4 seasons in 1 day

My plan to visit Venice in one day, as I travelled between Croatia and Switzerland, may have been fairly ambitious but not unlike the majority of my previous '2 birds with one stone' journeys. Having been saving my final must-see Italian destination for a romantic getaway I finally gave up being patient in fear of the city sinking before I got chance to see it. 

So realising that Venice lay on the direct line from Pula to Lausanne I booked my ferry (in order to arrive with a chance of seeing the city's  fabled rise from the water) and high-speed train out of the city towards Switzerland well in advance. Between these pre-booked journeys I had a mere 5 hours to soak up as much Italian charm as possible. 

The first season of the day was caused by some unseasonal heavy rain as the ferry arrived into the famous city. The only rain I'd seen in weeks that certainly put a dampener on what was supposed to be a magical first sight of the architecture emerging from the sea. This mild disappointment was quickly overtaken by a brief moment of panic as I was reorganising my bag on the floating vaporetto platform and my packed up raincoat rolled underneath the seat and into the water as a boat went by. A millisecond of resignation to the fact my coat was lost was followed by a surge of motivation as I saw it still bobbing about on the surface. I quickly climbed over a barrier, lay flat on my belly in order to reach the floating pac-a-mac. Disaster averted! 

As the sky brightened my mood briefly picked up as I enjoyed the Venetian alternative to the tube - the vaporetto boat service. What a great way to get around a city, I mused! Unfortunately I would soon learn the downsides to the novel public transport - but first a lesson in why one should not try to see Venice with limited time on a Saturday in August! I planned to drop my bag at the train station left luggage in order to enjoy the city without backache and potentially knocking people into the canal. After racing to find the left luggage counter pure shock arrived as I saw the Disney-esque queue of people waiting to drop their bags. The free EU 3G came into its own as I quickly googled another place to leave my bag and found it with only 15minutes of my precious 5hours wasted. The bag-drop queue was nothing though, compared to the throng of passengers waiting to board the next vaporetto service to Piazza San Marco. After another 30min wait I jumped on the next boat to Rialto bridge and decided to walk from there to my first sight-seeing spot. 

Meandering through the well-signposted streets brought back my sunny disposition, with only a few showers of disgruntlement as I saw the queues for the main sights of the campanile and basílica and subsequently got told off for sitting down on St Marks square - clearly the only acceptable things to do there are stand in a queue or sit at an extortionately priced cafe. Saying that, the architecture is pretty spectacular, even whilst standing. I met the guides from my ferry as they were doing a free explanation of the city - held up by millions of wooden posts sunk into the sea bed - and then a trip to a Morano glass workshop. I watched in awe as the artist shaped an intricate horse out of molten glass in about 60seconds without getting burnt. I was very impressed. 

My last few hours in the city were certainly the brightest, as I walked from St. Marks to Academia bridge and from there back to the train station. Making my way through the pretty alleyways, over the myriad of canal bridges and in between little shops, cafes and art galleries I was taken away from the crowds and into the real essence of Venice. I watched plenty of gondolas gliding along - mostly carrying tourists but a few also doing daily deliveries, spent a while trying on the most ornate Venetian masks in the most friendly of shops, stopped to appreciate a street performer playing classical music on the water glasses and admired so many beautiful balconies, churches and piazzas along the way. I bought very reasonably priced multi-coloured snacks (bright green cookie and bright red slushy) and was able to sit quietly to enjoy them with my legs dangling off the canal-side pavement. It suddenly all felt decidedly pleasant! 

At the end of the day as I sat outside the train station, admiring a waterside cathedral dome, I felt thoroughly thankful for having had the opportunity to marvel at this beautiful city, even if only for a few hours. Despite its obvious downsides, characteristic of all touristic meccas, come rain or shine Venice is still one of the most uniquely stunning places one could ever visit - even if just for a second. 

Sitting on the dock of the bay

Writing this from a freezing cold train back in Blighty and the need to jump into a cold lake is indeed a distant memory. But my continuing journey through the warm balkans allowed plenty of opportunity to fulfil such needs. And with the addition of good friends by my side this was arguably the most holiday-like part of my trip. 

From Bosnia I arrived into Kotor - Montenegro's version of Dubrovnik complete with a walled old-town with perfectly preserved cobbled streets. It's situated at the end of a fjord, with a backdrop of dusty mountains and a fortress built up one such slope. As I waited for Clelia to arrive - my travel buddy for the next 5 days - I treated myself to mussels - my first seafood in a long time and appropriate for the location as I later found mussel farms in the fjord. The Jazz saxophonist serenaded my romantic dinner for one and my diary writing attracted attention from the well-to-do couple at the next table who thought I might be a restaurant reviewer - fortunately for the restaurant I am not as the unwashed, overpriced mussels left much to be desired. 

The next morning, when Clelia had found her way through the maze of the old town to the hostel, we went in search of our first 'beach'. After a confusing bus journey guessing at the alighting point we found ourselves sneaking into an exclusive resort and finding a patch of pebbles between the sun-loungers to lay our towels and take a quick dip in the clear blue waters. The next day saw us roaming around northern Montenegro by minibus - the heat was unbearable at times but the zipline over Tara gorge and swimming in the cool water of the black lake (once you'd conquered the sinking sand at its edges) in Dormitor national park made up for it. 

We made our way from Kotor to Croatia, crossing the fjord on a tiny ferry as a huge cruise ship cut through the mountainous landscape ahead of us. Our next hostel just outside of Dubrovnik was situated on a beautiful river inlet with sparkling yachts moored all along it and a handy pier on which we could practice floating yoga and mess about in kayaks in the mornings whilst the rest of the hostel inhabitants slept off their hangovers. The old town itself was just as grand and overcrowded as I imagined after all the 'Game of Thrones' hype but the steep washing-lined backstreets with porthole views out to sea made for a pleasant contrast in pace and atmosphere. Walking around the outside of the walls brought us to the 'swimmers beach' - some jagged rocks with a set of steps that allowed you to slip into the water. I marvelled at the 2 little girls, jumping in from vast heights with pure confidence as I struggled to keep myself from bashing into rocks every time a boat went past. 

As I continued my journey up the sparkling blue coast of Croatia there were plenty more swimming opportunities, mostly brought to me by my very own holiday rep Char. Not only did she sneak me into her hotel room, dinner buffet and bring me breakfast in bed but she organised the most action packed few days around Makarska. The highlight of my time with her was definitely the private stand-up paddle boarding tour around Bacina lakes as she expertly navigated through the reed-lined canals into secret lakes where we could practice some SUP yoga and topless sunbathe with only mountains to overlook us. In the 3 hour trip I managed not to fall in, only ever deliberately dunking myself in the water to keep cool. The next day our boat trip also gave ample time for swimming and sunbathing though with much less space as we fought to keep our places at the bow of the crowded ship and to find shade on one of Brac island's most famous beaches. 

As I continued my quest North, as a solo traveller once more, I stopped off in the historic naval towns of Split and Pula (just a night bus separated the two). I spent a full day in each meandering between spectacular Roman ruins, including an amphitheatre, temple and stunning mosaic floor hidden behind a shop, and eating many an ice cream or pizza slice on the well-manicured waterfronts whilst watching the ships roll in, wasting time in the most enjoyable fashion. My last morning in Pula saw me boarding the ferry to hop over the Adriatic to see Venice 'rise out of the sea' as my mum once possibly imagined. 

The 90s children

Some pre-90s background:  Yugoslavia (Serbia, Croatia, Slovenia, Bosnia, Montenegro and Macedonia) was formed as a kingdom after the First World War and the end of the Austro-Hungarian rule over these countries. It then became a communist (also referred to as socialist) republic lead by Tito after the Second World War. After the dictator's death in 1980 the union (sometimes claimed as the prototype for the EU) began to collapse as each original country began to declare independence and in turn a war was waged against them - see 4hour long BBC documentary 'The Death of Yugoslavia' for an in-depth  understanding (if you have time after reading this blog). 

I started my journey through this region in Serbia, more specifically its capital Belgrade, after a hideous 12hour train ride in 40degree heat. As this lively city sizzled I braved a walking tour before taking shelter in the air-conditioned, and particularly fascinating as a physics fanatic, Nikola Tesla museum. As you can imagine of a former communist capital, there are plenty of Brutalist style buildings which you don't necessarily reach for your camera for. But dotted around are Austro-Hungarian theatres, hotels and parliamentary buildings as well as the eclectic Kalmegdan Castle built on by Byzantine, Ottoman and every other empire taking advantage of its position overlooking the confluence between the Danube and Sava rivers. The Victor statue looking out across the landscape, built as a symbol of Serbian victory in various wars stood in stark contrast with the stories our guide told of her childhood growing up in the 90s when Serbia was sanctioned by the UN, due to the Kosovan and Bosnian wars, causing hyperinflation (a 5 billion dinar note could maybe buy you some bread) and consequently high levels of organised crime.

My next walking tour guide in Sarajevo had also grown up in the 90s, when newly independent Bosnia was subject to a war and its capital was under siege from Serbian forces. Children like her grew up in basements, risking their lives to go out to fetch water or to daringly play outside as snipers waited on the surrounding hills. After being shown the historically significant areas of the city such as the corner where Franz Ferdinand (Austro-Hungarian prince) was shot in 1914 - that was miraculously successful after an earlier bodged assassination attempt, suicide attempt by the assassin and grassing up of the others

involved - we moved onto the more heartbreaking reminders of the cities recent past such as the memorial to the thousands of children who died in the 1992-95 siege of Sarajevo. We saw a few bombed out buildings (the majority of which have been restored unless owners are still unidentified), holes in apartment block walls from flying shrapnel, Sarajevo roses - the

painted-red-divots in the pavement where shells exploded and killed civilians. One of the first buildings to be bombed in the siege was the central post office. A conversation graffitied on its wall just before destruction read 'This is Serbia - not really, its kind of a post office' - a great example of the Bosnian humorous attitude towards the war which lives on today as they continue to rebuild their country and relations within the former Yugoslav region. My guide, with her own brand of Bosnian humour, told us of their childhood game to go out collecting shrapnel that was won by finding the biggest piece or top trumps - a bit that was still hot. 

As well as recommending films and documentaries (as above) she also mentioned the Childhood War Museum was well worth a visit, not only for the air-con but for the insight into the reality of growing up in a war zone. I took her advice the next day, particularly intrigued as a 90s baby myself to learn what my early years might have been like had I been born in Sarajevo. The exhibition was a selection of treasured possessions, each one displayed with a heart-warming, stomach-clenching or tear-jerking memory from the owners childhood. The pieces of climbing frame - the evidence of a bomb that killed 7 children, the brother's police badge that he never got to wear, the mother's letter to her aunt that stopped mid-sentence as she'd got up to make tea and been killed were some of the most heart-breaking. I could really relate to some momentos like the last pointe shoes made in Sarajevo that gave a little girl hope of a new life, the hand-made worksheets the older girls in one basement designed in order to keep educating their younger neighbours and the barbie that sewed up people's wounds and handed out rations and it was so sweet to see a shoebox gift, like the ones we used to send overseas at Christmas, that had been kept complete with a letter from the sender full of naivety about the harsh reality of where it was being sent. 

On the same day I decided to visit the Galerija 11/7/95 - the date referring to the day on which over 8000 civilians (mostly males) from Srebrenica were murdered due to their Islamic faith in the biggest European genocide since the Holocaust. People were refused entry into the nearby UN base, chased across the mountains, caught, shot and buried in mass graves. The bodies were moved many times to try to cover up what had happened and land mines placed all around them. The images, videos and audio-guide painted a vivid and disturbing picture that was in someways more upsetting than visiting Auschwitz - perhaps because of its more recent  time-period or the more graphic elements on display. You might be wondering why Muslims were being  persecuted at this time - a key element of the Bosnian war and still living on today is the unequivocal link between ethnicity and religion. In Bosnia - and in general the whole of ex-Yugoslavia - there are Croats/Catholics, Serbs/Orthodox and Bosniacs/Muslims. It is baffling to me that people from countries that have all been influenced at some point by the same empires - admittedly each one bringing their religions of Islam (Ottomans), Orthodoxy (Byzantine) and Catholic (Austro-Hungarians) - that were then all part of the same communist country with no state religion should differentiate so strongly between native people of differing beliefs. Nowadays in Sarajevo the population is 85% Bosniac with more Mosques than the capital of Iran! 

The existence of all three ethnicities in Bosnia was part of the problem during the war, particularly in Mostar, my next destination, where the Bosnian-Croats turned against their neighbours in a bid to claim the town as part of Croatia - whilst the Serbs fought to keep control of the whole country as part of Greater Serbia. Despite ongoing hostility, as my next tour guide (a 17yr old boy soldier during the war) exemplified as he took us to the mountain overlooking Mostar where a big cross and a Croatian flag had been placed, in his words as a provocative symbol of their belief that the town should be Croatian, my time in Mostar was fascinating. Still blisteringly hot I took a tour around the Herzegovina countryside - swimming in waterfalls, drinking water from a dervish monastery spring, hiking up more ruined fortresses and drinking delicious pomegranate juice. 

The old town itself is a beautiful example of Ottoman architecture, albeit totally rebuilt after the war - stone built cottages with stone tiled rooves, plenty of minarets to call you to prayer or define your photograph vistas and the famous stari most old bridge that men originally jumped off as a courting ritual but now do the same as a money-making exercise. 

As you can probably tell I could go on forever relaying all the political history and personal stories I heard in my time in Serbia and Bosnia alone. I did also get time between history lessons for plenty of much-needed ice creams and more traditional snacks such as cevapi (little sausages really), ajvar (aubergine dip I'd fallen in love in Bulgaria as kiopolou), tufajiha (honey-soaked, nut-filled, cream-topped apple - so kind of healthy), hurmasica (biscuits soaked in honey) and baklava (even more honey and nuts)! 

My hilarious guide had spoken to us in great length about the disgusting wormy rice and cat-food meat they were given as aid that she suspected was left-over from the Second World War. She even took us to the canned beef statue outside the UN - a tongue-in-cheek war memorial from the 'grateful' citizens of Sarajevo. The food was clearly her most vivid childhood memory and most likely mine too had I been brought up alongside her. This part of my trip definitely made me a little more appreciative of the peaceful country and good food I was accustomed to as a child in the 90s.