Day 8. Wednesday 8 April.

First visit is to Fort Lovrjenac, which is outside the walls of the Old Town. A relatively easy walk – but still lots of stairs, mostly going down. Finding the entry was a bit of a challenge but eventually got there: the paper maps lack detail, and Apple Maps seems to delight in misdirecting D, just like in Spain. Along the way we met Clifford and Oswald, their big sister and their mum, holidaying from Jo’burg. The boys were much more interested in finding tiny hermit crabs than dealing with steps and a stone fort. Mum was originally from Pinaroo (SA); she home-schools the three & recommended visiting Bosnia- Herzegovina (just over the border) …T will think about it.

More steps, with some interesting views on the way up.

And a tip on making a statement in this colourful environment: T thought one was a fashion photoshoot, with the professional giving instructions but D thought it was a ‘personal shot’ (the guy seemed reluctant to be involved).

Panoramic views – the castle itself was rather austere.

While having our well-earned coffee afterwards, we noticed sea kayakers coming back in. T made enquiries, we checked the QR code, ummed and aahed, then decided we would book for the sunset paddle. T asked one of the returning kayakers, a Scottish lady, how it had been. She asked if T was by herself – when T pointed out D, she was told that she’d be fine. That was less a compliment to D’s obvious physique than an assessment that two rowers was the best option. Booked online, then did a recon to confirm the meeting point, which was not obvious until we found it.

So, to fill in some time, we headed to the Museum of Contemporary and Modern Art. Needless to say, we got there in a roundabout way, up stairs, up a steep road, again thanks to imprecise maps (and perhaps D’s map reading and sense of direction?).

It is a compact gallery on three levels. Exhibitions were likewise small, but some quite interesting pieces.

The first floor had a selection of Dubrovnik artists – with one piece in particular catching our eye.

Second floor was the Kviz Collection.

Third floor was a collection of electronica in blue – not really to our taste.

Returned to the apartment via an easier route to rest up for the paddling.

Made our way to the designated paddlers meeting point (an orange umbrella).

 Unfortunately the afternoon breeze had arrived. It would be a bit challenging. Nine kayaks (18 paddlers)…all at least half our age if not more, set out after the safety brief, and issue of life jackets, dry bags, oars, bottles of water….and a trek along a narrow sea wall to the departure beach.  

One kayak turned back fairly soon in the rather heavy swell. After our initial apprehension, followed by the first ‘christening’, we felt safe enough (the morning expeditions had so looked placid/glassy!) The two person kayaks were very stable and handled swell and wash well. Betina cave, accessible only by sea, was the turnaround point; a few brave souls dunked/swam & the remainder were pretty ‘chilled’.

Because of the wind and heavy-going, we didn’t make for the island usually included in the trip but returned more or less directly to home base, paddling against a strong breeze. The sunset was spectacular, a huge ball dropping on the horizon with a replica sailing ship (Karaka) silhouetted: a bit of magic!

Our lower halves drenched, we landed, shivered as we dashed as best we could up, up, up to our ‘home’, a hot shower & a glass of rose. A worthwhile experience, followed by a lovely chicken dinner.

Day 7. Tuesday 7 April.

Another brilliant morning…sunny & windless. Supermarket was the first stop, desperate for morning cuppa …Earl Grey is the only offering apart from herbals! The shop is really only a tiny grocery store with limited products. But Dinner supplies bought for next 3 days: 1 chicken, 2 potatoes, 3 tomatoes, 3 carrots, garlic, 2 onions, packets of dried parsley & oregano, oil & s&p… cheese & prosciutto…T wonders how there’ll be a  different meal each night and without CUMIN! D chooses some appropriate reds & a terrific dark loaf.

After brekky the day’s plan is hatched: let’s do the walls walk in our own slow time. But first a coffee and an omg moment! D finds a packet of cumin seeds in the ‘secret back shop’ at Kawa.

 At 40 euros for a once-only, one-way stroll, it takes us much of the day. And it was terrific. Being a one-way circuit reduces congestion & despite whichever cruise ship was in today, there was no real pressure. Views across the rooftops were splendid. It was a perfect day for: roof repairs, peeking into backyard terraces, admiring the vege-patches, watching the kayakers and jetty-jumpers, and drying the undies & socks.

The terracotta roofs (new) glowed, contrasting with the muted lichen-covered tiles, but what a reminder of  times recently passed: maps showed that most roofs were damaged/destroyed in the 1990-91 Homeland War, being pelted by shells/missiles from the limestone ridge directly above (Serbian/Montenegrin guns).

Dubrovnik’s story is the familiar sad tale of power/plunder. The city, formerly the city-state-republic of Rugosa is still under restoration in parts.

A small marine museum detailed the glory days of Dubrovnik’s sea trade, boat building and 154 consulates throughout Europe. The ladies’ craft stall was quiet.

The walk/climb – ‘allow 90 minutes’ – took us about 4 hours. We marvelled at the stone, the roof tiles, the straight lines, curved lines, towers, steps and the Adriatic water: clear, aquamarine & glassy. At the exit we thanked the staff, asking how the summertime crowds were managed: with great difficulty…’it’s a nightmare, when 5 ships and several flights are in’… but congratulations, it’s so clean…’there are cleaners constantly, we have to keep it like this!’

Dinner worked: roast chicken & veges, with leftovers for 2 more versions. And that washing machine sound is not…it’s the funicular doing its thing, right next door! Thankfully it rests overnight.

Day 6. Monday 6 April

Anniversary of a major earthquake that destroyed Dubrovnik in 16…something!

Our apartment is above the Old Town, within very easy walking distance – albeit, inevitably, with some steps and is recently renovated. Although we weren’t aware at first, it sits under another apartment – we can see this from street level, but have heard little apart from furniture scraping; all around us are old residences now turned into short-term rentals (a fact of mass tourism). There seems to be a constant background sound of washing machines on their spin cycle.

However, there were no provisions in the apartment, not even a black tea bag or milk to make a cup of tea, essential to start the day. That meant a quick trip to a supermarket to get the necessaries. One problem: Easter Monday and pretty much everything was closed for the day. Fortunately, we found a small bakery to get a ham and salad baguette (gold-plated) for breakfast, and then another to get milk and yoghurt.

A quiet day was planned after the busyness of Istanbul. Maybe our travel weariness is catching up with age. The morning was splendid so we wandered down through the Old Town to the waterfront, joining the crowds bussed in from a cruise ship.

Although the streets and alleyways were busy, the contrast with Istanbul was significant: much, much quieter, slower, less bustle. And Dubrovnik itself – the Old Town – was just so relatively tiny. But…. STEPS! We had been warned, but after long walking days in Istanbul, the feet & knees are protesting mightily.

We were passing the Cathedral of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary and noticed a family group hovering around a baby dressed in white, adoring parents & grandparents & the priest beaming & giggling. Obviously a christening about to happen, so we gatecrashed. It was quite a long procedure, delayed a bit by the baby needing a bottle – worked a treat & she promptly fell asleep.

In the afternoon did the steps again down to  Pile Gate  to get a ‘Dubrovnik Pass’ which gives access to the wall walk plus entry to many other attractions, museums etc – calculating that this was an economical way to go. That sorted, continued our wandering through parts of the Old Town where there were late afternoon reduced tourist numbers. Ice creams seemed the ‘catch of the day’.

As you do, we dropped into St Ignatius Loyola, sitting quietly while a few locals at the front chanted the rosary.

As we had no dinner supplies, there would have to be a restaurant stop.  At this one, although the name was appropriate, the menu didn’t suit.

And of course we were ‘invited’ into several restaurants the moment we stopped to look at menus. The prices shrieked until we figured that they are comparable to home (just shows we don’t dine out much). Arrived at a restaurant named Wanda, which offered the black risotto T was hoping for, at a good price, so that was it!

We were seated and then greeted by Stella – a force of nature with a strong American accent, who continued to give and receive cheek through the whole meal.

The restaurant has been owned by Stella’s father for twenty years. It was named Wanda by the previous owner, who we think was some sort of family member – they saw no reason to rename it. Stella had been born in Croatia but moved to the USA as a child when her family sought the American dream in LA.  She has been back in Croatia for just over a year, after ten years living in Sweden with her half-Swedish mother.

Stella commented about the cost of living in Croatia – she claimed average income is one thousand Euro per month, rent about eight hundred. Home ownership is impossible for ordinary single workers: she, her brother and father live in a family-owned apartment. Tourism, which she supports (obviously) is both good – brings in money and jobs – but also bad because living costs are so high and housing is simply not available for locals, as it becomes dedicated to tourist rentals during the season. She claimed that once the tourist season starts young families are thrown out to make way for higher paying visitors. She proposed that perhaps life was better in the former Yugoslavia, when everyone had an apartment?

T had her black risotto, D had a grilled Banzino (European sea bass) fillet cooked by her brother, the head chef. Both were delicious.

At the next table a pair of young girls with American accents arrived; both students (of finance!) on a study exchange in Ireland and now enjoying the Easter break in Croatia & Montenegro (poor things!) We chatted about Irish weather & very briefly about things Trump. It was noted that one had the seafood platter, with a glass of wine…(a bit different from student lentil soup, thought T).

Day 5. Sunday 5 April.

Have spent long, tiring days, so no enthusiasm to write the blog at night, so some catch up to do.

Our last day in Istanbul so decided to use the hours available before our 7 PM flight to visit the spice market. Another easy trip – the metro/tram system is so good and very clean.

Walk through the spice market was fairly quick,(all about the colour, really) with again some of the ‘touts’ loving the Aussie accent.

Back at Sultanahmet we tried to get a coffee at a café/restaurant called Loti, where T remembered having her first Istanbul breakfast 26 years ago, but today it was closed at this time so instead had a coffee nearby at Sultana, with the owner complaining about slow business. That was a bit surprising as the area is teeming with tourists and locals. The woman in the front window rolling and cooking bread and giving cheek to neighbouring café staff, and occasionally looking at that ubiquitous item, the PHONE, was fun.

Decided to take a chance on getting into Hagia Sofia (T had been oscillating: to do or not to do)…with a sunny day and a few spare hours we  lined up for tickets rather than paying the extra fee for the online ones, or those offered by guides and touts. The queue was reasonable and the experience was worth it, not withstanding the inevitable crowds (Standing is actually more challenging on the feet than walking, but sometimes it rewards well).

 A visit to the museum was included in the ticket, so we lined up again, much longer this time, and once inside only had time for the 25 minute AV tour before needing to head back to the hotel to leave for the airport. Story of the mosque and the city is the usual tale of power and plunder.

So back to the hotel on the metro. On the train, we saw for the first, and only, time a younger man offering his seat to an older man. No such courtesy has been given to anyone previously – in fact there was a distinct lack of what we would call common courtesy in most public places (use of mobiles, crossing in front, pushing into queues, entering and exiting metro etc). This contrasts with our experience 12 months ago in Spain, where deference to older people is a given.

Arriving at the hotel our driver was waiting for us – he was early! Anticipated about an hour journey: first vehicle accident delayed us about 10 minutes, inching forward in dense traffic. Second accident delayed us about 30 minutes. Fortunately, we had plenty of slack in timings, so no stress.

A quiet drink to settle down before boarding Istanbul airport is wonderful, new, beautiful and well appointed, with double layers of security. Belts, jackets off again, devices etc into trays (& this had been the similar on  entering the shopping mall near our hotel, the art gallery, even the metro) to be greeted by a team of young water polo players joining us on the flight. Boarding was smooth, we settled down for the two hour flight…..but there were strange noises from the aircraft engines. After about 30 minutes we were informed that there was a ‘technical problem’ and that we would be moving to a different aircraft, with a delay of about 90 minutes. Off the plane, long walk to other side of the terminal, boarded, took off, arrived at Dubrovnik airport, having made up about 30 minutes during the flight.

Dubrovnik airport was pretty much deserted, small, with a couple of passport control officers. We were through in about ten minutes to be met by our driver Tanya, organised through booking.com. Tanya was tall, probably about six foot tall, slim, in black clothes including a pencil skirt, and stilettos. D immediately thought Cher. She was a good driver – sometimes with no hands on the steering wheel – and fast. We were dropped off at our address, and met by Josef, the husband of our host, who took us into the apartment, briefed us and left. Josef had lived in Perth and Sydney for a few months as a professional athlete ( physically very impressive, easily picking up both suitcases as if they were shopping bags, a former water polo player).

Day 4. Saturday 4 April.

A damp, foggy morning starting with the Metro to Sishane station to wander down side streets in the Beyoğlu area to Istanbul Museum of Modern Art. A terrific, light-filled modern (of course) building with interesting exhibitions.

The story of Semiha Berksoy was fascinating – born in 1910, she refused to follow convention, defying her widowed father and becoming a world-famous opera singer and artist.

Took a walk along the breezy waterfront, but it was quite chilly and not overly appealing so strolled up to Istiklal Avenue to join huge crowds, we were going against the flow! Apparently, this pedestrian street is always a sea of humanity.

Arrived at Taksim Square, which was the general area in which we had stayed 15 years ago. There was some sort of demo forming with riot polis in attendance, so we opted to keep moving.

Back at our hotel question of the day was ‘dinner’? From our hotel window we’d noticed a couple of quiet treed restaurants behind the mosque opposite, so wandered down on spec. We dined on the (allegedly) ‘world famous’ kebab at Garaf restaurant ( a menu limited to beef or chicken on flat bread) & started with the old lentil soup. A glass of something would have been nice but it was an unlicensed eatery, so tea was the go.

Day 2. Thursday 2 April.

The cabin crew on this leg of the journey were very quiet and hardly noticeable – but equally efficient.

Arrived in Istanbul and deplaning, immigration, ETIAS, and baggage pick up procedures. Once again all went very smoothly until we looked for transport to get to our hotel at Levent. The bus to there didn’t depart the airport for another hour and a quarter so we were persuaded to take a bus to Taksim from where we could catch the Metro. It wasn’t, of course, quite that simple. After about an hour we arrived at Taksim in the rain and the Metro nowhere to be seen.  Fortuitously an Uber driver turned up at that moment and we had a rather interesting discussion about how much it would cost us to get to our hotel. In the end he said he would do it for €17 and we said ‘let’s go’. He was was a card. Tried to teach us how to speak a number of words in Turkish all of which we failed but it was a bit like driving in a demolition derby, but no crashes! We joked about the state of the world – at one stage seeing the Trump Towers.

Arrived at the hotel, through security screening, and apparently looking lost in the lobby,  were taken in hand by a delightful young lady who arranged our room for us, explained everything and gave us a few more words in Turkish, particularly how to say thank you, and we settled in.

D then discovered that he’d neglected to pack enough undies, so part of our stretching walk was to a nearby shopping mall – T’s least favourite activity. There were two close by – the up market one, and the cheap one. We went into both – through security screening. Wandered around the cheap mall (actually not really cheap) and successfully accomplished mission, along with some snacks and beers. Obviously recognised, as we were waved through the security screening on return.

Days one and day two over. The trip proper has started, hopefully after a long sleep.

Day 1. Wednesday 1 April.

Taxi booked for 1230, so plenty of time to repack suitcases, clean floors, repack suitcases, scrub loos, repack….

D hadn’t received confirmation of the taxi booking so rang at 1130. All good – are you ready to go now? Yes. So a terrific ride from Harish (Harry) who was very chatty and ultra proud of his pristine taxi, meant that we could now wait at Canberra airport instead. Flight was uneventful – and we arrived with plenty of time to wait as the check in didn’t start for another three hours. Smooth when it happened – farewelled by the pandas, but not sure of the significance.

As we waited to board a woman nudged her way into the side of the queue: good technique – nonchalantly and gradually sneaking a few more positions along. But karma struck – when she got to the front of the line she was told to join a different one, and advised she ‘d be boarding last!

Flight to Singapore was comfortable – about eight hours then a couple of hours on the ground for refuelling. Just one complaint.  Although we were travelling at night – the plane having left at about 10:30 pm – it was very noisy and in particular the cabin staff chatted and rattled cutlery pretty much the whole flight. Otherwise, they were actually terrific and helpful. Next leg was 11 hours to Istanbul.

Day 95. Tuesday 11 June.

Well, actually we go back a few hours to the previous day, still in HK. Courtesy of the voucher Cathay had provided we had a very full meal at the Crystal Jade restaurant in the airport. More than we could manage as it turned out.

Through the various gates – immigration, security – then the usual wait. Boarded, to find that we had missed out on our preferred two seats off the aisle, and were instead in two of the middle row seats with another passenger as bookends on each aisle. D had a minor confrontation with his bookend, who seemed concerned that D was claiming his seat (as indeed he was until checking the numbering system, but of course didn’t admit that). Settled in, took off, then the reality struck home: despite the extra leg room and other comforts of Premium Economy, once the lights are off and the seat backs are back, in those middle four seats you’re stuck unless the aisle person gets up. And in getting out you move at a 45 degree angle. Fortunately, T’s aisle person got up reasonably often and we were both able to slide out that side: but aisle person got up only once – at breakfast, about seven hours into the journey! We came away thinking that the extra cost wasn’t worth it in that situation. First World problem?

Into Sydney. First, through passport control. D’s passport not recognized, so directed to the Special Assistance desk. Advised to ‘go bck to the table in the corner and fill out this form, sir, and come straight back here.’ There is no table in the corner; D and T start to fill out the forms on a couple of rubbish bins until told peremptorily to get out of the way as crew were coming through. Forms filled out free hand: good luck in reading them! Then another official gave different advice on next step. OK, whatever.  T swanned through electronic check and got a ticket to prove it – D went through the desk again, and no one was interested in his form and he didn’t get a ticket.

In the biosecurity area the sniffer dog had been having a great game with its handler, fighting over a toy, so perhaps might have missed anything non-kosher passing through (not us, by the way). Not impressed by the presentation of a couple of the officials – not a good look as an entry to Australia. We passed through, handing over our forms unexamined, and were a bit surprised, after the usual wait, that our baggage had arrived.

Contacted Murray’s and arranged an earlier bus. Coffee – where we met up with one of the course members from D’s time at the Defence College, now a Professor at ANU in aeromedicine (she was an RAAF doctor, and of course lots more). Sorry, a bit of name dropping without the name.

Taxi home, a chicken curry dinner (and other things) waiting for us – curry was ‘divine’ said T. Bed at around 2000, sleeping right through, so reasonably functional next day.

Next day, a little surprise to conclude the trip. A letter from Spain, claiming that D had exceeded the speed limit on 15 April, his birthday, and therefore he owed 100 euros. The irony: no one in Spain during our visit kept to the speed limits except D, apart from, apparently, once. D has unsuccessfully tried to pay the fine electronically (including seeking advice from the Spanish Embassy) but the statute of limitations has probably passed, so he will now be pursued by another agency, with a surcharge attached. Watch this space: D now possibly a fugitive from the Spanish justice system. Portugal may also seeking him for a swag of unpaid tolls.

Day 94. Monday 9 June/Tuesday 10 June.

Did we really write easy yesterday? Some sleep overnight, with an alarm, sometimes two, on all four devices. And of course we were awake before the first one went off.

Out of the apartment in good order, and our delightful Pakistani Uber driver Abdul was on time. He, his father and a brother are in Spain; his mother, two sisters, wife (married for two years) and child are in Pakistan. He visits yearly, over December/January. He is a Computer Science graduate and will do a Masters degree once his Spanish is good enough. He said that of the four siblings, two are doctors and two are engineers. One brother has already obtained recognition of his medical qualifications and plans to move to either England or Ireland. He spoke about the very tolerant Spanish society, that accepts you for who you are and are very friendly; in a seeming contradiction later he commented that the Spanish think there are too many foreigners and they should leave – but they are lazy: it is the foreigners who do the hard work and the long hours.

We were at the airport, through check in and immigration and ready to board with plenty of time to spare. A coffee and a muffin each at an airport outlet – the cost after the very reasonable (ie cheap) prices we’d become used to was a shock.

The plane had started to taxi to queue for take off when the Captain announced that because of an issue in the cabin we would have to move out of the queue to a safe spot until it was resolved. No other information, but the passengers were calm, as indeed they were throughout the two hour delay – well, except for one who was offloaded along with her baggage – seems she was the issue or part thereof. She did have a few agitated words with cabin and ground staff before marching down the aisle to get her belongings.

One other passenger was not happy, although not about that situation. The man sitting behind D had tried to go forward to use the Business Class toilets and had been turned back (as had T been). He vented, fairly calmly but forcefully with pointed fingers and terse tones, at one of the female cabin staff on two occasions, who handled it very soothingly. Poor boy, as T would say.

We were therefore two hours late departing – and two hours was the gap between our connecting flights. Instead of heading on to Sydney we now had a longer layover in Hong Kong, leaving hopefully at 2135, for an 0840 arrival. The main difference is that we’ll spend the day in the Royal Airport Hotel, where we stayed for a couple of days on the outward journey, at Cathay’s expense. This more or less balances the cost of the hotel in Sydney that we won’t use and may not get a refund for (can probably claim on insurance), but still get back to Canberra pretty much as planned. T has had a terrific massage in the hotel – a new body and then a few hours sleep.