ToDo: Invent Brilliant Title

The day we traveled to Venice, Cin and I calculated that we caught 7 different instances of public transport, covering 5 different types.  Strangely, it didn’t seem like that big a day.

 

Yammy had been at home in Croatlandia, so he drove on over and met us at the airport and we bused and vaporetto’d our way to our hotel near the Rialto.  My train and metro commute home from the Copenhagen airport may have impressed Mark but it doesn’t really compare with one that involves boating down the Grand Canal.

 

I didn’t really expect to like Venice – an old description of “smelly and overpriced” had stuck with me, but I found it rather charming.  We wandered and boated our way around, and only once accidentally ended up on a three-hour tour that took us nowhere.

 

The next evening, we picked up Mrs Yammy’s car from the airport, and via Slo-V, ended up in the heart of Yammy-town in Rijeka, Croatvillonia.  We camped out at YammySis Nats’ place in Opatija for a couple of days while being giving the Yammy Tour of the area.  From there, Dr Yammy was kind enough to give us a lift to Zagreb, where all three of us caught a plane down to Dubrovnik.

 

I’m in love with Dubrovnik.  The town is amazing (though all that marble is a bit slippy), the Adriatic is gorgeous, the day trips are fun, the food is wonderfully Italian, the booze is wonderfully Croatian.  In fact, the only disappointing thing is that for a town in Dalmatia, there was a distinct lack of spotty dogs.

 

We walked the walls, we splashed in the sea, we drank the grappa. We made our resident Croatoan speak Croatish to all the other Croatvillians.   I nominated a least-favourite saint.  (Saint Blaise, the patron saint of Dubrovnik.  Patron saint of a town that got destroyed by an earthquake in the 1600s and had the shit bombed out of it for no good military reason during the Balkan War.  Slack-arse motherfucker.)  We were haunted by church bells.

 

On our last evening, Cin had to leave us to go back to the US and work, so Yammy and I consoled ourselves by brownbagging to an outdoor cinema to see “Ocean’s 13”.  The fact that we brownbagged prosecco only makes this slightly less ghetto.