And it's back to the action
Budovica to Porat
Latest news is my brother has booked some uneasyjet flights to Dubrovnik, so now I've some sort of place to get to by Wednesday next.
I rise at the Hotel Garni and walk downstairs in my flip flops and nearly falling down the stairs. Nice start. The 30 Euros includes breakfast, which is very good, and it is all very good. I have my traditional euro transit breakfast of a Ham, Egg and Cheese Sandwich.
For the meantime, I decide to head to Lake Bled. Big up again to the Garni, a comfortable place for buttons.
I have an epic morning of riding. Slovenia is GS country. Ups and downs, twisty turny stuff, little traffic, roads that are not at all perfect but provide a great deal of entertainment. All in scenic spendour. I'm coming back again.
Inviting motoring..
Fancy a slap then, eh, eh?
Roast Trout for lunch..
I reach Lake Bled. I pootle around the shores and stop outside a craft fair. I'm almost wiped out by a backwards rolling Renault Megane trying to park. Sharp use of the horn sorts it and scowls indicate I won't be getting a Christmas card. I pull in. There's a stall there and I ask for stickers. He thinks I'm from another planet, but I show him one I've got and he sort of sees it, but observes 'what is the point?' to which I say I'll stick them on my bike. He thinks I'm a loon for doing that clearly and he says you won't find any here, aside from maybe one store in the shopping centre. Not wanting to over complicate matters I'll pass on that.
His name is Michael and he has a stunning array of photographs on show. That is his passion- he's a devoted photographer. I want to buy something, so I ask him to tell me what one he likes, and I buy it. We chat for a while. 'Where are you going?' he asks. 'I don't know' I tell him. He's a bit bemused by that. I tell him target is Southern Croatia, for now. 'Where should I go?' I ask. 'Hmmm he says, if it were me, I would go to the Island of Krk. It is very pleasant, and not so far from here if you're going that way'. So the die is cast. 'Have you been in the lake?' he asks. 'You should'. I see. Wait a minute.. Johnny foreigner is telling me to go and jump in the lake
We say farewell. Before I go he gives me two cards for luck. Saint Michael, to represent luck for me on the bike, and one of our lady, which represents love, as he explains, without love there is nothing. 'Thank you.. Now can I pay you for these?' I ask. 'No, thank you..' he says 'There isn't enough money in the world'
It is a serene and charming encounter with someone with a very peaceful aura. It makes my day.
It's busy on the road around the lake but the water is calm as a duck pond and picture postcard peaceful. No motor boats or jet skis or any of that kind of stuff allowed. People are ferried to the Island (Slovenia's only Island, by the way) in large row boats.
I buy an Ice cream and park up just a few feet from the lake crashing the party of a group of Russian registered K1300GTs
The Russians are coming.. The Russians are coming!
Proof you don't need a big bike to go touring. Scoots are the future..
It's hot. Bloody hot. The water is inviting. Sod this for a game of soldiers, I'm going in. So a nifty quick change, and I spend an hour paddling about in the lake. Yeehah, superb. I have a moment of 'I'm really doing this, and I'm really here', which was very very pleasant.
I return ashore and get out the camping chair. Iced tea and feet up. One of the Russian fellows approaches with a handshake. 'You are from Great Britain?' he asks politely. We chat for a while. They've all been on a huge tour from Moscow and have clearly had a ball. They're puzzling on where to strap more shopping. London was on the itinerary- but he complained of paying £200 for the Eurotunnel. Not surprised- Bloody hell, that was steep.
I set off for Croatia. The weather is closing in and there's a heavy wind. I nip on to the Motorway to escape South. I bought a Vignette at the Italian border as it implied the only way in was on the Motorway (which it did seem it was, even though I was getting off in a few KM). So anyway I get a bit of VFM. The Slovenian Motorway is good. A noticable tailwind pushes me along in a kind of funny vortex. It's very odd, I can really feel myself being blown along. Good for the economy side of things I s'pose
Motorway is left to break for the border. There's a lot of traffic keen to make progress, eager to roll out the towels and blow up those lilos and beach balls no doubt. I have a moment and I pride myself in not having many of those. As I'm making an overtake I'm almost taken out by Fritz in his big Mercedes who is already trying to get around me. It was a lapse for a moment on my part for sure and I was a lucky boy.. but he would clearly see my position and intention, one of these blasted 'get out of my way' types. Twat.
We get to the border. We're queueing, and Fritz, now many a car back decides to roll up across the kerb into the other lane to try and jump the queue. It seems this character is just a mobile nuisance. Anyway, so what. He's now next to me. That said, I stare at the blacked out window, ready for a chat and debrief if it obliges. There's nothing coming back though. My best inquisitive gurn generates nothing. He's positioned behind a camper and now a coach that's been flagged in, and we're moving and they're not. Hilarious. The border guard sees my Union Jack on the lid and waves me though. Top tip there as that's happened a few times.
I stop over the border, change £60 Sterling up for what I now call Hrvattys, have a brief chat with the girl at the Beuraux De Change and then have a stretch followed by an Iced Tea. Fritz is still behind the coach back at the border post as I set off. I find that pretty funny. Tiny things please tiny minds I suppose.
I reflect that I'm thankful to Michael's lucky charm of earlier; a few milliseconds difference (I kid you not) would have led to an entirely different outcome and most likely a very different thread to read
On we go. I head down to Rijeka, and then on to the Island of Krk, across the rather splendid bridge. The road is incredibly busy coming the other way with the weekenders heading back to the mainland. There are Policija everywhere. Lollipop waving pedestrian versions, mobile fuzz in Skoda Octavias, short sleeved shirt clad biker cops wrestling RT's in heavy traffic.
I check out a camp site; so busy it looks like some sort ridiculous tented game of twister. Erm, that'll be a no then. So I head to a tourist agency who get me a B&B for 45 Euros, which is fine all considered. Plus time is knocking on, too. It's just a few KM away in Porat. My posterior is beeping, I think I've worn out the Sargent seat, so the nearer the better.
I reach Porat, where some wag had amusingly changed the sign from a 'P' to a 'B'. Well I thought it was funny.
The B&B, or 'Pensian' fella flags me down and I park across the road, by the harbour. A really basic little place but perfectly adequate.
I cross the road for a beer and have a few more. There's some local accordion group getting in to the groove and it's not a bad place to be on the planet. Facebook status added as 'Getting spangled', to which a certain Mr K adds an instant 'like'. The accordionists drink beer, cocktails, and what looks like grappe also. They're getting spangled too