Way back in June, I googled "hostels dubrovnik" and went to one of the hostel booking sites. The first hostel mentioned was "Dubrovnik Youth Services", and I booked a four bed family room with private bathroom. The hostel was to include a reception and information desk, scooter rental, laundry facilities, etc.

When we arrived in Dubrovnik, we found out that "Dubrovnik Youth Service" had put us in a private apartment, which we didn't want, and the apartment itself was absolutely filthy. Cobwebs in the corners, walls covered with grime (and when we tried to clean them, the paint came off), tiles held up with tape in the bathroom, a huge hole in the wall filled with mold by the toilet, a dripping toilet tank that was mounted 8 feet up (so it dripped on you during inopportune moments), a stove with only two working elements... and cluttered, cluttered, cluttered. There was no place to turn around, no place to sit and eat. The worst part, however, was the heat. The apartment was probably 10-15 degrees hotter than the hallway. If one opened the back doors to get a breeze, thousands of mosquitoes entered. And this shangri-la was a mere 500 kuna per night. Five hundred kuna!

We went to the "real" youth hostel, the Hostelling International hostel down the road, and they told us that people were always coming to their hostel thinking it was Dubrovnik Youth Services, and had to be redirected. The address given on the DYS site is apparently not a hostel at all, but either an office or an empty building, I'm not sure. I've been told that there is no actual hostel at all associated with DYS. Anyway, I feel that we were scammed, and I would HIGHLY recommend that anyone reading this who is thinking of going to Dubrovnik AVOID the Dubrovnik Youth Services, which, in my opinion, is simply a private apartment booking agency which advertises itself as a hostel.

We tried not to let the horrible apartment ruin our impressions of Dubrovnik, but for the first couple of days, we were pretty cranky. We felt like rats crammed into an overheated box. The solution, of course, was to spend absolutely as little time as possible in the apartment, which was a shame really, because the temperature really was very high, and it would have been nice to stay in the apt. from noon until perhaps two or three, so that we wouldn't get heatstroke. But it was not to be.

On our first full day in Dubrovnik, we walked down to the Old Town, which was built in the 1200's and is pretty much unchanged today. There was a huge earthquake in 1667 which did an immeasurable amount of damage to the town, but much was rebuilt. As well, the Yugoslav army bombed Dubrovnik in 1991 when Croatia proclaimed its independence, but the repairs have been ongoing and meticulous. It really is a beautiful part of Dubrovnik, as it is surrounded on three sides by the Adriatic, and protected by the huge city wall, 20 meters thick in some places and quite high, and completely walkable on top. In fact, "walking the wall" is big business in Dubrovnik, and we did it on our second day. As always, there's an audio guide, which we used, and we learned an immense amount about the history of Dubrovnik and of course marvelled at the incredible views of the city itself (remember, we were walking along the top of a huge wall) and of the Adriatic; every manner of boat sailing along, from kayaks to yachts, but never overcrowded, just picture-perfect.

There are many things to do in the old city, including spend billions of kuna on the junk they sell there, but we limited our activities to visiting the maritime museum, walking the wall, seeing the church, and visiting the jewish ghetto and synagogue. It was through the combination of the maritime museum and the audio wall tour that we learned all about the history of Dubrovnik, which was originally a Roman settlement built on top of an old Greek settlement, and became a city-state which ruled the Adriatic and rivalled Venice for power and wealth. We learned how Dubrovnik used not only military defense but diplomacy and gifts to keep their enemies at bay. In the 15th century, Dubrovnik was a huge trading power and the ships built there were famous for their construction. It wasn't until Napoleon dissolved the republic of Dubrovnik in the early 1800's that the navy and shipping industries began to decline; they were further weakened by the Industrial Revolution and the use of steam to transport goods.

I find this interesting, I don't know why...

By far the best experience we had in Dubrovnik occurred on the last day we were there... we decided to head back to old town and just hang around, not really planning anything, and we went here and there, enjoying ourselves, and wound up outside The Fortress of St. John (still in old town), which is where the majority of Ragusans (the term for something or someone Dubrovnikian; it dates back to the name of the original Roman colony which was Ragusia, or something)hid during the 1991 bombing. There were plenty of places to sit among the stone benches and rocks, people were swimming, and the boats were drifting in and out of the harbour. We stayed there for several hours, met interesting people and had interesting conversations, saw jellyfish, watched children and their parents cool off in the water, and had a very relaxing time.

Today was our last day in Croatia, as we left early this morning to fly to Prague on SkyEurope (I highly recommend this airline, it's perfectly fine and very cheap). We are now in the Prague airport for our lengthy layover, and fly in a couple of hours to Milan, where we spend one last night in the Hotel Stazione, then fly bright and early back to Calgary.

Here's my advice if you're going to Croatia... try to go in May or September to avoid the billions of tourists and the brunt of the extreme heat. The Dalmation coast is an incredibly beautiful coastline, words can't even describe its beauty. And with literally one or two exceptions, Croatian people are very friendly and interesting... everyone has a personal view on the changes the country has undergone in the last few years, and some will talk about changes in the last fifty. And definitely sit at an outdoor cafe and have some of the delicious pear brandy called Kruskovac (KRUSH-ko-vatz) while you watch the people walk by; what a lovely experience. Dovidenja!

We Won't Be Fooled Again remains copyright of the author griffco, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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First of all, let me start off by saying that there is nothing wrong with Dubrovnik. Called the pearl of the Adriatic, it is a beautiful city with the most outstanding Old Town I have ever seen. My sorry story involves not the city itself, but our trip there, and experiences in finding a place to stay.

The trip to Dubrovnik from Split seemed like it would be a piece of cake, considering it was only 4.5-5 hours long, and we had previously enjoyed a 10 hour trip from Pula to Split. That 10 hour trip, however, had big comfy seats and air conditioning. When we got on the bus in Trogir, it was jam packed to the brim with very overheated, sweaty people. There was no room for our huge backpacks in the luggage storage area of the bus; can you picture it? Each seat taken, despite the fact we had reserved seats (NO ONE was interested in that fact), and the aisle crammed with people, then we get on. It was an adventure, to say the least. We were told by the pleasant British couple who did manage to get seats that most people were getting off in Split (1 hour away), if we could hang on for that length of time. Well, of course. It really wasn't that bad, and we enjoyed chatting with them as we swung around with the momentum of the bus and slammed into sweaty people, falling over our gargantuan backpacks which were in everyone's way.

In Split, most of the bus emptied, and we were able to put our bags down below. We then sat in our assigned seats, and made ourselves comfortable. More people entered the bus, and a girl stated that I had her seat. Well, too bad, we were in fact double booked, but my ticket was issued before hers, and I was sitting there first, and most importantly, I was good and cranky from being on the tilt-a-whirl for an hour. She found another seat. Then a man came over and showed me his ticket, which also had the infamous "seat #33" designation. For my reaction to his situation, see above. He also found another seat, luckily for all.

The next two hours were spent in the slowest traffic I have ever been in. We alternated between 5K/h and a complete standstill for that entire period of time, and when the two hours and come and gone, we had gone app. 20K. There was no air conditioning on the bus, the insane Mediterranean sun was blaring in the windows, and might I add, just to set the mood, that the temperature that day, outside the greenhouse we called a bus, was 41 degrees. After another couple of hours of this, Martin nearly collapsed. We had brought lots of food to eat on the trip, and we were actually too overheated and exhausted to get it out of the bag.

The last two hours of the trip coincided with the late afternoon, and the sun was less intense. As we headed into Dubrovnik the temperature inside the bus was bearable, and we were able to enjoy the sight of the HUGE bridge which leads into the city. It began to get dark as we pulled into the bus station, and our next adventure began.

The Good, The Bad, The Dubrovnik remains copyright of the author griffco, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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1. False. Although all the guidebooks say that the coffee is horrible, and the Italians we spoke to are quite smug about the superiority of their coffee, I had no problem with the kavas we had here.

2. Trick question. If you're Canadian, then only 10 people can fit in a space designed for 10 people. If you're Croatian, the more the merrier.

3. True.

4. Oh... so false. With a couple of exceptions.

5. Unfortunately true.

6. True! It would be funny if it wasn't so awkward.

7. True, but only in the first morning of th first day in Croatia. After that, one smartens up.

8. False, completely. I read that on a forum somewhere, and I doubted it even before I left Prince Rupert. Pula is beautiful.

9. True, dude.

10. Well, I think it's true, considering my feet at the moment.

Moving on...

We spent four amazing days in Trogir, and I have nothing but good things to say about the city and about the people who rented the apartment to us. Now our apartment wasn't right in Trogir, but about a kilometer away, most of which was along a straight road, but the last bit was straaaaaight up a mountain. I'm hoping that I burned up some fat cells with the walks up and down.

On the first day we stuck to our patterns and walked around Trogir, checking out some sites but basically bumming around. We visited the old buildings in Grad Trogir (old Trogir), climbed the bell tower, etc. We wandered through the city, enjoying the juxtaposition of old and new. Everywhere you look on the way into the city are signs advertising apartments for rent; they mean of course for a night or two, not for Croats to live there permanently. There must have been hundreds available, thousands if you looked further along the coast. Our host, Ana (her aunt, Mrs. Buljan, owns the apartment we stayed in), told us that although Croatia, and especially the Dalmation coast, is crammed, plugged, clotted, and choked with tourists in June, July, and August, Croats don't really mind the breathtaking inconvenience of the crowds, as many of them make their entire annual income by catering to the tourists in those three months. But don't let anyone tell you that Croatia is an "undiscovered gem" in Europe. It's plenty discovered, but mostly by European tourists. Tons of Italians, Germans, Dutch. Some Americans, but not as many as one might think (not in Trogir, anyway). And Ana only knew of one other Canadian who had been visiting.

On day two we decided to be adventurous and take a ferry to a tiny island off the coast called Dvenek Mali (pronounced just like it looks). The adventure began in trying to co-ordinate our bus schedule with the ferry, which was almost impossible. Ana supplied us with a ferry schedule, but unfortunately it wasn't completely accurate ( see test question #3, and substitute the word "ferry" for "bus"). So we took the rickety bus to the nearby fishing village of Slatine (sla-TINE-a) and waited an hour or so for the ferry... in the blistering heat... we blew up one of our $1 swimming rings and played frisbee with it to pass the time. Slatine was actually kind of cool, as it really is an authentic fishing village, with saddle-brown old fishermen casting nets of unimaginable fineness out into the water to catch crabs along the bottom of the sea. The boats are small and look as if they've been around the bay a time or two.

So, onto the ferry to Dvenek Mali... a beautiful ferry ride, but is there any other kind of ferry ride when you're on the Adriatic? We reached Dvenek Veni first, which is the larger island and has lots of infrastructure such as roads, buildings, etc... but we didn't get off there, we continued on to the smaller island, Dvenek Mali, which doesn't really have any infrastructure; there are some paved laneways and stone houses here and there, but mostly it's just an island of trees and rocks. Lots of them. The guidebook says that one of the few sandy beaches in Croatia is on this island... but trust me... there is no sandy beach. But we thoroughly enjoyed diving off the rocks into the surf, swimming around, and discovering all the different marine life, including some rather startlingly burgundy coloured sea urchins and jellyfish (yes, the kind that sting). It was a wonderful afternoon.

The next day we decided to take a ferry to Split, which took about an hour, and again, was very scenic. Split is wild. Tourists galore. The ferry docks right in front of the Diocletian Palace, which is a huge, intact palace/fortress/small city-in-a-city which was built by the Roman emperor Diocletian in 300 AD; he lived there until his death in 313 then it became a haven for Roman emperors who were on the run. It's considered one of the most important Roman sites on the Adriatic, and what I considered surprising is that there are about 3000 people who actually live in there year-round. The tourist trade is uber-exploited though, with stalls and shops, restaurants, and other tourist hooks everywhere. Everywhere. It was still impressive, though.

The next day, Ben's birthday, was spent travelling from Split to Dubrovnik, but before we leave Trogir, I have to say something about the people who rented us the apartment. The owner's name is Mrs. Buljan, her neice Ana is the person with whom I corresponded by email from Canada about the rental and became very fond of, and the woman who picked us up and drove us to the apartment when we came to Trogir from Pula is Mila, a family friend. It took me quite a while to sort all this out. Anyway, this little group treated us like family. Ana came several times in the evening and chatted with us like an old friend, giving us information and an insight into how Croats feel about the changes to their country over the last few years. Mila offered to drive us the 5k to the nearest grocery store, where we painlessly loaded up on groceries for the 4 days we would be there. But Mrs. Buljan... she is the jewel in the crown. She doesn't speak a word of English, but her generous nature didn't need to be translated. When we first arrived in the huge, modern, impeccably clean apartment, there was juice, beer, and homemade pastries in the fridge. The next night we found a bottle of ice-cold homemade white wine by the front door. The next evening, it was a huge plate of fresh picked figs from her garden (which included pomegranates, limes, tomatoes, eggplants, peppers, and grapes). The last evening, she brought over another plate of homemade pastries, another bottle of white wine, and a huge platter of prociutto and cheese, which we later found out from Ana, who came over later that same evening with a huge plate of chocolate cake, that the ham and cheese was made by her grandmother in her village, from a family recipe. I have never met a group of people who were more generous, friendly, or helpful.

The trip to Dubrovnik was the wake up call. I... I don't think I can discuss it yet... it was too awful... I'll need a beer first, then I'll tell you all about it... if I can relive the memory *shiver*.

Trogir of my Dreams remains copyright of the author griffco, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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While in Pula we took the bus to nearby Fasana (fa-ZHA-na) then a ferry to the island of Brijuni (bree-OH-nee), which Tito had taken over as his personal residence when he was in power. There was a museum devoted to highly controlled pictures of his life, such as pictures of him picking tangerines on his estate, the caption reading "Tito, in his rare spare time, enjoyed harvesting his tangerines to give to schoolchildren at Christmastime". Tito liked to entertain famous people on his island, including film stars such as Richard Burton (who played him in a film), Elizabeth Taylor, Sophia Loren, and that crowd. As well, he entertained dozens of world leaders, who apparently in gratitude, sent him exotic animals such as lions and elephants for his island. Other stories say that Tito sent out hunting parties and had the animals shipped. Many died before reaching the island, and they were stuffed for his museum. The plates on the walls state that the animals "found their peace" on the island, and the locals say that they died after living there, but there are several tiny stuffed baby giraffes, and I find it hard to believe that they lived a good long life on Brijuni.

We had to sit on a "tourist train", like in an amusement park, to tour the rest of the island and see the remaining wild animals (enclosed in a zoo-like structure), and we felt pretty silly. But we learned a lot about how the Croatian government is preserving an image of Tito, which I suspect would differ a bit from my father-in-law's recollections; I'll have to ask him when I get back to Calgary.

August 15 brought us a 10 hour bus ride from Pula to Trogir, and although that sounds like a punishment on a cosmic scale, it was actually extremely pleasant, as the bus was roomy, the seats were very comfortable, and we had air conditioning. The best part of the ride, hands down, was the scenery. There are no words that can describe the coastline from Pula to Trogir. For the most part the highway wove its path halfway up a mountain, so we had a birdseye view of the Adriatic below, with the many villages dotting the coast. The land was fjord-like, fingers of rocky outcropping pushing out into the sea, and the sea itself was teal toward the beaches, and the deepest navy blue further out. Each village had similar characteristics, including red-tiled rooves and always, a tall church tower silouetted against the mountainous horizon. Really, it was almost as beautiful as the coastline in BC. *grin*

We confirmed what we had learned about the Croatian people's propensity to downplay once we had reached Trogir. Trogir, an ancient city, is actually spread over two island and the mainland. The island in the middle is Old Trogir, which is what everyone wants to see, the last island is where the bus station is, and the mainland is where we were staying. When we arrived at the bus station, after dark, and I called the owner of the apartment, she asked us to meet her at the "small bus station" which was over two bridges, "a big and a small", around a few corners, then a 50m walk. Well, 25 minutes and a panic attack from Nancy later, we finally found the "small bus station", which we would call a bus shelter in Canada, and there was our ride. A lovely woman whom I thought was the owner Mrs. Buljan , but turned out to be a family friend. She drove us to the apartment, which was a good 15 minute drive down a long road, then up a hugely inclining concrete street that was at least at a 45 degree angle, then a very sharp and what seemed to me random left onto a VERY narrow alleyway. We climbed the stairs to our apartment, and... wow. The sitting area looked the size of a dance hall. There was a fully functioning kitchen, two big bedrooms, a full bathroom... and... a HUGE balcony which, because we were up at the top of a mountain, overlooked what must have been 100k of Dalmation coastline. Trogir to the left, Split to the right. We were in tired, achey heaven. And the icing on the cake... when Martin asked Mila, the family friend, where the nearest supermarket was, she offered to DRIVE us there the next morning. Drive!

I'm listening to the Croat version of "If You Want to Dance With Me" in this internet cafe, which is a little freaky, so I'll leave off for now. But before I go, here's a little true-false quiz for you, the answers for which I'll supply in the next blog entry.

True or false?

1. Croatian coffee is horrible, especially according to the Italians.

2. One hundred people actually can fit into space designed for 10, specifically on buses and ferries.

3. Every published departure time for buses will be incorrect... except for one.

4. Tourist information guides are super-friendly!

5. Just because bus #24 originates from the bus station, doesn't mean it will actually return there at any time.

6. If you tell a Croat that you don't speak Croatian, they will continue to speak to you in Croatian, but will add sweeping arm gestures.

7. You feel rich carrying around 200 kuna, until you realize that that's about $40CDN.

8. Pula is no big deal if you've been to Rome.

9. There's a gorgeous beach at the Pula Youth Hostel, if you don't find all the bong activity distracting.

10. There's nothing sexier than a sandal-pattern tan on the top of the feet.

Doviđenja!

The Odyssey remains copyright of the author griffco, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Treviso advertises itself as "Little Venice" as there are many bridges spanning many canals, and it's really quite beautiful. We really only had one full day there, arriving one evening and leaving the morning of the third day, so we spent it criss-crossing the city, viewing the ancient city walls, playing in parks, admiring the architecture, and delighting in our find of the best pizzaria ever created, the Pizza del Fausta. A little hole in the wall restaurant, which is our favourite type, with excellent food at very cheap prices.

Saturday (the 12th) we boarded the train from Treviso to Trieste, and enjoyed our last comfy train ride. We had first class, and for most of the journey, the entire car to ourselves. Once we arrived in Trieste, which is a really beautiful place, we found the bus station, and spent a stressful 30 minutes learning how to buy our tickets for Pula, how to deal with the luggage, and where the bus was hiding, all from bus station employees who really weren't all that interested in the Canadian tourists. Still having 45 minutes before the bus, we found a supermarket and bought fruit, bread, meat, cheese and water for the trip, then took a deep breath and braved the excessive humanity at the bus station, all of whom were told perhaps, that if they sharpened their elbows and practiced their foot stomping, they could be first on the bus and therefore guaranteed a place in heaven.

Well, we didn't get to sit together on the bus, of course, but it was really nice to sit beside a local, to be honest, and I had a wonderful conversation with a Croatian woman who was returning to her home town, Buzet (pronounced "booze-it) for a holiday from her work in Menestre, Italy. She helped me sharpen my Croatian words, all 7 of them (which wasn't too bad, according to her, and told me all about her family. Martin sat beside a very pleasant man who was a wine maker and had to take the bus to a family reunion, due to the fact that the family car seat 6 people and he was #7. Bad luck.

Due to construction and two lengthy border inspections (Italy-Slovenia, Slovenia-Croatia) we were very late getting into Pula, and had been on the bus for about 4.5 hours. Despite this, the ride was actually very pleasant, as the scenery was breathtaking (mountains and forest for the most part)and the company was friendly. We took a 15 minute rest stop at some location, and during that time I made some sandwiches for Ben and Adam and shared some cookies around the bus, much to the delight of Martin's seatmate, who had a self-confessed "sweet tooth".

Getting into Pula, we had another obstacle to face, and that was how to use the phone. As I suspected from other experiences in other countries, one had to have a phone card rather than coins, and as it was past 6:00pm, most of the stores were closed. We had to call the woman who owned the apartment we were renting in order to get a ride... finally I was able to find a store that sold the card, and just as I was sure that I would dial the wrong series of numbers, or she wouldn't be home, she answered the phone. Oh, glory day. Not to make things too easy, she asked us to find a certain location and she would pick us up from there, and of course we couldn't find that location. But we managed to find each other, and she drove us to the apartment.

So now we are on Day 1 in Pula, our first full day in Croatia. We have met a mixture of friendly people, and snarky people (I'm talking to YOU, blond gestapo at the Tourist Office... could you BE any ruder?), and have seen a mixture of modern and ancient architecture, swanky homes and Soviet-era, run down slums. But we have a view of the Adriatic from our terrace, and the beach is a mere half kilometer from the apartment, and I'm very much looking forward to a swim.

Lots of English here, by the way. Italian and German, too. It was fun last night when we went out to dinner, to order our meal in a variety of five languages (saying hello in Croatian, mixing a little Italian and French into the English sentence, and Martin going off in German). The handsome waiter spoke all five languages perfectly, and probably more besides. We all tried some local fish and a local apératif (which I believe is called Medicina) which was LOVELY (yes, Adam had a sip).

This morning we had breakfast on our terrace; eggs, cheese, meat, bread, cereal with fruit, and coffee, all while watching the sea. It was really lovely. And now the internet café is playing the Red Hot Chili Peppers over the stereo system, what more could I want?

My Big Fat Croatian Bus Ride remains copyright of the author griffco, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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Anyway, the highlight of this trip was my return to Lecco, which is a small city on Lake Lecco, one of the lakes in the Como region. For those of you who are unaware, I was in Lecco in November 2004, when my mother fell ill with pneumonia in that city and needed to be brought home. I met a wonderful Muslim man there, Noor, and we had been emailing each other for the last year and a half. Finally, we would be reunited. Well, the experience in Lecco did not disappoint. Noor met us on the first day, and amidst many hugs and kisses (and that was just for Martin... *heh heh*) he first took us out for coffee, then home to meet his incredibly wonderful and kind wife Irum (they married in February 05), thn we all went out for dinner. The next day, Noor drove us to Bellagio where we noodled around for awhile, enjoying the scenery, weather, and the solid wall of Americans. Then on to a mountain-top village named Bellabio (and I do mean mountain-top), where we had a panoramic view of all the Como Lakes region from about a billion feet up. Then over to his home for what he promised as a "traditional Pakistani meal" which took poor Irum hours and hours to prepare... incredible rice, a chicken dish, lamb meatballs which reminded me of kibbeh, salad, and Pakistani rice pudding. Then, in the Italian fashion, we had fruit and tea. Well, perhaps the tea was more Pakistani. It was one of those meals that was so good and so filling that you wished you could simply roll into a front-end loader and be shovelled home into bed. But of course there was more socializing to do, until Martin fell asleep during Noor and Irum's wedding video, and it was time to go back to the hotel. Tearful farewells. Promises to visit Canada. Assumptions that we'll be back in Lecco next summer, this time for two weeks. Noor must think that we grow our own money like a Chia pet. Not that I don't wish we couldn't come back.

Yesterday we took a morning trip to Bergamo from Lecco, to look at the medieval old city. Beautiful. Piazzas, churches, another fortress, views galore. Cobblestone streets. Many less Americans. Then we trained it to Verenna, and ferried it across Lake Como to Menaggio, where we had reservations in the coolest youth hostel in the world. We're all hanging together in one room, sleeping in bunk beds, which is always a lot of fun with my particular family. The dinners, which aren't cheap but there you are, are created by a chef who used to run a rather chi-chi restaurant in Milan and is here in the youth hostel because... I actually have no idea. But here he is. And the meals are wonderful.

Today we simply walked around Menaggio, soaked it all in, played some soccer then ping-pong with the soccer ball and our hands as we had no proper equipment (it was hilarious), then watched as the sky turned completely black and thunder began to clap in a deafening manner. Just as we made it back to the verandah of the (closed until 4:00pm) hostel, the skies opened up, and the most torrential rainstorm in the history of precipitation let loose for hours. Lightning, thunder, and huge fat droplets coming down a billion at a time. It was quite a show.

My brain is pretty much oatmeal now from this music, so more later. Veep veep zing zing... picola picola picola... I'm ready for the loony bin.

With Rain Like This, We Feel Right At Home remains copyright of the author griffco, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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We all woke up at 3:50am, but forced ourselves to stay in bed until 7:00. Mmmm, that was a fun few hours. But all was worth it when we viewed the mini-buffet put out by our hotel, the Hotel Stazione. When they told me breakfast was included, I assumed it would be bread and coffee, as usual. But there was meat, cheese, a wide selection of pastries, juice, water, cereal, milk, and any sort of coffee. Wonderful.

We decided to walk the 1-2k to the Duomo, the third largest Church in Europe, and on the way, we came across a public garden called the Gardini Pubblici di Porta Venezia, which is a huge park with a large stream, children's playground, food stands, etc. We hung around there for awhile, enjoying the various types of aquatic life (including large and colourful fish), then continued our walk to the Duomo, cutting through the fashion district. Oh, the fashionable people. The men with their deep tans, perfect hair, and expensive suits... the women with their deep tans, perfect hair, and expensive suits. Everyone with the requisite sunglasses, cigarette, and cell phone. Their shoes alone probably cost more than I make..well... ever. There I am in jeans and a tshirt, looking as if I have just stayed up for the last 24 of 30 hours, goggling around with a camera and a guidebook. Oh well. Neat to see the Armani, Prada, and other stores, though.

Finally made it to the Duomo, which is breathtaking. It sits in a huge piazza (square), which is of course filled with the requisite billion tourists and equal number of pigeons. The Duomo itself has 3200 statues along the outside, flying buttresses, and of course beautiful carvings in wood and stone, and gorgeous stained glass in the interior. It took 500 years to build, from 1386 to the 19th century. Got a glimpse of San Carlo in his glass tomb... wearing a mask, thankfully (S. Carlo, not me).

The walk back to the hotel from the Duomo was filled with one landmark after another; turn to your left you see La Scala, turn to your right you see the statue of Leonardo in the Piazza del Scala. As one leaves the Piazza del Duomo there's a huge archway, which leads to the most amazing glass and gold pedestrian walkway, which is filled with art and intensely expensive shops. In mosaics on the floor is a bull, which apparently everyone spins around on, placing their heel in a very private area on the bull, and doing a 360... to bring luck (not to the bull, apparently). Where his manhood once was, is a perfectly round hole.

We ate lunch at an inexpensive self-serve cafeteria called Brek's, which had all the local specialities. We took our leftover bread from lunch and went back to the public garden, and fed the ducks, pigeons, and geese. Adam was in heaven. Hard to stay awake at that point, but we did force ourselves into consciousness long enough to eat our favourite European food, Turkish donairs while watching the multi-ethnic kids skateboard outside the Central Station. We dragged ourselves back to the hotel and crashed hard at about 10:00, but not before playing a rousing game of Farkle, which Ben won.

Tomorrow we're off to the Sforzesco Castle, which is down the Via Dante from the Duomo. More later!

Want to Feel Fat and Frumpy? Come to Milan. remains copyright of the author griffco, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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The 9.5 hour flight from Calgary to Frankfurt was fairly painless, other than the children in the seats behind us kicking us constantly, even in their sleep; unfortunately, that was still preferable to watching Antonio Bandaras in "Take the Lead", which was the inflight movie. The second movie shown was the original Batman movie from 1989... interesting choice (??). A pleasant surprise was discovering that despite the big ticket news item that our airline was cutting back and charging for pillows, blankets, and all consumables on the flight, we in fact had to pay for nothing, including a hot dinner, cold breakfast, soft drinks, snacks, earphones, etc.

The fun began when we arrived in Frankfurt, which in my opinion is actually completely contained within a mega-uber-mondo sprawling airport. Because our connecting flight was cancelled, we had a LOVELY 7 hour layover at what was for us on Calgary time, the middle of the night. We were psychotically exhausted, to say the least. It was far too early to find out our departure gate, so we found a fairly empty lounge with connecting chairs and tried to grab a bit of sleep, only to be woken by an announcement that was meant specifically for us and the few others in lounge... to paraphrase, it said, "GET OUT AND MAKE ROOM FOR THE DECENT FOLK WHO ARE ACTUALLY DEPARTING FROM HERE, YOU BUMS". Lounge after lounge we went to, only to be ejected like the freeloaders we were. We were airport hobos, pulling up a piece of ground where we could find it, begging the forgiveness of mainstream society as we sprawled across two chairs, our feet hanging onto a table, using arms or my rock-hard purse as a pillow. Cool and refreshed fashion plates with perfectly coiffed hair would sit noisily beside us, waking us up, and contorting their bodies in painful looking ways in order to avoid making eye contact with us, the great unwashed. Thank goodness they could pass the time by talking loudly into their cell phones.

Seven hours passed this way. It would be safe to say that at the exact moment our four heads hit the back of our airplane chairs for the flight from Frankfurt to Milan, we fell asleep instantly, and pretty much slept for the entire hour. Amazing what a good solid hour of deep sleep can do.

Once in Milan, we found our hotel, the Hotel Stazione, which is literally a 3 minute walk from the Stazione Centrale (but a little bit invisible unless you know what you are looking for), and actually had the energy to check into our delightful air-conditioned room (all red and black... very dramatic!) then head over to the nearest restaurant: Mc... McD... oh, I can't say it. We usually don't go there, as I don't approve of that company's business practices, but it was close, and we were tired... you know. After eating the McLard we went back to the hotel and crashed. Bliss.

Hobo-esque remains copyright of the author griffco, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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• Calgary-Milan
  
• Milan - Lecco (hello, Noor! More on him later)
  
• Lecco- Menaggio
  
• Menaggio - Treviso
  
• Treviso - Pula
  
• Pula - Trogir
  
• Trogir - Dubrovnik
  
• Dubrovnik - Milan
  

We're staying in youth hostels and apartments for all of the Croatia leg of the trip, and are using the cities above as bases for island hopping and general beach-bumming. I'm especially excited about the time in Trogir, as we're going to flit over to Brac and Hvar Islands.

WOULD YOU BELIEVE that my husband's cousins in Dubai, as well as my brother-in-law in Victoria BC, are all going to Croatia around the same time as we are... but our itineraries are all off to a sufficient degree that we won't be seeing each other. Incredibly frustrating. A frustrating coincidence. My brother-in-law is renting a boat and sailing with friends from Split to Dubrovnik. Oh no, I wouldn't say I'm JEALOUSSSSS.....

Has anyone found a better way to get from Dubrovnik to Milan other than to fly SkyEurope to Bergamo and take a train or bus from there? It's pretty cheap, and doesn't take two days and an overnight in Ancona. Love to hear your thoughts on the matter.

So, last blog (I know you all read it), I said I was going to mention how the Jewish girl became big sister to the Muslim. Considering what's going on between Isreal and Lebanon at the moment, my story is even more meaningful (in my opinion, of course). Here goes... two years ago November, my mother falls ill while traveling in northern Italy. Someone from the family needs to go over there and take care of her, then bring her home. My siblings and I, spread across Canada, discuss it briefly over the phone, and we decide that my brother will go over first, then I'll meet him there.

End of October, flying from Frankfurt to Milan, watching a huge orange harvest moon from the inside of an airplane, leaving my husband and two boys behind (not to mention my job). Perhaps the most depressing day of my life. Worried sick about my mother, who is battling pneumonia with two tubes down her throat in an Italian hospital.

I finally arrive in Lecco, after two flights, a bus, and a train. My brother meets me at the train station and we walk to our hotel (Hotel Moderno, I highly recommend it). To shorten this long story, our visits overlap by a day, during which he shows me the route to the hospital, and a bit of the old city to orient myself.

Two weeks I spend in Lecco, visiting my mother twice each day in the hospital. Two weeks watching her in desperate discomfort, not knowing when she'll be released, or how permanent the damage will be. I suppose I wasn't tripping lightly through the stores when I bought my groceries or used the internet cafe, and one day the gentleman who owned Planet Net struck up a conversation with me (we actually blundered through some fractured French until I figured out he spoke perfect English). He was probably wondering what a sad Canadian girl was doing in Lecco in November. After hearing about my mother, he took me under his wing, driving me here and there, buying me coffee, showing me pictures and telling me all about his beautiful fiancée Irum, and encouraging endless stories about my family. We eventually got around to the Star of David around my neck, which I presumed would come up eventually, as my new friend Noor is a devout Muslim, originally from Pakistan.

We talked about the formation of the state of Isreal; we talked about the international situation and the atrocities committed in the Middle East. We talked about my life as a Jew in Canada, and his as a Pakistani Muslim in Italy. I don't think there were too many topics that we didn't eventually cover.

After two weeks, my mother had recovered sufficiently to be air ambulanced home, after having received small gifts and many good wishes from a dozen merchants and small business owners in Lecco who passed their messages to her through me (Noor included). Noor drove me to Milan and saw me to my hotel; when we said goodbye, he told me that I had shown him Judaism in a new light, and he considered me his "sorella". When I finally returned to Prince Rupert, I filled my husband in on the latest news regarding my mother, then told him all about Noor. I don't know who was more grateful for a stranger's friendship in a time of crisis: myself, or my husband.

So, Noor (and his new wife Irum) and I have kept in touch over the past two years, and the ONE and ONLY reason we are flying into Italy rather than Croatia is so that I can see Noor (my "fratello"), meet his wife, and have them meet my family after all this time.

It's so easy, especially if one is a jew or muslim, to think of the conflict in very black-and-white terms. Black and white ain't always right. Get out there and meet some people, see some things before forming opinions.

So, if you read my last blog (and I just know you did), you realize that we are meeting not ONE but TWO sets of friends on this trip. Can't wait!

Is it Jewish in Here, or Is It Just Me? remains copyright of the author griffco, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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This isn't the first time we've gone over to Europe, and our memories are interwoven and glued together with incredible experiences with wonderful people we've met there. Take Vincent and Beillou, for example. We met them in Ayuttaya Thailand in 2001; a boyfriend and girlfriend trying to have a romantic dinner beside a rowdy family of four with two young boys (actually, my husband Martin and I were the rowdy ones). They were a French couple living and working in Taiwan. One thing led to another, and the six of us decided to take a canal tour of the local wats together. It was gorgeous! I felt that the friendship was truly cemented when Vincent and I decided at a wat-stop that we needed to head over to the bathroom, which was a light-year away, and when we headed back we found that part of the grounds had been cordoned off in our absence, and sprinting across the forbidden area motivated guards to scream and give chase. Upon returning to the boat, our respective partners were less than pleased. It was worth it. I really had to go.

The next day Vincent and Beillou were driving to Lopburi, what I affectionately call "Monkey Town" as it is lousy with monkeys, crawling with monkeys, rife and overflowing with monkeys. Monkeys on the streets, on the rooftops, on hydro poles, and especially in the ruins of wats where people leave food for them. Monkeys sitting in corners, monkeys sitting in rubble, monkeys examining their genitalia while sitting atop a Buddha. But I digress. I'm sure you, my fellow travelers, understand the joy and excitement I felt when our new friends offered to drive the four of us to Lopburi, if we were heading that way. A free ride offered by interesting people? Oh, I think so. On the way Vincent was a captive audience to my rant about the Swiffer, patiently listening until I had finished then disclosing that he works for Proctor and Gamble, the company that makes them (can we count this as a business trip now??). He also inducted us into the Pringles fan club, and we became Pringles addicts on that trip; ducking into grocery stores to find the most exotic flavours (I thought I had won when the grocer told me the mysterious tube of chips was "apple" flavour; it was in fact beef soup flavoured), popping them open on trains to down with a Fanta. Ahh.

Four years pass. We have had two further trips abroad, one to Germany, one to Italy. I'm cleaning out my desk at home, and whose business card do I find, but Vincent's. I smile as I remember their kindness and generosity, not to mention the monkeys and the Pringles. I dash off an email to Vincent, not altogether sure that he'll remember me, and after a day or two I receive an email in reply, followed by one from Beillou. They're married now, with two children, and have a beautiful home in Sartrouville, France. We emailed a few more times, then began planning our next trip; I teach French at a high school here in Prince Rupert, so I was really pushing for France. Martin, who is at all times a good sport, and who also remembered that we had been twice to his Fatherland, agreed. I requested a suggestion from Beuillou for a hotel in Paris, and received back an invitation to stay in their home. They drove us to Auvers to see where Van Gogh had died, and to Giverny to see Monet's lilyponds. They cooked incredible meals for us, took us to parks and markets, and were incredible hosts. We fell in love with their children, who treated us like Uncle Martin and Aunt Nancy, and our two boys like big brothers. They have since sent us French CDs for my French music units, and Van Gogh postcards for my French art unit, along with dozens of pictures of the kids. And the best part about this story is that Vincent and Beillou and their two perfect children Arthur and Morgane are going to meet us in Croatia!

I guess it wouldn't help to say that I'm married to the bald one... Vincent is the one standing, beside his wonderful wife Beillou.

I love this picture of Vincent and Arthur. We were just coming back from a farmer's market near their home. The flowers are for Beillou.

Next: How the Jewish girl met the Muslim man and became his big sister.

This is So Going to be the Best Trip Ever remains copyright of the author griffco, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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So, who are we, and why are we writing a blog? We are a family of four: one mom, one dad, and two teenage boys. We are one lawyer, one teacher, two students, three music lovers, two fishermen, two avid readers, and one soccer player. And we are all four of us travel junkies.

I tend to overplan things. Ask any of my friends, students, or family members. Be it lesson plans, dinners, or vacations, each city, each train trip, each night's accommodation is planned in advance. "Oh, woe betide the unspontaneous Nancy" scoff my friends, but I think back to occasions such as when we reclined on the teak porch of the "Little Home" inn in Chiangmai, nibbling on fresh mango and chilis as the dusty travelers wandered in and then wandered out again, searching for last-minute accommodation for the Chiangmai Flower Festival, and finding none. Unspontaneous Nancy had booked the inn two months earlier, and from Canada to boot. Boring? Sure. Best seats in the house for the parade? Yep.

So now I add another layer to the anal pre-planning of our next trip, and that is to blog it senseless three months before we get on the plane. I probably just like the sound of my own typing. More to come!

Perhaps I look like I've had several glasses already? I could only wish.

The Planning Begins remains copyright of the author griffco, a member of the travel community Travellerspoint.

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