“If I find something in your vehicle that you have failed to declare, you will be taken to prison for seven years, do you understand?” The guard drops his serious spiel on us, demanding that we show him around our cupboards, drawers and diving equipment. This means two more border-control checks. Before reaching Dubrovnik, we have to cross Bosnia, which owns a sliver of coastline. We have planned a spread of three dive locations: first Dubrovnik in the south, mid-placed Tuçepi and finally Pula, in the north. What we haven’t realised is how many islands Croatia appears to have collected (1244!) and with such wonderful topography we could be in Indonesia were it not for all the Croatian flags adorning shops and houses. On day two, with fuzzy heads, we at last reach the magnificent Croatian coast, where mountains dive into the Adriatic and the road winds between them. Our first night in the country is spent, with the owners’ permission, in a restaurant car-park in a sparsely populated country village. On wide, flat, mountain-fringed plains sit small agricultural plots dotted with houses, some new, some abandoned or burnt-out and many riddled with bullet-holes.Ĭroatia’s interior is a confused place in which natural beauty sits beside appalling historical brutality and human suffering. We enter the northern interior, which after only a couple of hours’ driving reveals scars left by the 1990s Balkans conflict. I notice that my right arm has become sunburnt from the drive as we crawl towards passport control. The border crossing into Croatia is slow. We clip the shoulder of Italy, stopping only for coffee and to warm our pasty, wintery selves in the sun, as the first signs of spring arrive and temperatures exceed 20☌. We camp by silent, glassy lakes that beg to be dived. Rivers the colour of overly processed digital photographs flow through deep valleys rich with greens and yellows. Slovenia offers scenery of unimaginable beauty and pristine wilderness, with hints of Canada and notes of New Zealand.
BLUE PLANET SCUBA DIVING DUBROVNIK PORTABLE
We’re relieved to have packed an extra blanket and portable gas-heater at the last minute. The traffic flows efficiently at high speeds, cars leapfrogging one another in a well-choreographed routine.Īustria brings snow in the high mountain passes and two very cold nights. Germany comes and goes quickly thanks to the slick autobahn, where I don’t dare to venture so much as a tyre in the fast lane. We manage to bypass all the pricey French toll roads, easy enough when crossing the top half of the country, which takes us just over a day to knock off. With hindsight, landing in Calais or Dieppe would have been better, because we could have avoided the hellish Parisian peripheral road, while also reducing our mileage significantly. Most of this overnight crossing happened while we slept. Us at least) from Portsmouth to St Malo in northern France, courtesy of Brittany Ferries. Knowing little about the diving on offer, we had decided to check out the country by road during springtime to beat those crowds.
We had heard only exciting things about the destination above the water-line, though always followed by a “…but Dubrovnik is super-busy during the summer” rider. It’s 2am, and I just know that we shouldn’t have “wild-camped” in this street for the night.Īna and I had talked about Croatia a lot in the past. Peering into the night through a gap in our camper-van curtains, I can just about make out the partially lit faces of several men I had seen earlier that evening, hunched over a rapidly growing collection of beer-bottles in a smoky locals’ bar in the village of Muc. I’m not sure which intrusion wakes me first – the banging on our windows, the guttural laughter and shouting outside, or perhaps a terrified Ana shaking me awake to deal with a problem that I hope will eventually deal with itself.
0 kommentar(er)
