Croatia, July 2010

Europe has this great system called the Schengen agreement, whereby most people of western countries can hang around in Europe for 90 days each year. We've already been in these Schengen countries for ooohhh 60-odd days, so we have been forced to come to Eastern Europe for the rest of our time before we fly to Canada. Forced might be too harsh a word.
We flew from London to Split, Croatia where half of Europe also seems to go for holidays. Phill was here four years ago, when Croatia was still that exotic place that was a little bit out there. It is now ridiculously accessible, with cheap flights from England, package tours from all over Europe and those inescapable Sail Croatia tours full of amazingly tanned young people.
We decided to do the country by ourselves as our budget (still surprisingly good after six months) still has to stretch another two months. We had three nights in Split, staying with Zoran - private accommodation is the norm, with most houses and apartment blocks with 'rooms/zimmer/sober/camere' signs out the front. A private room with a bathroom cost about $50 for us both, which was cheaper than the youth hostels.
From Split we went north to Zadar, then back down to Primosten and all the way down to Dubrovnik.
We are here smack bang in the middle of school holidays, and who wouldn't want to come to Eastern Europe for some sun? The scenery is lovely, the water crystal clear. Pity about all the people though. And these people - you can smell the skin cancer on them! We would be cowering in the tiny patches of shade provided by the stunted trees around the beach, while people young and old would have all their bits out getting a tan. The constellations of moles on some of these people...I would diagnose skin cancer with no qualms.
Primosten was without a doubt the highlight of Croatia - and not only because a special little boy turned 23. Phill was here four years ago and wanted to come back to spend his birthday here. It's a smaller town away from the main tourist destinations, but still packed with Croatian families having some beach time. The marina had some massive boats (we put a couple on lay by) and the restaurants were pretty good. It's nice to be able to afford a restaurant meal on a marina, looking at ridiculously wealthy people on their boats and yachts.
From Primosten we had a pretty terrible 7-hour bus ride to Dubrovnik. The view was spectacular, following the coast road through little villages with immense views of the archipelago. The air conditioning was shit and the traffic was horrendous, but we got there.
Dubrovnik is an amazing city with loads of history. It was bombed by the Serbians only 20 years ago - people our age would remember, and people older than us fought. The old town is alley after alley, and alley cat after alley cat. The restaurants and bars make for great people watching.
We stayed in private accommodation with the cutest 79-year-old, 5foot nothing lady, who said we were 'super touristic' which I'm sure means cool backpackers in Croatian. We were a 15 minute walk from the old town, and about 5 minutes from the harbour and all the ridiculously big boats, including a mega mega cruise ship. We stayed in DB for four nights, hoping to meet up with some friends also in town. We kept sharp eyes out for them, but the hordes of travellers and tourists blocked our views. We found a delightful cliff side swimming spot with shade cloth 'for locals only' and spent some lovely hours reading and diving in the crystal clear water under the sheer cliffs.

Travel by numbers.

Six months =

• 16 countries (Indonesia, Thailand, Malaysia, China, Mongolia, Russia, Estonia, Latvia, Sweden, Germany, Spain, France, England, Croatia, Bosnia, Montenegro)
• 11 capital cities (Jakarta, Bangkok, Kuala Lumpur, Beijing, Ulaanbaatar, Moscow, Riga, Stockholm, Berlin, Madrid, London)
• 8 modes of transport (Plane, bus, train, ferry, car, boat, bike, camel, horse)
• 6 flights
• 3 overnight bus trips
• 1 scary Siberian passport controller
  
• 2 hotels (Jakarta, Berlin)
• 2 couch surfers (Tomsk, Sigulda)
• 1 bout of Siberian flu
• 2 bouts of diarrhea (Phill)
  
• 4 seasons of How I Met Your Mother (in three days in Hamburg)
• 0 trains/busses/flights/ferries/horses missed
• 2 bunk beds fell out of (Phill)
• 1 very scared backpacker (when Phill fell on her in the middle of the night)
• 3 bottles of shampoo
• 2 bottles of body moisturiser
• 2 bottles of face moisturiser
• 4 tubes of toothpaste
• 2 toothbrushes
  
• 1 credit card taken by ATM
• 1 sarong lost...by Kate
• 1 pair of sunnies stolen
• 1 pair of sunnies drunkenly smashed
• 0 haircuts
• 0 beard trims
• 6 animals kicked (frog, pigeon, cat, horse, camel, fish...all by Phill. Who kicks a frog???)
• 1 time confused for brother and sister
• 1 old housemate run into in Croatia
• 1 TV interview (tourism TV Thailand, you're welcome)
• 3 fines (jay walking in KL, no train ticket in Berlin, Phill 'not realising' he had a butterfly knife in his carry on bag flying out of Germany...dick.)
• 3 times Phill has called home
• 2 birthdays
• 1 ballet performance (St Petersburg, Russia)
• 1 Westend show (Les Mis)
• 1 ping pong show (Phuket)
• 1 Jonas brother seen in real life
• 1 fire fought (Pamplona grass fire...we were all over it)
  
• 23,392 kms travelled in Asia...still adding up the rest. That's Brisbane to St Petersburg.
• 13,032 kms travelled by land
• 0 nights spent apart (yes, we both agree that's lame)
  

Pamplona, July 2010

Boy do the Spanish know how to party. And so do Aussies and Kiwis!
Phill and I both signed up about six months ago to volunteer with a tour company at the San Fermin Festival (Running of the Bulls). It was a hectic week which we started 4 days early with the volunteer crew - about 20 Aussies, Kiwis and a token Pom. We set up 200 tents in the heat of the Spanish sun and were rewarded with ridiculous amounts of alcohol and amazing food impressively cooked by Dirty Pillows. That night we drank with the volunteer crew from the Top Deck tour, met some cool people and got to know eachother. We still had another day of work, fixing tents and rabbiting about a bit, but that was rewarded, again, with ridiculous amounts of alcohol - this time Sangria, which was basically a mix of red wine and any hard alcohol Jamie, the Aussie guy in charge of us ground crew, could get his hands on. It was potent but made for a great night of singing and dancing in enclosed spaces. We celebrated being awesome at firefighting (the scrub around the campsite went up in flames because it was so hot! - so there were 20 Aussies running around with buckets of water and fire extinguishers. But it was ok, we got free beer).
The opening day of the festival, July 6, was the biggest street party in the world. Young and old, Spanish and tourists, lined the streets of Pamplona. Everyone without exception wore white, a red sash around the waist, and a red bandana first around the wrist, then worn around the neck when the festival officially kicked off with a rocket at midday.
Then came the sangria. We drunk alot, but we threw even more over eachother. Phill's beard, already a phenomenon, went to a whole new level when the Beard Shot was invented. Pour sangria through the beard - 'pour Sangria high off the cheekbone, allowing it to filter down to the tip of the beard, gaining all the nutritiousness and awesomeness of ginger infused sangria'. Strangers did it. Phill drank out of a mannequins leg and we taught some Spanish boys the classic Australian song - 'tits out for the boys'. Bless them, I hope it worked for them at least once.

People die on the opening day. There is a statue that people jump off, into the crowd, hoping to be caught - some aren't. The main town square is packed with people so you literally can't move. Champagne bottles are thrown, people lose their shoes and there is broken glass everywhere. Not to mention sangria, mustard, tomato sauce, flour and eggs in the eyes! Families still walk around, kids in strollers, aware that at any minute a spontaneous street parade could start up and they could be caught in the middle.

But man is it a party!

Then, of course, there is the actual running of the bulls. Each morning at 8am, 6 bulls (plus one each day, for 7 days) especially bred to be agro, are let free to run through the narrow streets of Pamplona to the bull ring. Thousands of Spaniards and tourists wait to catch a glimpse of the beasts before sprinting as fast as they can towards the bull ring. The runners aren't allowed to touch any part of the bull, even if it is gouging them, but they are allowed to hit it on the head with a rolled up newspaper - which one isn't monitored.

Once the bulls make it to the bull ring, they are ushered (that sounds too polite...) through the exit on the other side. Hundreds of men and a few sneaky women are now in the bull ring, all in red and white. And then they let another bull out! This is a younger bull with balls taped around the tips of its horns, so it's not as dangerous. But the men taunt and tease the bull until it charges into a pack of people and hopefully gouges someone in the arse. It's very entertaining.

I watched the bull run from the stands in the bullrun, looking for a ranga with a beard while watching the baby bull charge. Phill did the run, saw the bulls but was the first one to not be allowed into the bull ring (by a woman cop...). Some crazy Spaniards (and a crazy Aussie from the camp crew) knelt down at the entrance to the bull ring, where they let the baby bulls in. This bull, charged up from all the taser shots I'm sure the give it, absolutely charges through these people, all kneeling pack up against the gate. It's surprising how much air the bull can get in order to clear so many people. There were always one or two guys that got kicked in the head or stomped on by the bull. A couple of people got knocked out, a couple of people got punched by Spaniards for holding the bull.

Each night of the nine day festival is a party. Carparks become bars, streets are dancefloors and every person is a friend. It was great for us to stay in the one place for 8 days, with free accommodation and a great bunch of people to party with. We were also taken to San Sebastian - a beach with waves! - for one last hurrah with the volunteer crew before the epic bus ride back to London.