cycle home and have coffee at the lighthouse. But by the time I had returned from the restrooms – two complimentary slices of chocolate cake had appeared. We rolled off our seats and back onto our bicycles, Howard trying desperately hard not to let the proprietor see the bundle of cheese in his helmet. Out of sight, the cheese was transferred to his pocket, but I’m not sure how palatable it will be now – rather squashed I suspect!

Once back on sight, we tried to do some more planning, but the problem of where we are staying, is that there is an irresistible urge to stare out to sea and look for dolphins. It’s a hard life.

Tonight, we had promised ourselves a farewell pizza at the pizzeria just at the end of the campsite, where the friendly owner had already sold us a litre of his own home-made olive oil. It is indeed splendid olive oil (Cres is famous for a delicately flavoured cold press olive oil) – but since we had already bought some from the Sierra da Estrela campsite in Portugal, some from the Agrituristico camping in Puglia, and some from Sicily, we are indeed starting an olive oil lake of our own. I suspect we will have to disappoint our pizzeria friend, and only order one pizza to share, otherwise our waistlines will expand even more than they have done already.

We still don’t know where we’re going tomorrow. At this rate, we’ll still be here!

The lighthouse photos were taken last night in the rain. Just goes to show how beautiful this place is, even in inclement weather.

Today we planned to leave the campsite early and take a day trip to the neighbouring island of Losinj. But of course, all the best laid plans ….. We started off well. Howard got up with the alarm and went for a run. He reported that the shower at the fat German’s shower block was much warmer and wasn’t on a push button timer, unlike the one we had been using yesterday. So, with intrepidation, I set off for my morning shower. Yet again, there he was, as bold as brass, naked from the waist down, this time chatting to two women. Another camper van had arrived late last night next to theirs – I can only imagine their surprise when they looked out of their window this morning! I averted my eyes, and scuttled off to the women’s section. Afterwards, Howard reported that said fat German had showered at the same time as him, but with his shower door wide open!

A little while later, they were up and gone. We wondered if perhaps the new neighbours had objected to his exhibitionism, or whether they were planning to go anyway. Howard compared the guy to the ‘Naked Rambler’. For me, he looked more like Robbie Coltrane with no pants on. But I will certainly be less apprehensive when I shower later.

After a quick breakfast, we put down the roof and wound in the awning. We put up the pop-up tent to delineate that it was our spot, and would be returning, got in the van, and started the engine. It was then that someone (not me!), realised that they had mislaid the plastic hanging number that they give you at reception when you check in. You are supposed to hand this on your rear view mirror, so that the staff know that you have registered. However, someone (not me!), had not hung it up, and now couldn’t remember where he had put it. We needed it to be allowed out and then back in the campsite. So we unstrapped our seat belts and started searching Oscar for it. Three quarters of an hour later, we still hadn’t found said plastic yellow number disc. Howard wondered if it had got thrown away in the rubbish last night, and went off to the bins to search for it. He returned, looking a little disgusted, saying he couldn’t find it. By now, our early start had turned into 11 o’clock. In the end, we drove to reception, and fessed up we had lost it. They took Howard’s passport as a guarantee that we weren’t doing a bunk, and told him that if we hadn’t found the disc before we leave, then we will have to pay 50 kunas. I think we both thought the same thing, simultaneously. For 50 kunas, it was hardly worth emptying out the whole van again – but maybe it will turn up tomorrow – we will see.

So off we set to Losinj, the island attached to Cres by a very narrow causeway. As we drove, the narrow road was lined with masses of yellow /green euphorbia, growing like weeds at the side of the road. This would cost a fortune in a garden centre back home, we contemplated. Then high above us, we saw a mass of about twenty massive birds circling in the sky. We stopped and quickly got the binoculars out. These were the endangered Griffon Vultures that are famous in these two islands. They were absolutely enormous, with huge wingspans, but pretty ugly bastards – with menacing long necks, and even at a distance, mean expressions!

Our first port of call in Losinj was the main town of Mali Losinj. It had been recommended to us by a friend who had visited last year. Our guide books gave mixed reviews. Lonely Planet reports ‘Mali Losinj is a stunner: a natural harbour ringed by graceful, gently weathered Mediterranean town houses and green surrounding hills’. Whereas Rough Guide reports, ‘Life in Mali Losinj revolves around the quayside, where rows of subtropical plants line a harbour front overrun with souvenir stalls and cafe tables’. In reality, it was a mixture of both. We found it a most charming place. The houses around the harbourside had a definite Venetian influence, and were painted in varying pastel colours, adding to their appeal. The harbour was a mixture of pleasure boats, expensive yachts and fishing craft. The water in the harbour was stunningly clear – we watched little shoals of fish swimming around, and many of the boats lines had mussels attached to them, a sign of very clean water apparently. Even the drain-covers had attractive designs on them. It vaguely reminded me of Dartmouth, with it’s painted houses and green slopes around. The water was eerily still was we walked around. Unfortunately, the weather forecast had been correct and it was very overcast, with intermittent rain, but nonetheless, it was a very pleasant way to pass an hour or two.

After an ice-cream, sat watching the boats come and go, we drove 5km around the coast to the smaller Veli Losinj. This is a bit of an oxymoron, since in Croatian, Mali means ‘small’ and Veli means ‘big’. The short drive along the coast was sublime. Despite the dull weather, the colour of the water in the tiny coves was a stunning turquoise blue.

When we arrived at Veli Losinj, we both agreed that we had found the real stunner. It was sublime. A tiny little harbour, surrounded on three sides by very picturesque coloured properties, like Mali Losinj, with a definite feel of Venice. It took no time at all to walk around the harbour, and by it’s small entrance was tied up a small craft advertising dolphin watching trips. However, according to the guide books, at this time of year, it is not uncommon for the pod of dolphins to come right into this tiny harbour. Sadly today, there were none in sight, but we still enjoyed a very pleasant coffee in one of the harbourside cafes.

It turns out we had visited at the right time. Tomorrow is the start of the mountain biking downhill season, and the first championship is to be held in Veli Losinj. The town was busy preparing for their visitors, although quite why such a sleepy, out of the way place had been chosen remains a mystery. Clearly though, it is causing great excitement in this tiny community of 900 people.

As we set off back to Cres, the rain set in, and despite looking hard, we saw none of the famous wild boar that are over-running the island. Back at camp, the rain has eased, my feathered friends have returned, and there is a strange man outside cleaning the windows!

Today has been a very leisurely day today. We decided to make the most of the good weather, and stay put at this campsite for another day, especially since the weather is due to break again tomorrow.

It is a large campsite, but being early in the season, everyone is spread out and so you have plenty of space around you. The downside of being early in the season is that only sone of the wash blocks are open. We misunderstood the lady at reception when we checked in, thinking the shower block near our van was open, which in fact it isn’t. So consequently it is quite a walk to the facilities. I really don’t mind a bit of a walk, and Howard is positively delighted, since before breakfast he had clocked up over 10,000 steps just by doing his run, and being sent to the reception (twice!) for washing machine and dryer tokens. We had a delightful breakfast sat in the sun looking out over the water, and for once it was actually warm. As a result, history was made on day 94 – I got out my shorts, and Howard took off his long sleeves ice-breaker top, and put on a T-shirt!

After breakfast we became Mr. And Mrs. Wishy-Washy for a few hours. No-one else was using the wash room – so we went to town – sheets, towels, clothes, flannels, T-towels. Ah – it is so cathartic having everything clean again. Of course – I insisted Howard use a separate washing machine for his gym kit, and put in double the number of washing sachets, just to be on the safe side.

Having started the washing, we amused ourselves whilst waiting for the machines to finish, by heading off for a rather late morning coffee at the campsite cafe, situated on the point by the lighthouse. It is a sublime spot, and as we sat chatting to the owner, she was telling us about the dolphins. Around the two islands of Cres and Losinj there is a protected nature reserve for the resident dolphins. On queue, one of the locals shouted out ‘Dolphins!” – and there they were – a pod playing around in front of the cafe. What a delight! I really like this place – resident dolphins and an array of birds.

Despite only being here less than a day, I already have about twenty regular feathered friends, who keep hopping around me, tweeting to be fed – mostly chaffinches, blackbirds and a couple of goldfinches. One cheeky little chaffinch even hopped onto Howard’s sandals this morning at breakfast. They must know that I am known by my family as the mad ‘bird lady’. I even have the lodgers feeding my pheasants while we are away.

We plan a walk into town and maybe a cycle now our chores are done. It is already starting to cloud over, so I guess we have seen the best of the sunshine. But if anyone wants a recommendation for a campsite in Croatia, it is this one. Positively the nicest place we have stayed, to date.

Just before we left to walk down to the Old Town, Howard returned from the wash block and warned ‘Beware of the fat German with the fishing rod’. I thought no more about it, but decided to pay a visit to the facilities before departure. As I approached the wash block, I suddenly realised what Howard had been on about. As bold as brass, adjacent to the path to the washrooms, standing on the jetty was indeed a German with a very fat paunch, wearing a hat, a skimpy T-shirt, and absolutely nothing else! His ‘tackle’ was there for all to see. I had a momentary flashback to the times when I used to be called to casualty to remove fish-hooks from fisherman’s hands, arms and other parts of their anatomy, when their casting had gone array. I just hope the fat German was skilled at casting his line, because there was certainly a lot there to snag the hook on! Just a thought! In future, I have decided to use the washrooms in the other direction. But it just goes to show – there’s none as queer as folks!

I’m posting a few more of the photos of Plitvice Lakes at the top, which for some reason have only just downloaded today. The mysteries of the ‘cloud’!