The tunnelled coastline.

Day 4, Part I

Ljubljana, Slovenia – Split, Croatia

As we were leaving Ljubljana, we briefly stopped at Tivoli Gardens. It was basically a park on the way out of the city, with a manor and some trees and a fountain of a boy caressing a fish. The path leading up to the manor was interesting itself. It didn’t provide many views, though. Towards the city, we saw the silhouettes of office and housing blocks, a few cranes against the dull and cloudy sky. Looking up the path were trees and the steps to the manor, which was actually to the right off the path a bit and the manor itself partially obscured by the trees.

But along the path were large photographs. On one side, there were colour photographs of Ljubljana and its streets and landmarks. On the other side, there were black and white photographs of Tivoli Gardens and the manor, some were just plain photos of them, yet others were more interesting and abstract, or viewing the manor from different angles.

After wandering about a bit, we had to move on to Croatia. It was all motorway, apart from the last bit. But getting into Croatia proved no problem. We even managed to get a stamp in our passports, but we had to get them at the declaration barrier, as Rob failed to ask the first time round, much to my un-amusement. Though I was happy to know that it was possible in the end. The stamp was good, too. Its border was of a nice pattern, something similar to Celtic decorative patterns, and the name ‘Republika Hrvatska’ written on the top. The next thing to get now was some currency.

At some services near the border, which had a broken down recovery van with ironically flat tyres (even with ‘Pannenhilfe’, in black bold font on the side), we stopped to get some money out, which for me, proved difficult. Rob got three hundred Kuna out, and as I went to get some money, it didn’t. After the ordeal with the windscreen in Basel, I was worried that I had no money left, even though I was sure there was some left. I tried all of my cards, but to no avail. I was hoping it was just the machine that simply ran out of cash and not my accounts.

Rob also checked up on his friend, Raj. The situation was, he and the uni lacrosse team were off to Salou for holiday. They got as far as Coventry on the coach, when Raj got drunk and spewed up after downing a bottle of wine and whatever else. Apparently, as Raj isn’t a heavy drinker, they took him to the nearest hospital and just left him there, but without his case and stuff. They were bound for Spain. And so he woke up in hospital, dressed in someone else’s clothes, or clothes that the hospital provided from the ‘Lost and Found’ bin, or any other random bin by hearing the description of them.

We first heard about this when he phoned Rob when we were in Ljubljana to ask him about trains to Birmingham, where his unaware parents live and were soon to find out that their son failed to make it past the Port of Dover. Rob suggested going to one of the train stations in London by the Underground, and then taking the train home, but that could only happen if the Underground trains were still running at that time. The other options were to stay at Rob’s, or just stay in a station overnight until the first train in the morning arrives. And Raj did not get his £500 back for the trip and apparently, he got hospitalised before as a result of alcohol and the lacrosse team. And soon enough, the story spread amongst others.

Back in Croatia, we were driving south along the motorway, and what struck us about it was, it was quiet. There were not many drivers at all on the motorways. We weren’t sure whether it was because of the tolls, which weren’t that high. Not compared to standards we were used to anyway. It may have been because Croatia isn’t the most developed country, and maybe people don’t have the cars that are good enough for the motorway. Maybe they didn’t like using the motorways, and preferred the more scenic and rural roads.

Croatia had a lot of tunnels, too, which Dai missed out on. Not the longest of tunnels, though, but altogether, there was a lot of darkness. After spending some couple of kilometres in a dark, smoky, dingy tunnel, I had to prepare my eyes for the bright impact of the sunlight at the end of the tunnel. At first, it was difficult, but I got used to it after about a dozen tunnels. Here are a couple of photosthat I took in Pakoštane (doubtfully pronounced the same as Pakistan):

After leaving the motorway, we went onto the 8. The 8 is a number designated road that runs along the Croatian coastline, passing the thousands of islands sprouting up from the surface of the Adriatic. We exited a tunnel, and the view was something I haven’t seen before. The road winded downwards towards the coast. The ground was dry and rocky with some shrubs and small trees. The coast was jagged rock and the sea was clear. There was some kind of lake, similar to a large rock pool, only separated by the sea by a thin, rocky wall, only leaving a small pass connecting the waters of the sea and the lake. The sun was getting lower over the sea, turning the sky into a golden colour with a hint of dark red and setting a bright, yet magnificent reflection on the surface of the sea. The scene was familiar along the coast. The islands being ghostly silhouetted against the sun and the haze and the glistening sea becoming a golden colour.