 |
| A beautiful morning despite the early hour |
So our tummies are feeling a little crook. It has been a long day and our choice of food at each location was not, what one would say, the best. Getting up too early to make the hotel breakfast, ‘Olly and I went empty stomach on the ferry from Hvar town to Split. At the very glamous Split port we had about five minutes spare between the ferry and the bus. (This was another example of the website not quite corresponding to the actual timetable.) We had just enough time to fit in a scrumptious slice of Croatian pizza, a chocolate filled berliner bun and a bottle of coke. Healthy breakfast. We both concluded that Croatian pizza is quite like Italian pizza only square. (The name of ‘Olly’s coke btw was Laura. Mine was unpronounceable.)
 |
| Seriously... |
We jumped onto the bus – well I actually jumped on to the wrong bus by accident only to find it was completely empty. Second time lucky I was then able to snooze for the first leg of the trip to Dubrovnik. Actually, ‘Olly snoozed while I kept watch to make sure she was still alive. ‘Olly’s sleeping habits are rather unusual in public transport. I was most concerned when I saw that she had face planted the seat. I wasn’t quite sure whether she had had a stroke or suffocated but before checking her breathing or pulse I made sure I took a photo. She remained in that position for quite some time so I figured she was comfortable.
The trip from Split to Dubrovnik takes some time and we were quite miffed when the bus driver decided to make an extra long stop in Bosnia. We made the best of the situation and in keeping with out desire to test the local delights we ate Bosnian gelati and admired the view of the Adriatic sea from the bus park. Like Croatian pizza, Bosnian gelati is quite like the Italian version.
 |
| Concrete cafe |
After our terribly inconvenient stop over, we were back on the road; ‘Olly assumed her usual bus position while I listen to some tunes – namely fuck you by Lilly Allen. I was fondly thinking “fuck you” to the bus driver for making our trip unnecessarily long. After another border control in Bosnia we finally arrived at Dubrovnik just a few minutes too late for the airport shuttle bus – Lilly Allen was still ringing in my head. We made friends with a honeymooning couple from Woollongong and shared a cab to the airport. We didn’t feel the need to consume any food in the taxi however while at the airport we ate a foul chicken coucous salad, some spinach and cheese Croatian concoction resembling the common dog turd and ‘Olly had another not so Italian cuppa coffee. We also spent a few hours sunning ourselves in the idyllic concrete car park café.
While we had already had a fairly long day, we had much more to come. In a bid to save some cashola, ‘Olly and I had decided to fly via Munich on the way home and for some reason we thought we should eat…again. After all, it was diner time. ‘Olly had the munchies for some noodles so we settled on a German Asian fusion restaurant. It wasn’t so bad if you like 2 minute noodles and a tonne of chicken salt.
While we are not quite home yet we are thankful to even be on the final leg of the journey. As we casually enjoyed our noodles outside gate 30, it was brought to our attention that it was the final call for our flight. The moron flight attendant on our earlier flight had told us that we were at gate 8… needless to say this was incorrect and after having our names called out on the loud speaker we ran 25 gates like fatty boombaladas only to be informed that the new gate was gate 31…just behind our original restaurant. Due to our fitness levels we powerwalked 22 gates back and then feigned running for a further 4 gates to save face and after receiving a stern talking to by the grumpy German, we are now sitting on the plane. I am pleased to advise that we have both turned down the offer of a fritz and tomato sandwich and opted instead for a glass of water. I suppose we can eat at Charles de Gaulle airport if we are hungry upon arrival. I think not mon ami! Then again, we can always get the taxi to go via a drive through.
We are both rather stuffed but are enjoying the hysterical giggles that overtiredness has brought us. The only thing that makes me want to cry is that I have to get in a taxi in 7 hours to get on another plane to Geneva. Holy smokes! @Hollpopp
