Until The Bitter Milanese End

Last post, last destination: Milan. By the time I'm writing this final post about Fabioland, I've already reached home turf in Porto Santo, Portugal. If you wonder why Milan's our terminus, it's simple: cheap, wide-ranging no-frills connections to all over Europe (in our case Finland & Portugal). This is how we got to Italy, a country of Garibaldi, Gomorra & Gelato, where banana trees are prone to grow more densely.

We caught the 7:30 ferry to Ancona, which anticipating the atmosphere on the other side of the Adriatic, parted almost two hours delayed. The ten hour Blue Lines cruise cost some 45€, but parting from Split with internet bookings you can commute with a more economical 28€. We got ourselves all comfy on the iron beach of the upper middle deck, semi tucked in our hobo-bags & got some well-earned hazy sleep, the sun smoothly shining against our foreheads in the midst of several bigoted, disapproving looks. Woke up just in time for the orange-explosion sunset; one beautiful motherfucker.







Just like shooting the sun

We were supposed to take the 2:03am train (30€) to Milan, so we had like three hours to kill in Ancona, a small immigrant-nest who scrapes along thanks to its big, well-connected harbor. Not much to really see in there, have a pizza or something..Smoked the remains of our 5g's, celebrating seven trouble-free border crossings. Got onto the delayed, rusty, looked-better-in-Kosovo Trenitalia half past two. Despite our most ambitious efforts, sleeping was somewhat impossible, due to a pair of smelly Italiana feet a few inches from your face. The bumpy ride got us into waking..no, still sleeping Milan at 7am. Accompanied Robert to the airport bus; all buses to the three different airports, Malpensa, Linate & the charter-only Bergamo, part from the same platform just next to Milano Centrale railway station.



The (in)famous Easy Jet of cigarettes. 70 cents a pack, Drina is one of the hidden pearls of Montenegro's agriculture. Go local, always.



Milano Centrale, the most dangerous spot in Milan

My flight would leave pastaland only the next day, in the afternoon, so I started discovering Milan by trying to find a wifi, to book a place to stay & sleep the day. There was just too many banana trees growing in there, I had to work my way through the streets with an Inca-era jumbo machete. Nobody knew where to find internet. Some didn't even know internet at all. Asked in three nearby cafes, none had wifi. Went to McDonalds, nothing..just more bananas. Walked in a dozen of hotels: “internet only for the guests, police don't like”. Now let's just pause for a second. This is bloody western Europe we're in! It wasn't even this hard in Albania! So I scanned for some international brands & spotted a big Hilton sign a few blocks away. You had to pay for the wifi, of course, this is upmarket Milan, but they at least allowed me to use it. The jewdar was once again scanning attentively hostelbookers, & found in between the 24€ & the 31€, an acceptable 12€ bunk in Hostel3, just a ten-minute bus ride from the railway station. Got in there: nice, clean rooms with welcoming staff. By then it was almost one o'clock sunday afternoon. Dead-tired after sleeping in boats & trains, dived in the Ariel-smelling sheets & slept until 6pm. Got a quick bite, strolled around the neighborhood & planned my next morning & afternoon in Milan before my 5pm flight.


More bananas..the huge, for-all-eyes-open Milano Centrale clock is 20 min ahead of Milan time..then again time is a wavering concept amongst Fabios

We were already warned: Milan is one costly son of a bitch. The capital of the northern Lombardy region is Italy's second largest city with 1.3 million in proper Milan, exceeding well over 7 mil on the whole metropolitan area. A city founded by Celtic people, later on ran by the Roman Empire, the Spanish & Napoleon, has now become the cream of the wealthy north, functioning as the business centre of boot-country. Milan, a city where metro station's have fashion houses names, remains the high baller in fashion markets, hosting twice a year fairs for the designers, fashion-aficionados, supermodels & international paparazzi. All in all, Milan is a Global Alpha City with a major global influence in commerce, industry, sport, literature, art & media. All this contributes to the 12th ranking spot in Worlds Most Expensive Cities. Therefore, not exactly a backpackers oasis.

You sometimes won't even recognize from the cosmopolitan atmosphere of Milano that you're in Italy. If Rome represent's “the old” Italy, then Milan is“the new” one. It's by far the most modern of Italian cities & maybe that's why Milan isn't the kind of city you visit by just dashing around from street to street scanning for the must-see sights. Being August, the official “vacanza”-month, some of the shops were closed for summer holiday, as well as the streets were half empty; the city seemed soulless. On the other hand, the normally polluted & bustling city full of in-a-hurry locals showed a new, more peaceful facet. On top of that, it's lazy Monday morning for Milanese: half of the shops open their doors only in the afternoon. So this is what I did with 7 hours in Milan.




Great musician, prefer the street though

Woke up well-rested half eight, packed up & left the backpack at the hostel to have some mobility. Commuting in Milan takes a while. The hostel was up in the northwest side of the city, so walked 10 min to the nearest metro station, yellow-line terminus Maciachini (there are three metro lines covering the center: red, green & yellow) & headed to Milan's most famous photograph-spot, the gothic Duomo cathedral in Piazza dello Duomo. Other than the metro ticket of one €, didn't waste money on transports: Milanese buses with their open middle & back doors are a vagabundo's dream. Back to the Duomo. The eternity-project of Milan was ongoing for half a century (started 1386), before it got complete. Mediterranean work ethics..in its white marble with hundreds of relics & thousands of statues it really stands off the average rugged building-site. It's worthwhile going all the way inside; you just need to make your way through the pigeon hordes stirring confusion on the Piazza.






The finance market of the Catholic church


Italian policemen..always evoke safety amongst us

After the Duomo went just next by to check out one of the fanciest & oldest shopping malls, Galleria Vittorio Emanuele.


The mother of all shopping malls, 19th century Galleria Vittorio Emanuele with all its upscale fashion boutiques worthy of the place. Mosaic-floored & glass-roofed the one-of-the-oldest-malls-in-the-world is the salad bowl of history, architecture & consumerism. There's...


...the glamorous Prada...


...the pirate-fav Louis Vuitton


...& the fast food emperor McDonalds. Which one doesn't fit? The most high-end Donalds (& high rent I suppose) ever. Just shop your ass out in Prada & then go for a cheeseburger next door. Classy..

Started wandering around the half empty city center. Made my way south down Via Torino, a street packed with youth fashion like Franklin & Marshall, Levi's & Nike SB. Also has the biggest culture-vulture FNAC store in town, offering a vast selection in electronic gear, music & books. Took a wrong turn left & was almost ambushed by a legion of Chinese knee-high tourists. Watch out, they're everywhere. In the hot Monday morning, I made my way through the dirty streets, elegant cafeterias & ample piazzas garnished with water-fountains & half-naked statues.








Classic Italian transport: the Vespa


With this they transport the bananas

Walked all the way to Piazza Castello, just next to Castello Sforzesco, one of the grandest sights Milan has to offer. Once home to the noble Sforza-Visconti ruling families, the Sforzesco Castle nowadays houses incredibly 12 mini-museums from paintings to furniture. Walk through the 200m long castle, & you'll find yourself in the biggest green zone of Milan, quiet Parco Sempione. Kids playing football, old-fart couples sitting on benches on the shadow's of thick pine trees; there was even a Korean wedding going on. Walked through a mini Arc de Triomphe, Arco della Pace, while exting the park from the north side. Turned my heading towards east, to the tourist-free, trendy Brera district. Brera is the exception in Milan; the neighborhood was made for a wandering, curious individual. The Brera district is just up north the Duomo area, packing all the tourists in there. So in Brera you can stroll around peacefully just admiring architecturally speaking some of the most worthy buildings in Milan. Most of the residential buildings have their ground floors occupied by boutiques & restaurants. For a while it feels you've entered a whole new city. An Italian city. And as cherry on the cake, the district is home to arguably Milan's best art museum, Pinacoteca Brera. I was supposed to find a some English book for the ride home, so next I headed to the highly recommended Feltrinelli International just in the middle of Brera & Duomo, Piazza Cavour 1. A great bulk of the books are in English, varying from classic Penguin-fiction to worldwide travel books. There's also a big selection of international mags & some useful stationary stuff. Bought Malcolm Gladwell's third gem, Outliers, & took off heading south again to the Duomo area.


Culture temple Pinacoteca Brera




Some Napoli fans must have walked by the italo-gay football ad, adding a Napoli touch to the billboard. Lota is Napoli slang, means shit. Poor Marchetti, he has doppio lota all over him. I'm starting to like Naples, we both think likewise of Italian primadonnas

By now it was 1:30pm so all the shops that were open in August, would be open. I basically waited my whole day for this. It would be hypocrite of me to say I've been to Italy, if I didn't stuff some of their world famous gelato in to my tuna-and-peanuts system. So I headed to via Santa Margherita, to Grom. The gelato-joint is famous for making its ice-cream only with quality ingredients, & they god-like follow their concept. Just for you guys to get the picture, the two Italian founders Federico Grom & Guido Martinetti get even their water from a specific point in Lurisia mountain for the sorbets & high-quality whole milk for the creams. Picked up from their own Lura Lura farm without colorings & artificial additives, the fruits are always seasonal; the flavor-menu changes every month. The success story started in Torino 2003, with stores now all over Italy & even in New York. Three balls, three euros. Same price as in all the mediocre gelaterias in Milan, good value. I went for my trademark Pistacchio, this time with fancy Syrian pistachios. To accompany the forthcoming oral orgasm, I went for the Cioccolato Extranoir with Colombian “Teyuna” chocolate and chocolate chips & the Grom traditional Crema come una volta with egg cream prepared “as it was, once upon a time”. Just simply the best I've ever tasted; best in Milan too. I can only think of one big-market name that reaches somewhere near this: Häagen-Dazs. Even that's still quite far from this yummy-yummy ice-cream. The thing that tops these guys over all the other contenders is the quality of ingredients & the rich, smooth texture of the gelato. Loved all three flavors, but I gotta say the extranoir made me jizz. I could still hours later taste it in my mouth, so good. I mean the chocolate, not the jizz. You can't miss the place, it's always crowded all the way to the street. My only reason to visit Milan again.


Easy access -> tram stop just in front




Beautiful

Time to hit the hostel, just through the supermarket for some, uh, you know the usual..hit some high fives with the lively receptionist & headed to Centrale for the bus. These airport connections part every 20 min, costing 7,5€ a person. It's a 45min trip to Malpensa Terminal 2, which is completely hallowed for Easy Jet flights. I arrived at the terminal & instantly saw this big slogan of Easy Jet's: “If you're late, we wont wait” Nice fellows. Checked in (backpack cost me 10€ extra, 20 if I hadn't booked it along with the flight). So that was one day in Milan, the last point in our eastern pilgrimage.


No reserved seats, so the boarding resembles a department store discount-day: total chaos for the window seats


The Italian Alps, a good ender

One month, 11 countries, 3000 kilometers. Several trains, loads of buses, some taxis & a boat or two. Great people, good times. Rantarosvo thanks its readers & shuts up, at least for a while. Keep travelling, & contrary to the Pet Shop's: GO EAST. So it goes.

Split Personality & Timeless Hvar-Island

We arrived all fully recharged to the largest city of the Adriatic Coast, Split. The seaside hunk is also the largest city of the historical region Dalmatia, spreading along the western shores of Croatia starting in the island of Rab in the north & ending in Bay of Kotor, Montenegro. Nowadays Dalmatia is only known as a geographic region, having a rich & colorful history under Roman, Venetian, Austrian, French, Italian & Yugoslav control. The name Dalmatia dates all the way back to an Illyrian tribe called Dalmatae, who habited the shores of 21st century Croatia 1000 BC. Yeah, you've been thinking for a few seconds of some white dogs with black spots all over their shit. Some might've thought even of a personal favorite movie of mine. That's right: The Dalmatian is a doggie-breed which roots have been traced to the region of Dalmatia, Croatia. Hence the name.

As the surrounding Dalmatia region, Split has a 1700 year history. The city was first settled when the Roman Emperor Diocletian built modestly a palace in his own honor at the end of 3rd century AD. The Diocletian's Palace, nowadays UNESCO tagged all over it, is the heart of modern, cosmopolitan Split. Most of the cultural & historical hard-ons are located within the massive walls of the Palacio. Just beside the grand monument is the “green” market where locals shop for fresh aliments & condiments. Just one block closer to the waterfront situates the grand, pedestrian boulevard Riva. Rather than succumb into the tourist-trap restaurants, pick a nice bench, smoke a reefer & watch the ferries leaving to Italy & the nearby islands. A costal city as Split would be no good without the pretty-as-postcard beaches hidden into the rocky coves of maritime Split. For nice-looking beaches with nice-looking bikinis hit the northern side of Split's coast, while for those looking some adventure, visit the south side frequented by more mature nudistas.








Split breathes football, Hajduk Split being the king team celebrating centenary in just a year, up-and-coming crazy times

We arrived to Split with an extremely conservative, jew-minded approach. We didn't have any accommodation, because we felt our main man hostelbookers.com had inflated prices as soon as we entered Croatia. Besides, like in Dumbo, every single place was fully booked. High-spirited we went from door to door, like be-spectacled, devoted Jehovas. Just without the brochures. We got bitch-slapped at several places: “We can't just have you sleeping on the floor guys, word of mouth & the place is gonna be a fucking gypsy camp in no time!” Then we entered Hrvojeva 6, just next to the wall of the castle, to this place called Ana Apartments. We later found out that the owners of the place were just teenagers: a fifteen-year-old porn-addicted little czar & his level-headed twenty-something sister. We talked to these French girls from the hostel, & he actually was in the reception watching porn at 2am the other night with his pubertal, pervert Croat friends. Anyway, they let us stay in the common room/reception, that was partly in- & outdoors. If you think about it, we had the “master suite” of the place. 30m2 with tv, computer, wifi, sofas, balcony & table that could fit Christ & all his Apostoles.This is for sure one fun place to bunk in Split. Like in Hippo, here was also effortlessly easy making friends. Soon we had a wolf pack to go out: the Costa Rican short, light-hearted latino, who was “working” for the summer as an assistant in the hostel. The Swedish, laid-back chap who we christened as Esko & proved us all Swedes aren't gay. The five Parisiennes who talked openly about us in their maternal language until they found out one of us spoke & understood French. Some blushes were exchanged between the petites.





We started our night in this Mexican bar called Panchos in the Old Town, recommended by Frederico. Didn't take long to realize why he took all his guests in there; he got free booze from the gin-blossomed owner. We didn't mind, the place was dirt cheap for Croatia; it was win-win. With GT's priced at beer levels (13 kunas=1,8 euros), it was a rather obvious decision what to pour down the throat. Best-value GT ever. Not the best, but best price/quality. Our pack got reinforcements: A Brazilian girl, an Aussie & a New Zealander. The latter in particular was an interesting acquaintance. She was one of the princesses of New Zealand. We asked about her father & she just shortly replied “well he has quite a lot of money.” We exchanged contacts..fuck..I just realized I've lost the fucking napkin! Sweet..she'd promised to hook us up down in there..foda-se..Well anyway, the night out was pretty fun. After GT's until 1am, we two along with Esko & the French chicks hit the clone-like, all-in-a-row waterfront clubs. As suspected, there was one club jam-packed & the other four looked like they're declaring bankruptcy the morning after. We had this bet going on: the first one to get a girl to buy a tequila got two additional tequilas from the two who didn't score. Esko was all-over the girls, in-your-face close. Didn't mind if they were leaning against their 6'3'' boyfriends, he just got in there with some slick opener. And a few seconds after he always got out of there. I was all pumped up with this free booze challenge, I really felt like a fucking donkey who has a bright orange carrot hanging by a stick in front of him. I wanted my free tequila! So, in some five minutes, this Swiss girl had the pleasure to be the latest official sponsor of our pilgrimage in the east. The three tequilas tasted exquisite, they had a special ingredient: gratuitousness. Yum yum how I like that taste, ay caramba! We ended up partying until 5am with these Londoner under-thirty elementary school teachers. Never realized teachers could have such fun. And drink so much. Crashed at the hostel bit before 6am, got myself an insufflated turquoise pool-bed & slept like a five-year-old.



So many people buzzing around, cigarette smoke all over the place. Too much French chatter, can't sleep. Downside of sleeping at the reception, impossible to snooze until late hours. So all messed up we got up at 10am, had a traditional Burek (kind of a simpler version of quiche-pie, with just cheese & onion) for 2 euros & hit the beach. On the north side. Beaches in Croatia are traditionally of a rockier kind, but it wasn't as bad we thought. Sun blasting from the cloudless sky, boats & yachts floating on the light-blue, salty sea & grey-bearded, skinny fishermen standing on the black rocks waiting for the three-kilo monster. Simply beautiful. The sun was pretty nasty, we had to hit the sea every fifteen minutes or we'd be soaking wet of sweat just by lying there, what actually happened when we were caught on napping for almost an hour.







After a relaxing, tan-oriented afternoon we were set to leave to Hvar, one of the islands in front of Split. We thought we'd only do a 24 hour trip & come back for Friday night, so we could catch the Saturday morning ferry to Ancona, Italy. What we didn't realize back then was that Hvar, in the summer, has the best nightlife in Croatia. So Friday night in there could be potential bacchanal. But we didn't know this yet, nor did we know there was a straight connection from Hvar to Ancona, on Saturday morning. We only knew that we wanted to be Friday night in Split, because we had friends coming in. So we packed our survival kit & off we went.


Even found this missile boat Dubrovnik, 42, belonging to the Croatian army. Googled it up & turns out its a Helsinki-class missile boat that is used by the Finnish army. These were the predecessors of Rauma-class situated in playa del Panzio, constructed at the Wärtsilä yards in Helsinki. It's a small world.


HVAR HVAR HVAR



Two kinds of connections from Split to Hvar: The faster, one hour catamaran goes directly to Hvar city & the two-hour-twenty-minutes ferry drops you by Stari Grad, from where you have to take a 3.5€, 20km bus ride to Hvar town. The catamaran needs to be reserved 24h in advance, so we settled for the six euro ferry ride, with hordes of tourists in every corner.

Hyped as the party-mecca of the Croatian islands, Hvar is one of the pearls if not the queen of the Dalmatian coast. The ancient town of Stari Grad, sandy beaches beside Jelsa & culture mingled with booze-filled nightlife of Hvar town, ensure a different pick of the cake for every taste on an island with 68km of fertile coastal plains. Our horse was Hvar Town. It didn't take long to see the nature of Hvar. It's rich peoples paradise playground. We backpackers, with “budjet” tattooed all over our faces, ditched the design hotels & chichi cocktails bars & opted for a more down to earth approach. We pulled off the same stunt as in Kotor, & left our bags in the hands of a pretty, C-cupped receptionista. Surprise surprise, we didn't have a place to stay & frankly didn't need: we thought of hitting the beach for the sunrise. Anyway, we headed to the steep stairs of an ancient Catholic church just within pissing distance from the port. Sipping Croatian white wine & daydreaming the boats & massive yachts, we decided next time we came in here, it was with a yacht like that. After starters, we headed to bar Kiva, just off the main pedestrian waterfront road into a lively, jam-packed side-alley. Note this: in the Balkans, especially Croatia & Montenegro, there's little or no difference at all in prices between beer & gin/vodka/whiskey. At Kiva, a beer cost 25 kunas (approx 7 kunas is an euro), same as a vodka orange or a gin tonic. On top of that, beers at trendy bars are small..I guess it's hip to go small. Booze before beer.


The high-roller of the harbor, 52m luxury yacht Sea Force One. Owner presents himself for the public as "Captain Magic", cool stuff


And the lamest..what a loser-name, I think everybody gets it..nuff said

We were told that Carpe Diem is the place to go on a night out in Hvar. There's a whole bunch of places sure, but most of them charge an entrance fee after 1am. So we made most of our present time & hit Carpe Diem, just beside the celebrity-spotters on the palm-lined sea-front promenade. Roman interior, groovy music & all these girls with inconceivably revealing short skirts promised a hell of an all-nighter. I realized then, there's an intimate connection between Hvar girls' summer wardrobe & rape. Travel light..We met these Slovenian girls from Ljubljana with whom we hanged out the rest of the night. It was kind of ironic: we've ditched Ljubljana for one more day in Split, so Ljubljana just had to come to us. Just in another kind of form. We didn't complain. A-hem. Anyway, we bailed “seize the moment” around 3am & went boat hopping to the port. I've never seen a port so full of boats, you could basically just hop from one to another really far away from the shore, like 100m. And if you couldn't, just pull the ropes, hop to the next one, & pull again. The girls seemed to have done it a few times, they knew their shit. Fun times. The girls wanted to show us the castle of Hvar Town, which authoritatively stared at the city from a hill-top, just a 10 min trek away. As one might expect, the view of the small, cove-like city revealing itself through the strong-scenting pine trees would've been serious hard-on material, thus for the booze.






Grabbed our stuff from the hotel, arrivederci to the girls & hit the beach. We set our gypsy camp behind these white bungalows of a beach bar, but were soon thrown out by some Pedro pool-boy, who complained there'd be “viiiisssitors koominnn”. It was that time of the morning, when the roosters start screaming, & you just think, how did we end up like this. So we dragged our bum-ass selves further up the the beach & set camp in the comfortably breezy, rock-meets-sand beach. We had just found a new five star hotel, with nice views & a large swimming pool. Everything seemed perfect.


The gypsy camp: sleeping bag, bright-colored plastic bags, tuna, peanuts & some reading. We left the horses down by the road.

I think I've never woke up so happy without a boner. To open your eyes into the calm blue sea, with the sun warming you just enough from the cool breeze itching your nose & some unidentified birds singing the most beautiful linnunlaulu. Doesn't get much better. However, we soon realized there were others among us, that quite obviously didn't share the same open-mindedness. God..looking back we must've looked like a motley crew of ragtags & low-lifers. Opening tuna cans in our sleeping bags just beside posh-looking, sun-stool bathers with those kinds of bikinis where there's golden circle rings on your lower hips connecting the front & the back of the below-the-equator bikini part, you know those? Man, you really do look awfully horrible next to those. We must've stank like dead man's feet, because the women hit the Adriatic & stayed there until our caravan left.

Once again, after figuring out the five o'clock ferry was our man, we had a few hours to kill on the rocky beaches. Just as in Split, the scenery was legendary; just look a the end of the post. Took the cramped bus to Stari Grad & on to the ferry. We learned that all our friends from Budva were supposed to come in a few Stunden to the island, so we were a bit off. At the time, I think both of us had some extreme, half-baking thoughts going on in our panheads. We got out of the ferry & Robert was the one who pulled the cat by the throat on to the table. “What if we just go back with the next ferry our shit with us & find out if there are any ferries in the morning to Ancona from Hvar?” We were short on time, the next ferry left 20:30, it was eight. There was indeed a ferry from Hvar to Ancona, at 7:30am Saturday morning. So we started our blitz-walk to the hostel, discussing intensively what to do. We got to our place, & all our hostel-mates where there like “you're back man, tonight's gonna be the night man!” We didn't want to bail out on them, but on the other hand Hvar was such good times, especially with all the friends coming. We had to decide. 15 minutes & the ferry would press the tyfoon for bye bye. So I said let's flip a coin. Who should be better to decide than new French girls just in a few hours ago. So I explained to Alice, her friends watching attentively. Heads we go Hvar, tails we party with you. The girls started blushing & one of them, maybe didn't realize we knew our French, said “you better keep them here”. Now poor Alice was under pressure & flipped heads. Visible disappointment among the French. Fuck that, we were in a bloody hurry. After hugs, high-fives & some serious ass-slapping we were sprinting through the crowded streets towards the ticket counter. Got tickets & mounted the ferry two minutes before H-Hour. Got a strange feeling of deja vu; this was by far one of the craziest stunts we'd pulled off on the trip. The smirking geezer from the counter even recognized us, and met my eyes with amusing befuddlement, like knowing what we were up to. In two hours we were back in Hvar, this time we had some sort of place for our stuff. The Essex girls from Budva wer also in town, so we stashed our stuff in their fancy private double. Netto profit for the Finnish guys 300 kunas=45 euros. So as you see, Croatia is high-end.









Went for drinks to home-sweet-home Kiva (I like the name, sounds nice), and soon our Aussie mates were back in the game, our posse all rejoined. We'd heard there was a huge thirsty party going on in this nearby party-isle, owned by club Carpe Diem. For 60 kunas (8euros) you took a boat about the size of a Jurmo, entrances included. What the hell, we've been total Uncle Scrooges' during this trip (just without the money-pool..we do have a lucky leki from Albania, though), so might as well celebrate our last night in Croatia. And it so much fun, starting from the boat trip, evolving into dancing classic songs mixed with big-tune house anthems & simply shooting the shit with mates in an island that reminded me of that twisted Temptation Island show. Hands down, best beach party ever. Beats even Portugal. Satisfied, with the same sloshed eyes, we made our way to the ferry. Shared a cab with this cool, fashionista guy along with his hot missus from Paris. Pure inspiration the baguette-dude.








Croatia, a country where natural water costs more than carbonated, has almost completed its transition into a attractive, although a bit pretentious jet-setter paradise. Just like it's little sister Montenegro, Croatia has received much positive attention from the media in recent years, with hyping articles & topping rankings as the best holiday destination in Europe for its “rich diversity in attractions”, “relative affordability”, “stunning beaches & islands” & “magnificent food”. No wonder, the four-and-a-half-million people country might soon maneuver itself into the EU. There's just a few turn-offs. By far, Croatia is the most expensive country in the Balkans, & sincerely there's not much difference between the sights & landscape in much more affordable Montenegro. Point two: The locals aren't really that friendly. Okay, might have been just bad luck, no need to extrapolation, but the groove we picked up in Croatia was kind of cold for such a soaring, warm country. I hope they don't end up like the Canary Islands, It's just too pretty for that. Besides all the hype, for what I saw, I believe Croatia is more timeless than trendy. Hvar in particular is the capo of Croatia, the chief spot. It was, after all, one of the highlights of our trip. Man, just look at the pics. Hope they make the most out of it. So it goes.