After crossing the border into Italy, stopping off for a gelato in the impressive port town of Trieste, we arrived in Venice.  Beautiful, surprising, mesmerising, confusing, fairytale-ing, floating and thoroughly enchanting, Venice.  Having said all that, we can’t help getting a sinking feeling about the place and we’re lucky to be able to see such a jewel of poor engineering, or creation of groupthink, without needing scuba gear……….. Yet.

Our apartment was lovely, in the perfectly named Campiello del VIN, complete with balcony over a canal (or unclaimed ocean), which was nearly impossible to resist to actually venture to see the city, and we thankfully reset the “days without a bidet” count in style with a ‘his’ and ‘hers’ selection. Now we just need to work out how to use them.  It’s kind of a tough question to ask someone who’s home you’re borrowing.  There was a small issue with rising damp on the level below us, which I suspect will be difficult to remedy and the damp will probably take umbrage at that comment, insisting it’s having its own descending house issues.  Fair enough, seeing the damp was there first.  There were also giant door/shutter things over the windows, whereas I was obviously hoping for blinds…to see what all the fuss is about.

Despite the cost of rental (and everything else) in Venice, actually purchasing such an apartment outright would be surprisingly cheap, but you’d hate to see the strata fees in a place where the sinking fund has never been more literal.   How much vino had the bloke who one day, sitting in a boat said, “hmmm…this is a nice spot, stuff it, let’s build here”….had. Or the ones that came along later and said “wow, that shack looks malto awesomo, let’s build heaps more…out of marble”. Our second tour guide (the first we abandoned because he just waved his hands around for 20 minutes…wasn’t really a surprise) told us that the timber in the mud, used for the “foundations”, petrify in that anaerobic environment (she didn’t say anaerobic though). However, I imagine the most petrification occurs a few centimetres above the sea level in the minds of the current home owners. (Ed’s note: There may have been a joke in it being a city built on sticks now with an economy based on selling selfie sticks, but I think we can all agree that that wouldn’t have worked. Just like the “no gunfights on the more than O.K. Canal” one wouldn’t have either. So glad we took them out.)

What every bride wishes on her romantic, honeymoon in Venice came true for Lea as two oil men from Copenhagen (Aussie, Craig and a Brit mate) came down to join us on a very Venice slow food (and quick booze) tour.  Quite useful for us, as they helped us realise why English speakers can be so hated.  Thanks guys.

We had gelato for breakfast (with whipped cream), ate cheese with Prosecco on our balcony (maybe more than once), watched hundreds of gondolas and their unhappy, extorted customers pass under said balcony (no vino in hand, when will they learn? Tell me quando?!  Quando?  Quando?), subsequently caught a €2 gondola across the Grand Canal, saw Peggy Guggenheim’s house (who’s art collection is really coming along), bought 2 x orange scarves because Lea (heathen) hadn’t covered up enough for the Basilica, Lea also got charged a bridge tax (paid via a kiss upon crossing any bridge), walked the bridge of sighs (no tax), Lea learned there are 391 bridges in Venice, we saw talented amateur painters creating priceless keepsakes of their trip (rather than a satirical travelogue…), watched the sun go down over St Mark’s from the roof of a hostel (thus proving us real backpackers…even if it wasn’t our hostel) listened as a man  played beautiful music from wine glasses (our new favourite instrument, I’m sure we could at least be good at helping with the tuning…a little higher, a little lower…) and touched a bronze horse on St Mark’s (which isn’t a euphemism, but probably should be).

We will miss you Venice (and your quiet reliance on history books rather than opening countless Marco Polo stores as evidence of his birthplace, sorry Korcula), please don’t leave us.

From Zagreb, we moved on to our next country, Slovenia, which as you drive in looks exactly what you’d draw Slovenia to look like. If you had a good imagination…and could draw real good that is. It really was like driving through a postcard…a postcard of Slovenia. Rolling green hills, tall white churches, terra-cotta tiles, beautiful.
We had a stop off in a small, mention-less town (which ironically just got mentioned) before ending up in Lake Bled…or at least in a hotel very close to the edge of the lake. A place magical enough to get even Lea punning that it was un-Bleddy believable!

After a rain affected first day, which only enhanced the views, the following morning James proved you can’t spell Slovenia without LOVE and you can’t spell romance without ROW (if you flip the ‘w’). He proved his rugged, outdoorsiness by donning his Kathmandu gilet and rowing Lea out to the island in the middle of the Lake for one of the most amazing experiences of the honeymoon, if not our lives! While on the island, Lea (now married) felt confident enough to take confession and despite nobody being on the other side of the confessional, she’s already started working on her stone collection…while James has decided to wait until they get to the Vatican as it’s probably safer to go straight to the top, and we hear there’s a hip and progressive guy in charge so fingers crossed.  Can I say cross?

After the boat trip, upon seeing it was again likely to rain, we thought we might take a drive. So we went to Austria for lunch…cos why not?? It was lovely to be back in Austria, so organised, so manicured, so well behaved and such a great picture of what the Southern slav towns were once like. It was nice to know a little more of a language (ein weizen bitte) and noticed that it’s common across all the towns we’ve visited to quote “open 7 days”, which must mean over Summer, instead of in a row, and it’s the unsuspecting tourist’s own fault for noticing the similarity to the number of days in a single week. On recommendation we visited the typically Austrian town of Klagenfurt by the lake Wörther See and not just because we knocked out (as expected in Austria) an elusive ‘W’, it was definitely worth-a-see…? Had we not talked our way out of a 300EUR fine on the freeway we might have told a different story.

Moving quickly back to Lake Bled, we saw heaps of highly camouflaged fishermen, which we assume/hope was to hide themselves from bears trying to catch them rather than aid their own efforts, continued to watch the Aussie dollar fall without us being in the country, James had to cut his nails after being so relaxed and also noticed himself start saying hello with an accent, “halo!”, maybe in attempt to not sound American or English…or probably Australian (whichever was causing the most hate), and avoid more meals being spat on. We thought kangaroo tattoos might be a good option…until we saw some groups of Aussies. Maybe a maple leaf.

Next stop, apart from two more lovely stops along the way, was the capital city of Ljubljana. Because you can’t spell Ljubljana without L and J! Twice. A town which Lea described as “like an Art Nouveau movie set…if all the Communist era buildings were photoshopped out”.

We were lucky enough to arrive just as a walking tour was kicking off, which completed our story (from the goodies’ sides) of the Balkan wars. We saw a surprisingly lovely, cosmopolitan town, which hid the fact that although they escaped relatively unharmed from their separation from Yugoslavia, they’re in as much or more of a mess than Croatia, 12% unemployment, average salary of 1000Euros pa, and worst of all, free University…for anyone in the EU who wants to come and study with subsidised housing and food!!

Our guide was great and gave us some suggestions such as eating a bear steak, which we didn’t follow and probably should have (because James thought it might be a little grisly…….) and visiting Metelkova, which we did follow and probably shouldn’t have.

Lonely planet also said to go to Metlekova. So we walked the dark, deserted streets of one of poorer countries in Europe, at 10pm, in hope of finding an amazing art commune like in East Berlin, but instead found bunch of goths, smoking stuff we’re not allowed to and listening to death metal (all of which we could have taken as a sign before entering). Somehow, rocking the double layer Country Road, Levi’s 507s and nobuk walking shoes didn’t quite cut it, even with Lea’s rings turned inwards some tough, poorly developed delinquent threw a bottle cap at us. Unfortunately drugs and/or other lifestyle choices rendered him unable to cover the 10m distance between us and if not for our super human hearing due to being on edge we wouldn’t have noticed. Nevertheless we walked straight in…and straight out, James tied his sweater over his shoulders and they headed back to drink wine in a square and stare at a castle, the real Europe. Such a shame, because it did look like some really talented people had been there and created an amazing artistic hideaway, I assume they’d be just as annoyed at a bunch of no good kids (there I just said kids), who elsewhere have vandalised beautiful examples of Art Nouveau and Baroque buildings by scrawling a false name and deciding they too are great artists. Particularly offensive as we all know what they say about Baroque…if it’s Baroque, don’t fix it.  Anyway, off the pedestal, maybe next time we’ll take a hoodie and a good knowledge of Slovene death metal, as I’m sure it’s worth more of a look.

While back in the square we saw a couple walking a door, complete with knob, through town (we have to assume either: we were really drunk, or; they were off to their first swingers party and the rules got a little lost in translation) and listened to “Singing in the Rain” being shown in the open air theatre. No doubt Monnie telling the Universe to get us up and dancing, or have another glass. We obliged with the latter, thanks Nan.

We caught a taller funicular up to the castle, bought some bigger clothes, mailed home those bottles of hooch from Korcula (which were 4EUR each and are now far more valuable), took a boat ride along the river in a lovely timber boat, drank street wine from plastic bottles in plastic cups (it was actually quite good) while watching a weird concert and visited the amazingly well preserved cave-castle of Predjama.

The LOVE in Slovenia is well and truly felt by us, but through some fault or misinterpretation of our own was a one way street as we never felt quite welcome. But, we’ll be back to try again!  Maybe we’ll have more luck with the Italians…

Z’s back!! And it’s a good reminder to never play Scrabble in Croatia, Z’s on tap!

We’re back in our starting point of Zagreb and we can now safely say that if you happen to have a stopover in the current Zagreb International Airport (cross) shed, please don’t judge the rest of the town by that…maybe just the socialist parts.

We arrived in town after a lovely drive through the many changing faces of the Croatian countryside, from the limestone coast, through the mountains, into the first pasture we’ve seen and then a confronting drive through the (still) bullet/shrapnel ridden houses outside Zagreb.

We arrived on a sleepy Sunday, which was a nice change of pace and included an interruption of a church service at the beautiful Cathedral (who knew Catholics went to Church on Sundays?)

Surprisingly, James wanted to stay for the next seven weeks. Zagreb is a real change from the Roman/Venetian dominated coast into a beautiful Austro-Hungarian influenced “new town”. It’s kind of like a small Vienna that’s been abandoned by its parents after a bitter divorce caused by outside parties, lived with oppressively regimented foster parents and been constantly beaten up by its siblings, finally getting independence and acting out while expecting someone to come in and help out.

The first museum visit of the honeymoon happened and it was of course to the Museum of Broken Relationships. A very funny and moving display of donated objects reminding the previous owners of their failed unions. Classic newlywed stuff.

We walked around the entire city before embarking on our walking tour that followed the same route…of course not putting our hands up when asked by the 20 year old tour guide if we know the story of the cravat or the Museum of Broken Relationships etc…that’s not what Stewarts do. It dawned on us that this young man was surely one of the new Baby Boomers his country needs, but are all leaving as the population dives post joining the EU. But with his blame of everything on his government for not spending more sitting right beside the belief that tax and tram fare evasion is a national right and moral obligation, it feels like they’re just about stuffed. If only there was a nearby analogue to learn from…right now…next door. As an Aussie, surely we can give some advice, they should all just pick a big strong country, sell them everything they have as quickly as possible (who cares about price) and it’ll all work out…right? Sort of like investing in pumpkins in October.

All that said, Zagreb was one of the coolest, cheapest and least touristy places we’ve been in Croatia. For half the price of tiny room in other towns we got a Five Star hotel (oooh), complete with l’Occitane toiletries (ahhhh). But sadly, the day count without a bidet has reached 10 (awwww). Surely we won’t have to keep wiping through to France?

Also, this was the first full jeans day; James put passports in safe but left it wide open on eve of first country move (which Lea found hilarious, appreciate the 2 followers I have probably won’t), Lea channelled her ancestry’s linguistic roots in realisng the combination of English and Italian, upon hearing James ask for another grrrraaasshhh o’ vino prease, was used to create the popular Grasevina grape; went to the Museum of Illusions, which took 45 minutes to find, turning out to be their most impressive illusion; saw the Museum of Naive Art (James’ new favourite art style…replacing: NA); rode the world’s shortest funicular, which despite the 3 passengers James stood up and had plenty of headroom…but the ride was very quick; and listened to regional musicians play jazz with local instruments in Strossmart (our new favourite drinking hole with a view over town).

Sadly this marks the end of our first country, on to Slovenia!

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.

After assuming nothing could possibly ever top Dubrovnik, we moved on to Korcula. After which I feel safe to say nothing could possibly ever top Korcula.  Our first meal on arrival in town included the local, Dalmatian gnocchi, which we found to be surprisingly tender and not at all spotty. We walked around the town, a local liqueur-and-all-sorts-of things maker got James drunk, sold him too many bottles to take home and tempted him with “liker od visanja”…to keep this friendly for work we’ll leave you to make your own jokes.

We watched the sunsets from our roof, improvised in the rain by replacing a 10km bike ride with mimosas looking over the sea, travelled to Lumbarda to wander through the vines (of Grk which only grown on this island!! So don’t even bother trying…please!), broke a vase and will be back in Korcula the first chance we get!

From Korcula we caught a ferry to Hvar…though not Hvar. Expecting to land in the old town, where we thought we were staying, we in fact landed in the old town which is the new town and not nearly as old as the very old town (Stari Grad) where in fact we were staying. After an additional bus leg to our destination we arrived in said Old Town, which lived up to its reputation in that it appeared very old. As far as stuff ups go, this was a great one! Stari Grad was a beautiful place, allowed us a change of pace, a stay at a beautiful and quirky hotel (cf. Fawlty Towers, but with Basil looking more like Manuel), day trips to the new old town Hvar to climb to the Fort and get told our lunch was taking so long because the kitchen was very busy (…getting ready for dinner…and we shouldn’t be offended because he actually thought we were American), and to nearby Jelsa where we got to not only tick off an elusive ‘J’ on the Z to A, but sample some of the town’s fine moonshine in a setting which totally made up for the quality of the wine. NB: Although the author had to help his sidekick with her moonshine so may not be a reliable source, but feels satisfied that the $3 for 2 glasses had the desired effect.

Our final stop in Dalmatia was in Split, after a spectacular ferry ride. Unfortunately only for one night, but we had a great tour of Diocletian’s palace focussing on the centuries of architecture styles from Roman through medieval, renaissance, gothic, baroque, WWII adjustments and the more recent hipster movement. We loved the palace, had a great dinner (thanks to the Morgans), finally saw a Dalmatian Dalmation and avoided a Split-ing headache to be ready to get in our first car of the trip and head North!

Thanks to Dubrovnik. After knocking off the Z on touch down in Europe we didn’t manage to venture further than Zagreb International (which is soon to be demolished, which will make a drastic improvement), we entered our first real destination of Dubrovnik, pearl of the Adriatic.

What a ridiculously amazing place to start this adventure. Lea was right, if we didn’t plan ahead James would never leave, it might even take the full 8 weeks for him to stop crying at how surreal this fairy tale town is. Built to prevent those within it from the atrocities of wannabe conquerors, Dubrovnik has seen more of it’s fair share of horror in our lifetimes alone. And there’s no sense of blame or resentment here. Except of course towards the Serbs* for needlessly bombing nearly every house…oh and to Croats for making them a reluctant part of their Kingdom…and thereby encouraging the Serbs to bomb them. But the town thrives again, albeit as a tourist trap, with a Prague meets Disney feel, and seems bound to become an exclusive resort town of the future. So we feel lucky to be here when we are, 20 years earlier or 20 years later would be a very different experience.

We’ve walked the wall (and no, that’s not a Throners reference), been up the recently repaired cable car (destroyed by war), walked barefoot on the Stradun, taken multiple flights of Croatia (in wine form), cable car’d to the Napoleon’s fort, found our previously unused calf muscles, ferried to Lokrum island (the “Rotto of the Adriatic”), watched a lightning storm roll in from Buza bar (perhaps signalling that winter is coming…not a GoT reference), smashed a lamp in our apartment (Lea said we did them a favour), saw the Game of Thrones store (yes that’s a GoT reference), James got thirsty, Lea got hungry and thoroughly enjoyed this first leg of our epic honeymoon (one leg Lea didn’t eat).

*The sentiment towards Serbia in this blog is a mere reflection on the comments of our walking tour guide and not of the author who is sure most Serbs are as likeable as their tennis playing point of reference. However, it is a stark (not GoT reference) reminder of how close to the surface tensions remain in a generation of our age that was born into war.