Why is it so misty in Croatia?

After 4 days of successful sun screen application and (almost) no sunburn to speak of, I relapsed. I am now constantly wearing a bikini. My butt has awkward sunscreen application marks that looks like I've been smacked really hard and my entire back is, well, red. Bright. Red. A back is a really hard thing to apply sunscreen on yourself and is pretty likely to have spots missed. It's even more likely when you completely forget. I know for sure I am going to be constantly reminded as I try to get to sleep tonight. Oops.

Anyway, today the plan was to ask around for the best day trip from Rijeka and after a couple of opinions the consensus seemed to be an island called Cres (pronounced like it looks). It actually has 17 different types of snakes on the island, but that wasn't exactly my soul (ha) motivation. Eager to get the ferry I was disappointed to find out it only runs once a day at 17h. Both directions at the same time. Now that's efficiency. So bus it was. I headed to the information counter and in my best Croatian accent announced I wanted to go to Cres. The lady nodded, typed away on her keyboard and told me the cost. I handed over a huge sum of Kuna which equates to very little euros and was told the bus was at platform 2.

I managed to board the bus and enjoyed the wonder of the passing landscape and having absolutely no idea where I was headed or how long it was going to take. There were a couple of stops along the way but not recognizing Cres, I stayed on. About an hour and a half later we pulled up to a stop called 'Krk' (pronounced Kirk) and everyone got off. I stayed seated and the bus driver told me to get off. Politely. Well I guess I had a new destination, Krk it was! When I pulled out my ticket and looked at it I saw that it actually said 'Rijeka-Krk' and therefore the lady had obviously mistaken my beautifully accented 'Cres' for 'Krk'. I blame the Croatians, who doesn't put a vowel in their name?

Krk was beautiful. Its actually another 'island' that you get to by bus and when i got back to the hostel was told its a bit of a secret gem that tourists often aren't told about. Score! It was also blazing hot. Again. The moment I arrived I instantly went in search of a beach or ice cream stand and found the ice cream first. I walked around the tiny town a little bit before it really got too hot and I followed the moving towels, umbrellas and half dressed people to the nearest beach. It was such a nice beach, just like every other one I've come across in Croatia. The towns are deserted but the beaches are packed. I think they only know how to do two things here: swim and sunbathe! I dumped my stuff and jumped in (cue the mindless abandon leading to lack of sunscreen) and the water was perfect. So refreshing and so clear that I could see all the way to the rocks at the bottom. They even had these crazy boat things you could hire like paddle boats but huge and with a slide on them! They were so cool, the kids were going crazy on them.

It was a super relaxing day and there's not a lot of options to do anything when it's so hot out. It seems that everyone here really just spends all day at the beach. Mostly the towns have been deserted while the beaches are packed with people, and as the sun sets you can only see little glowing, bobbing heads out towards the ocean, the golden hue of the setting sun against the looming misty mountains.

Rijeka Jaunts.

After an eventful day, I have only words to show for it. I took all my photos on my camera and alas, technology has not yet allowed transferal of photos from camera to idevice.

Anyway, after a morning swim and breakfast on the terrace, I sweated my way to the bus station to catch my bus to Rijeka. I then learnt that Croatia folk aren't proving themselves to be the nicest. But that's not a story for here. Or ever. Let's just say I was either going to have to argue or vomit and I don't have enough money to spare to buy a whole new lunch.

But I eventually made it and discovered Rijeka is a pretty big place compared to the quaint, laid back style of Pula. It is definitely a port town and my hostel is pretty much on a boat it's so close to the marina. I can even look out the window while I'm on the toilet and help the captain prepare the ship.

I set out to explore the centre of town with a warning that it would be extremely empty and quiet and shops may be shut because its too hot and everyone's gone to the beach. I'm glad she told me or I would have thought Rijeka was one of those places that built a big town expecting lots of people to come and then no one did. The streets were deserted.

I abandoned my plan and hopped on the next bus that was going to a beach. I actually still don't know what beach I ended up at but it was beautiful. The water was crystal clear, the beach was lined with people and their colourful umbrellas and the ocean had a backdrop of large, hazy mountains. It was idyllic.

I even played a wee game with myself on one of the many times I went swimming. Because the beach is stones you have to wear jandals into the sea and I prefer to have my feet free and wild so put my jandals on my hands when I'm swimming. I have found out that you barely have to move to keep yourself afloat like this and I can just hold my hands out with my jandals on them and be completely still. I knew there were lots and lots of fish around me because I could see them so thought I'd attract more if I stayed super still. I was looking down at all the fish swimming around my legs when all of a sudden something bites me! I instantly thrashed my way to the shoreline like a complete idiot. From now on I tend to keep moving.

Nothing like a pointless story recap to substitute photos. I actually would add some photos of my itchy bites here but it would probably put you off your breakfast. Pretty sure they feed the Mosquitos Weetbix here because they sure produce some impressive bites.

Tomorrow I've decided to take a day trip somewhere. There's lots of ferries that leave the port to a range of different islands near Rijeka so I will probably follow my nose and jump aboard.

After the frightening bus trip that brought me here (think long steep drops and inattentive drivers) I'm a little more keen for a water journey. Here's hoping Croatians take steering a ship a little more seriously than directing a bus.

Magic, tied up in a Croatian village.

So my day trip to Rovinj today was amazing and entrancing and beautiful and bright and everything I had dreamed it to be plus more. Not to mention that heat.

Walking the tiny narrow cobblestone streets there were little alleyways to the sides that led directly to the surrounding ocean. When it got too hot to bear walking further, I simply followed the path down to the rocky waters edge, dumped my bag and jumped in the ocean. I would then retreat to the rocks, lie down under the sun and be dry within minutes. If only I had a picture of where I swam today it would make you quit your day job and get here ASAP.

This place was too stunning for words, especially mine. So here's a mini picture gallery of images that don't come close to doing this special place justice.

The Pula Life.

After a brilliant sleep last night, going to bed at 9.30 (which was a serious struggle, making it to that late hour. I fell into a sun-induced coma multiple times lying on the beach too), and sleeping solidly until 8.30 this morning, I was slightly more aware of what was happening and what I was doing.

After breakfast on the hostel terrace which is literally on the beach, I can safely rate this as my favourite hostel breakfast location thus far on my travels. Unfortunately the breakfast spread I chose didn't leave me quite so lucky and I'm pretty sure I had some kind of pork paté on my morning bread.

After starting the morning with a quick dip in the ocean at the hostel, I then headed about a 40 minute walk down the coast to another little bay marked on the map. Yet again a beautiful location which I was more than happy to spend some time in. When it got too hot to stay and I ran out of drinking water, I decided to head back. In the heat of the day. I felt like a dehydrated orphan (because all orphans are dehydrated, didn't ya know) walking through hot, dry, barren desert. Another dip in the ocean quickly remedied the problem.

I then walked into town and appreciated the ancient artefacts of Pula including the famous amphitheatre which is currently home to the Pula Film Festival and a pretty impressive place. I even stumbled upon a little Roman amphitheatre a little way up a hill (which killed me going up, that heat rises rumour is starting to look like fact).

Another swim in the ocean at 7.30 at night is not a bad way to combat the heat.

Today I met another traveller and of course he's a Parisian from Sciences Po. I can't escape that place! But he was nice and friendly and actually laughed voluntarily so obviously not a real Parisian and he recommended I go to a little town 50 minutes from Pula called Rovinj that I had already been recommended to visit and had on my own list of places I wanted to go.

So tomorrow I'm off on a day trip there ready to bask in this diverse, unique Croatian goodness.

Far from Paris.

Today's water hole and sunbathing location.

Adriatic Beauty.

Managed to successfully make my flight from Paris despite having only had 2 hours sleep. I'm not quite sure how this seems to keep happening but 1am cookies and wine tend to be both distracting and worthwhile. It also helps that the company is hilarious and I'm sad to leave them behind for a month where I'll have no one constantly repeating 'bed' after every time I say it and asking me what I call that thing you boil water in (..kettle.)

Now I am in Croatia! The first thing I did was grab a taxi and Glee was playing on the radio. I decided instantly that I like this country.

So far it's very hot. My 30 minute recommended walk into the town turned out to be rather a lot longer when streets only have signs when they feel like it and some landmarks were simply titled 'large tree'. Being midday at the time I'm sure my lobster body will remind me for awhile.

The hostel is right on the beach and the water is beautiful. Super clear and just the right temperature, it's nice to not have people sitting on top of you like 'Paris plages' too.

I have so far been spoken to in Croatian three times and am regretting not learning a single word. The go-to move is currently giggling followed by a swift but subtle departure. I am actually surprised about how many people don't speak English here but then again I am just an ignorant Kiwi. Who needs Croatian when you can speak English?

After less than a day here, I feel like the lifestyle, culture and way of the people is just so easy to get into. People wear shorts and singlets to town (which Parisians would find disgraceful), ride bikes in their bikinis and happily spend the entire day at the beach on these weird little stones, in an effort to get their already dark bodies on the more African side of the scale.

I could very happily become Croatian. This dark skin tone of mine would clearly make me fit right in.

Pula.

Croatia.

View from my hostel.

Is this real life?

Le Bal de Sapeurs Pompiers.

13th July 2012. Bastille day eve. The night is an excuse, France wide, for people to get their drink on in the name of those legends that stormed Bastille all those years ago. For les jeunes, young people, the night of the 13th is a much bigger celebration than the 14th and most of Paris spends it at 'le bal des sapeurs pompiers', the fireman balls that take place in fire stations across Paris, where the doors are opened wide in the name of donations but mostly involve drinking, dancing, and depending on the arrondissement, stripping.

One of my colocs decided to re-read over our apartment contract for enjoyment and stumbled on the paragraph specifying that we were allowed parties on Christmas, new year and la fete nationale, the 14th of July. So we all invited a bunch of friends over, noting strictly that the start time was 12am on the 13th of July. We are nothing if not cunning.

So after beginning the night with a bunch of crazy people in our apartment, we headed out to the local fireman ball in our arrondissement which happened to be in an awesome location on the canal. By the time we arrived it was already pumping and despite keeping our eye out for stripping uniforms, it failed to materialize. In fact, a lot of the firemen were actually working serving drinks! Ce n'est pas un bon facon de passer votre nuit libre selon moi!

I have no photos to show as they're all on my camera and my computers broken so my tech capabilities fall short. However, it's probably best that way.

Despite the sky getting lighter as my head hit the pillow, I woke up a couple of hours later to make it to the annual Bastille day parade. It begins at the arc de Triomphe and makes its way down the champs élysées but I choose to hang back and stay out of the crowded tourist spots, chilling on rue de rivoli until the procession made it's way there. It began with the fighter jets flying overhead, the first batch streaming red, white and blue in flurries of smoke behind them. This was definitely my favourite part as it is so freaky how low the planes can fly and totally puts you in the war mind set. They were then followed by an all out parade of every military vehicle you could imagine. Pretty sure it puts New Zealand's collection to shame, which isn't necessarily something to brag about.

It was crazy to see one of Paris' busiest streets closed down and kind of scary to see all the tankers and trucks flying down right in front of you, could totally imagine the fear of war. I left just before the end as my eyelids were beginning to glue shut and biked home through the eerily deserted streets, blocked off from cars, most people still recovering from the night before and families spending the time in cafes and restaurants. Bizarrely, it's probably the emptiest I've ever seen Paris.

Tonight I'm off to the fireworks show at Trocadero, joining the crowds to watch the feux d'artifices over the Eiffel tower.

I hope I can stay awake until the fireworks start, even the metro seats are looking comfortable right now. On a side note, today also marks my 11th to last day in this beautiful city...

Et le temps passe...

As the rain pelts down outside yet the air is still hot and sweaty I came to a brutal and frightening realization.

I have under two weeks left in Paris.

I've spent the last couple of hours clearing up a lot of my stuff, arranging what to throw out and what is light enough to join me on my voyage home, booking flights and accommodation of my upcoming travels and writing (yet another) list of what I really have to do before I leave. Some of the things are almost comical to still have to do after being here so long and it's weird to be stepping back into my tourist shoes. I feel like a fraud. Climb the Tour Eiffel? Yet to tick off. Louvre? Done, but painfully.

I feel like the time left is speeding by way too quickly and the harder I try to slow it down the faster it speeds off.

I've become protective of this city I love to mock and find flaws in. I've come to scoff at tourists who get lost, imitating the classic Parisian 'pff' at people who don't walk through red lights when there's no cars coming. I'm used to lining up at a supermarket counter with 20 other people when one cashier is open and the person working is on their cellphone. I bike like I'm a car yet scoff when people look twice as I ride on the footpath. I always carry an umbrella. I never plan on things being open during lunch time. And, ashamedly, I don't smile at strangers on the street.

I don't want to walk further than 200m from my apartment for my morning croissant or my lunch time baguette. I don't want the street to myself at 3am when I'm on my way home from a night out. I don't want the night to get 'dark', I prefer the fake, light tinged hue of too much electricity and pollution.

I love the sound of angry cars honking incessantly at each other. I want to hear the monthly nuclear war testing sirens. I want to hear, read and see French everywhere. I want to slip on wet cobblestones. I want to wait in huge queues for the cabines. I want to smell cheese the minute I walk into a supermarket.

I want to stay.

Fête de la Musique.

So because I am always up to date about writing what I've been doing and the wonderful (and not so wonderful) aspects of the crazy Parisian life, here is a snippet of what happens on June 21st every year in Paris (hence the up-to-date reliability).

It is a day long activity which really kicks off in the evening and through the night and is known as Fête de la Musique, actually a play on words because it sounds like 'faites de la musique' which means 'make music'. The whole idea was started in Paris over 20 years ago by a pretty cool dude whose name was obviously not as cool as his ideas because I've completely forgotten it.

But anyway, the idea is that anyone and everyone can take their music to the streets, cafes, rooftops, and anywhere that you can reach and persuade the cops is safe (which judging by some of the set ups indicates cops can be bribed by donuts.)

The result is pretty amazing. Riding through the streets in the day you see the odd music group or solo performer doing their thing, the music mostly failing to carry itself over the honks, toots, talking and laughing of general every day loudness that Paris seems to accumulate. But as the sun begins to set (which now that it's summer is stunningly late), the streets are absolutely packed with music everywhere. Sometimes coming from a one man band whose frontman/drummer/guitar man/water boy was so passionate his dreads were flying in every direction with each toss of his head and he was oblivious to the 2 metro radius he was forcing people to walk around. There were groups of 80+ year olds belting out Christmas carols (either super early rehearsals or a bad example of dementia/amnesia) as well as rock bands in cafes, techno music screeching from grunge apartments bordering the canal and the haunting melodies of talented saxophonists and harpists who had clearly been smoking good ol' Mary Jane longer than they had been learning the instruments.

It was pretty amazing to just walk around the streets and constantly be confronted by all sorts of music coming from everywhere. In a beautiful coincidence, it was also the night of 24 hour Velib, a promotional idea to make more people use bikes as their form of transport, making a noticeable absence of 4 wheel vehicles from the rues and allowing the music to carry across the whole city.

I think it's a brilliant idea to advertise music and its obviously working as it's spread to all corners of the world. Except Christchurch apparently, which could really do with a bit of sporadic ear candy. Though I'm also unsure as to whether wee Christchurch has the talent/misplaced ambition of some of the Parisian folk.

Although I fear Parisians might have to stick to recorders and harmonicas, I'd love to see a piano get into some of these shoebox Parisian apartments...

Crashing the Versace Fashion Show.

Wow. Never seen so much glitz and glam. Managed to see lots of famous French people and that Nina lady off Project Runway. Just missed Lea Michele!

Also, pretty sure I got a kidney infection while standing around gawking. Sorry bladder.