Day 25 – We get a bit of both . . .

First impressions, like snap decisions can often be wrong. Or occasionally right. Sometimes even a bit of both.

Surprisingly, our entrance into Croatia takes us through two passport controls. Both within one hundred metres of each other. A perfunctory glance by both Charlies and we’re in. That’s often the effect a GB number plate has. Or maybe it’s our smiley trustworthy faces. 🙂 +  🙂

Our road in is clear all the way. Not quite like the one leading out of Croatia. It tails back a good couple of kilometres. What could they be suspected of smuggling out? 90K further on sees us pitch up at Bi-Village Holiday Centre. The short journey down underwhelms us. Like two spoilt Slovenian romantics our expectations have been jacked up to ‘wow’ level. Everything seems plain ordinary.

Our pitch spot is 100 metres from the Adriatic. Having taken my first plunge in Piran I’m eager for more. The water temperature 20+ invites. Our afternoon is spent walking the prom, riding the prom, swim. It’s Saturday 22nd. We decide to eat out later this evening. Give Mary-Ann a break.

At the restaurant we have the choice to eat inside or out. We decide on an inside table. It’s next to a large open window. However, the chairs are very uncomfortable. Even after sitting for just a few minutes. We don’t really want to grin and bear it. Mary-Ann decides to check out the more comfortable looking chairs at the table just the other side of the window. As she sits down the waitress approaches me. She speaks English. But not quite enough to make true sense of what I say. Her understanding of the situation is that I am going to sit inside to eat and my wife is going to sit outside. The look on her face is a mix of confusing astoundment. She thinks we’ve had a quarrel. This is the English way of giving the cold shoulder, perhaps?

The delicious meal of monkfish nuggets is taken together and outside. All in all it’s been a really great first day in Croatia. Pity the night isn’t too. Someway in the distance a Saturday night Rave starts up at 11pm. The persistent thump like the one you hear from a passing car. But slightly muted. However, in the calm of the still night it seems to be accentuated. It’s a cruel water torture, without the water. Every thump a drip hitting your forehead, penetrates your skull. There is no escape. We forgot to pack the cyanide pills. At 3.48am I have a great idea. Tear off a couple of pieces of tissue and bung them in my ears – aah, sleep at last . . .