Or something like that, Plivitce? Plivistska?? Marilyn help?
Pretty lakes will do for now.

As if we didn’t have enough rolls already, we started the day at a bakery in the old palace in Split. This was to be our first day driving, so we needed to carb load for all the sitting coming up. On arrival at the car rental agency, after the obligatory “why are you spoiling my perpetual smoke break?”, we were told we weren’t allowed to take the Italian car from Croatia to Italy (which caught us by surprise as we’re not car racist if that’s a thing), so instead we took a Croatian car that we’ll need to drop in Italy. I assume the countries will reach a carefully considered diplomatic solution and cancel out each other’s debts…that, or go to war… whichever’s easiest.

But back to the Pl……. lakes. They were the one place we’ve visited so far that’s not clogged up by cigarette butts*, which we assume the lack of absorbent butts has led to an array of cascading lakes, with brilliant waterfalls between each.

We were lucky enough that every day, each tourist gets to name and track of their very own water molecule, and today there were none spare in the entire system as Avogadro himself would have struggled to count the number of visitors. But, luckily everyone was as kind and courteous as neighbours who truly really hate each other and are forced to share a doona (or duvet) as they vainly struggle not to push one another into the perfect turquoise waters, through either the safety barriers made of duct tape or the invisible ones. They even drove Lea to comment “that’s the last time I help an old lady” (wow), and that wasn’t even the one who tried to sit on her lap on the ferry, 

Despite the constant stream of European holiday makers fishing for and dumping all their coins on the ticket counter with stares of contempt to those helping them in a neighbouring (=enemy) country, we weren’t distracted from the main event. The lakes are a truly special part of Croatia, unlike any of the terrain we’d seen thus far. One day is plenty here and if you’re ever in the area (just 4 hours from Split!) we highly recommend a visit, and there’s ample parking within a few hours cab ride.

Back at our equally impossible to spell hotel, D@$%^ija, there was a near miss as right before dinner, James thought the massive weight gain plan for the trip had taken a sudden acceleration…however, it turned out that he’d been using a slightly oversized hand towel to dry off. So, crisis averted, the Stewarts celebrated by eating an entire calf of a baby calf (the irony of it going to the cause of developing their own poor excuses for calves was not lost) and drinking a litre of wine (excluding the wine they were drinking away from public scrutiny). A litre you ask? Yes, a litre we say. When given the option of the same wine for $20 for 1 litre bottle or $30 for a 7.5 deci litre bottle (why do they insist on dl measurements and have signs that say “5346m to next exit” on the freeways?) just ask yourself WWJ(L)D? What would James and Lea do?

Ed’s note: These consecutive daily updates are either un or insustainable and will not be continued. Except maybe tomorrow. But that’s it!!

*The reason for all the smoking quickly became clear to us today. It’s clearly not always a weight loss technique, but after being chased by a number (1’s still a number) of scary European wasps, we noted the calm locals just light up, puff away and feel safe in their tar laden force fields.