Mljet

If Hvar is Croatia's party destination, Mljet is its secluded retreat. An island just off the coast from Dubrovnik, it is largely made up of pine forests and salt water lakes. 23 miles wide, it has a population of just 1,000. Apparently Odysseus was so captivated by the place he lived here in a cave for seven years. I don't blame the bloke.

I spent a day and a night here with Matt last year and, like with pretty much everywhere I've been in Croatia, vowed to return as soon as possible. Mljet's main draw is its national park, which makes up about a third of the island. It is a stunning area, with two salt water lakes and a wonderful forest. The lavender green from the trees set against the clear blue of the water is the enduring image of Croatia - but arguably nowhere is it more beautiful than Mljet. Add into the mix an unspoilt island that has very few people and a way of life that is borderline snail's pace, and you have a compelling case to visit.

I was staying on the island, alone, for four days. After five booze drenched days in Hvar, it was just what I needed.

The boat from Korcula made its way into the small harbour of Polace, a village close to the national park, and I felt instantly relaxed. Walking off and onto the narrow street, the peacefulness was so profound you could almost hear it. The smell emanating from the wood fire ovens in the splattering of family restaurants along the harbour front was enchanting. In so many respects, I felt more like I was on an island somewhere in South East Asia rather than in Europe. Not because of how it looked necessarily, but because of the sheer remoteness and feeling of complete contentment that is so infectious. Although Polace is one of the larger settlements on the island, the latest census revealed only 131 people actually live there.

There is only one hotel in the truest sense of the word on Mljet, which is in the village of Pomena, close to Polace. Most visitors stay in family run guest houses, which is where I was going to spend my time here. I arrived at my home for the next two days and found the daughter of the owner sat outside with her boyfriend. It is typical in Croatia for young people to spend the summer working and hanging out in  guest houses and restaurants owned by their parents, and then to seek alternative employment or to study for the rest of the year. I never used to like staying in a guest house - I preferred the privacy offered by hotels. But in Croatia you typically get the best of both worlds. The owners meet you, give you a cold beer, offer some information about the area, explain they are always available to help, show you to your air conditioned room with en suite and wifi, and then leave you alone. And even in the peak season it is invariably good value.

I hired a bike to set off into the national park the next day. The hill from Polace up towards the lakes is notoriously steep. I'm not sure what was worse - the near heart attack inducing journey up or the near death experience ride coming down. I knew what was awaiting me would be worth it. Cycling around - and diving in - the lakes of the national park has to be one of the most enjoyable and fulfilling ways you could spend a day. The scenery is breathtaking. On top of that you have a sixteenth century monastery on an island in the middle of the western lake, which also sports a very good restaurant.

I cycled round the edge of the lakes, occasionally stopping for a swim at particularly inviting points. People from around the world - Australians, Americans, Brits and Croats - were all doing the same. Eventually I reached the tiny village of Soline, where the lakes meet the Adriatic Sea and there is a handful of family owned restaurants. The speciality in these places is freshly caught fish cooked in the wood fire oven, but not being a seafood person I opted for a couple of cold beers to relax and enjoy the scenery. Reluctantly, I got up and hopped aboard a small boat that takes people and their bikes the short distance across to the other side of the lake. 'I love Soline. You can't get a mobile phone signal or internet connection. All you can do is relax, enjoy where you are and read books,' the driver of the boat volunteered to me. I could see what he was getting at...

After cycling for around half an hour, I thought it rude not to stop when I saw another restaurant. When I clambered back aboard the bike after a beer, I could detect every cyclist's constant fear - a puncture. And I wasn't exactly in a part of the world where I could just hop on a train to get home. So it was a long and hard walk up the hill and down back to Polace in the searing heat, although probably no more difficult than it would have been on the bike.

You have around five restaurants to choose from to eat in Polace of an evening. There are no bars in the typical sense. I chose a traditional Dalmatian place with a table right by the harbour, which was splendid. Unfortunately the ambiance was somewhat spoiled by a large group of rather posh English people who had moored up on yachts. The adults were even louder than their children. They just couldn't stop holding their rather dull conversations so loud that the whole restaurant could hear them. English people are generally to be avoided abroad, whichever class they come from...

After my two days in Polace, I was off to Saplunara on the other side of the island, which is renowned for its fine sandy beaches - something of a rarity in Croatia. The biggest problem was getting there. I asked the owner of my guest house to help arrange a taxi for me. 'I will ask the taxi driver if he is working. If he is not, I can drive you at 7pm when I get back from Dubrovnik,' he replied. Note the use of the singular. There was only one taxi driver. When I wanted to leave for Saplunara, I was instructed by the guest house owner's daughter to go straight to the taxi driver's house and ask for him. They probably have one of everything in Polace - taxi driver, plumber, prostitute - and there would be uproar if anyone else tried to set up competition.

I knocked on the door of the taxi driver's house, which actually turned out to be a mechanic's garage. 'It will cost you 400 kuna it get to Saplunara,' he said with a slight cheek that made me suspect I was being done up the wrong 'un. I winced at the £40 fee, but realised I didn't really have an alternative. I agreed, and then instantly regretted not negotiating a lower price.

I spent the 45 minute journey convincing myself that I hadn't got a bad deal - as well as enjoying the scenery. £40 for an hour and a half and 45 mile round trip for a taxi wasn't bad, I convinced myself. The other thing I noticed was that the driver seemed to know every single person we passed. Every car, every pedestrian was met with a tonk of the horn and a cheery wave. I suppose on an island like this everyone literally does know everyone.

We got to Saplunara around 11.30. The elderly owners of my guest house welcomed me with warm handshakes and offered me a cold beer. They were drinking shots of vodka. Anna, one of the owners, asked me how much I had paid for my taxi from Polace. When I told her it was 400 kuna, you would have thought I'd revealed I'd been raped and beaten up en route. 'No! No! Big price, big price,' she said putting her hands on her face and then slamming them down on the table. She then translated what I had told her to her husband in Croatian. I am assuming he said the same thing, as he also clasped his hands around his face before banging them on the table. Having been ripped off, it now seemed like I was being bollocked.

'You must not pay more than 200 kuna to travel from Polace to Saplunara,' Anna insisted.

'I know, thanks, but it's done now. At least I'm here. Thanks for the beer, I'm going to the beach.'

'Ok! I see from your passport your middle name is Paul. My son's name is Paulo! You must meet him later!'

'Ok...'

They pored themselves another couple of vodkas, and I headed down to the beach. Saplunara is a tiny place - there are only 67 permanent residents - but the popularity of its sandy beaches makes it seem larger. There are two beach bars, a couple of restaurants, a shop and a handful of places to stay. The place has no ATM machine or police station.

I have long felt that Croatians have the right approach to their coast line. As I watched people of all ages loving the beach and sea in Saplunara, it occurred to me that it was possible to have the time of your life in these surroundings with very little else. You don't need amusement arcades, chip shops, big dippers - or in the case of Blackpool, newsagents selling poppers and plastic breasts - to make the seaside an attractive place to visit. In fact, not spoiling its natural features proves more of a draw in my view. Saplunara, with its small handful of top notch hostelries, and with visitors from every country you can think of, tends to illustrate that.

After a great afternoon lounging around on a beach that, I must admit, had rather a lot of eye candy on it, I dined in a wonderful Dalmatian restaurant overlooking the bay of islands off Mljet with the lights of Dubrovnik blinking in the distance. What another great day it had been.

The heavens opened over Saplunara the next day - in quite spectacular style. A waitress in a bar where I was having coffee said that it had been the worst weather in summer she could remember. I had been in Croatia for exactly two weeks at that point, and it is true that it had not been as warm or sunny than previous visits. I still wouldn't have been anywhere else in the world.

I left Saplunara for the village of Sobra in the clapped out banger belonging to the husband of the guest house owner. It probably last passed the equivalent of an MOT around the time of the Yugoslavian civil war. And I wasn't sure if the driver - fond of early morning vodka shots - was entirely sober when he got behind the wheel.

It is probably a good job we didn't encounter a single car during the journey from Saplunara to Sobra. The banger wasn't up to taking some of the steep corners without its rear end careering on to the other side of the road. And the driver had a somewhat carefree approach to the way he took blind bends. As I looked out over the steep cliff-side descents we could very easily tumble over into the Adriatic, I did think at least there could be worse places to die.

We got to Sobra - the main port on Mljet - safely. I had booked a guest house here for my last night on the island as I planned to catch the 6.15am boat to Dubrovnik in the morning. But doubts about such an early start were now engulfing me. When I told the owner of the guest house in Polace that I was planning to catch this early service, he looked horrified and started making cut throat gestures. 'It will kill you! It will kill you! I caught that boat two days ago and I am still dead! Get the later boat,' he theatrically opined.

As much as I wanted to get to Dubrovnik rather than stay in the sleepy village of Sobra longer than one night, it boiled down to a choice between a 5am start or a lie in. When the owner of my guest house told me, over a welcome beer, that I could check out as late as 12, my mind was made up. A long sleep, a spot of lunch, some afternoon beers and the 17.35 to Dubrovnik it was.

The next day I was walking to one of the three restaurants in Sobra for lunch when I passed the owner of another, where I had enjoyed a drink the previous night. She gave me a cheery wave and said hello. Seconds later a car pulled up beside me and a man wound down the window. It was the owner of the first guest house I stayed in, in Polace. He shook my hand, asked if I was still having a good time and whether the taxi driver had picked me up ok. I declined to mention he had charged me twice what he should have, and said everything was fine. When I got to the restaurant, the owner of the guest house in Saplunara was sat outside, having a beer. He waved. I felt almost like a local after four days.

My time on Mljet had been smashing, as I knew it would be. I could happily spend as long here as Odysseus... 

Hvar

No time in Hvar for those predisposed towards enjoying life would be even vaguely close to fulfilment without a visit to Carpe Diem.

I'm no clubber these days. Aside from a few late nights in bars in Berlin and London, I've not set foot in a 'club' since my last visit to Carpe Diem in July 2013.

This isn't your typical nightclub. It is pretty much the only thing on the island of Stipkanska, which is a ten minute boat ride from the harbour of Hvar Town. And this is its appeal. Boats start to take people from Carpe Diem's sister bar on Hvar around midnight, and begin the process of ferrying in the region of a thousand people onto an otherwise deserted island to party until dawn.

It costs roughly around 15 quid to get in. Like all clubs the music is hit and miss - sometimes it is amazing, with the best DJs in the World descending over the summer. And on other times it is distinctly average.

The crowd couldn't be more mixed - everyone from your average local to Prince Harry has danced the night away here. But don't let that out you off too much...

When Matt, Rosh and I decided to venture here on a Sunday night, we had done so because there was rain forecast for the Monday. Better to have a late one on a day when there would be little to do because of the elements the next day, we thought to ourselves.

The boat journey is always a great experience, with the moon shining over the water and the old town in Hvar lit up in the distance. And you always get chatting to random strangers from all over the world on board. On our journey, we were befriended by a group of young Italians. It is typical when foreigners discover you are English that they ask what football team you support. Matt and Rosh don't really have a club to speak of, so it was left to me to declare my allegiance to Norwich City. I got one of those looks that I've had in so many places all over the world that basically says 'I was expecting you to say Chelsea or Man United, who the fuck are they?'

As we got off the boat, the Italians started an either ironic or friendly boisterous chant of 'NORWICH! NORWICH!' - they were Parma fans, and who the fuck were they?

We paid our entrance fee and strolled into one of the best venues for a night out there can possibly be. The main club area is set within the confines of a forest of pine trees. Behind that is an outdoor swimming pool, sun loungers and another bay of sea - all designed for the day time trade but available at night. It's proper good. I am always reminded of the woods area at the latitude festival when I come to Carpe Diem. It's probably just the smell of pine and dancing in July in the middle of nowhere, but hopefully those who have been to the 'tude get my drift...

The club (or should that be island?) got busy very quickly. Deep, funky house blazed out and the smiles on the faces of everyone - ours included - were palpable. I was chatted up by girls young enough to be my daughter, I smoked for the first time in God knows how long and generally had outrageously good fun.

It was around 4am that the heavens opened and something dawned on me. We had decided to go out on Sunday night because it was going to rain on Monday. But although we were very much at the club's Sunday show, in reality it was a place that opened in the small hours of Monday morning. So basically we were in the open air on an island on the day it was destined to chuck it down. Quite how we hadn't realised this when making our plans I didn't know, but none of us gave a toss.

Torrential rain came down through the pine trees, but if anything it seemed to galvanise the crowd. Nobody was going to get cold in the heat, so getting collectively drenched was - if anything - something that made people smile more and dance harder. Then, all of a sudden, the realisation we were at a club rather than some kind of rave became apparent. The DJs didn't want their equipment getting wet, so an announcement was made that the music was being stopped...

'Let's get out of here,' Rosh said to me.
'No! This will only be temporary, and when the music starts again, it will be amazing,' I predicted.

Everyone tried to find cover, which was difficult in an open air club during a rain storm. We chatted to some guys from Croydon. The Italians saw me and shouted NORWICH! A Norwegian wandered up to us and the people close by sheltering around me and said we should sing together. 'Repeat after me. Everyone listen to me and then sing!' I'm not entirely sure what we sang - it appeared to be little more than random chanting - but it did occur to me later that I could have been involved in saying something, involuntarily, in Norwegian that I might find fucking offensive! It did serve as a reminder of how in times of difficulty, if you can describe trying to shelter from rain at Carpe Diem as that, people will respond to leadership. This guy basically walked up to 20 of us and said we should sing after him, and we did. Mind you, everyone was drunk...

By 5am it was obvious the music wasn't coming back on, so we decided to get the boat back. The rain was still falling when we got to the Hvar, but it didn't stop a group of people dancing around the square in the old town - to no music. I briefly joined them before realising I looked like a fool. We walked home, despite Rosh's protestations that we should jump in a taxi - even though there weren't any to take. He still timed our walk home to prove it took longer than the 15 we predicted, and was not shy to point out it actually ended up taking 18...

A big night out like the one we had at Carpe Diem was always going to render us tired for a while. And so we spent the next few days generally chilling around Hvar Town. Normally I would head out to a different island every day, but we were content to have late starts and just mooch about. Especially as there was a woman in a crepe shop Matt had taken a fancy to...

Unfortunately the persistent purchasing of stuff from this place did not lead to anything more than a substantial amount of un-eaten food in our apartment. We then all went our separate ways - Rosh and Matt on the boat to Split to fly home to London, me on the boat to Korcula en route to Mljet...

Pakleni Islands

Three blokes with a history of accidents on the water taking a cool box full of beers on a boat to go island hopping off Hvar. What could possibly go wrong?

Before I start describing our embarrassing day out, a little detail about our location. Hvar is a stunning island not far from Split, popular with an eclectic mix of backpackers and super rich yacht owners. It attracts people from all over the world during the summer months, and I have been addicted to the place from the very first moment I came here two years ago. Off the coast of Hvar Town are a stunning archipelago of islands - the Paklenis - that people tend to head to during the day, and this is where we were going exploring on our hired boat.

Matt and I had hired a boat out here last year, and all of us were looking forward to a day out on the water in the sunshine surrounded by some of the most wonderful surroundings you can find anywhere in the world.

I took us out of the harbour and round the coast of the island of Jerolim, which is famous for having a nudist/hippie beach. As is often the case, the people who had chosen to take their clothes off were the ones you would have hoped and prayed to keep them on, so we didn't stay to look around for too long. From Jerolim we headed across to Stipanska, which is infamous for being the home of the hugely popular Carpe Diem nightclub, with little or nothing else on the island. We then stopped just off the coast of the more family orientated Zdrilca, where the first fuck up of the day occurred...

The clear blue water in Croatia is an alluring sight, and so I fully understand why Rosh was very keen to jump off the side of the boat and into it. Unfortunately, in his haste to do so he had forgotten to remove his phone and wallet from his short pockets, and so there then followed some frantic scenes as he tried to get both back to me on board the boat. Luckily the money in his wallet dried out and the phone was water resistant.

With our supplies of beer in the cool box already dwindling, I swam ashore to buy more from a beach side restaurant. Having ordered four large bottles from a friendly young chap working there, I was just waiting to hand over the money when we were spotted by the restaurant owner. He marched over to me and Matt as if we had been caught taking a dump in the corner, and demanded to know what we were doing in his establishment. Having explained that we were just buying some beer to take away, he launched into a rant that made virtually everyone in the restaurant look up.

'You cannot come in here straight from the sea with no shirts on and stand where you are standing. It is an issue of morality. You must leave.'
'Well if someone here will take my money, we'll happily leave.'

It must have been the first time in my life I had paid to be thrown out of somewhere. And if our outrageous act of walking into a beach bar in swimming shorts had been so immoral, nobody had really noticed until his intervention and another waiter - who I assume was his son - had been perfectly happy to serve us.

After taking our beers onto the boat, Rosh decided to drive us out of Zdrilca. With scores of other boats moored up in the vicinity, it probably wasn't the best place for him to have his first go of being in control of the vessel. Driving a small boat like the one we were hiring is relatively straightforward, but it does take time to get a feel for it and to master the art of mooring up without making a tit of yourself. Rosh's first attempt ended with us going in completely the wrong direction and getting grounded on the shore - much to the amusement of everyone watching. After Matt pushed us away from the beach with no harm having been done, I took the controls and led us out without further incident. For now...

As we headed out to the sea and towards the island of Palmizana, there was a loud crash. Rosh had spilled the contents of one of the large bottles of beer over the floor of the boat. A couple of moments later there was another thud. Matt had dropped a second bottle. 'Can't you muppets even hold on to your beers?' I dismissively asked.

We arrived at wonderful Palmizana and debated whether to drop our anchor and swim in, or moor the boat closer to the shore. Rosh was reluctant to take us in with there being so many other boats and swimmers in the vicinity, but said he was happy for me to try. Feeling reasonably confident after an incident-free day in control of the boat, I took us in. This is where our naïvety started to shine through. Thinking that we just needed to tie the boat to some rocks in such serene and calm water, we neglected to drop the anchor. So as Matt and Rosh tried to tie us to the rocks using knots they probably hadn't attempted in years, a barman from the beach side Laginini Bar came rushing out after seeing how much we were blatantly cocking this up.

'You must not do it this way. It is useless and you will damage your boat. I will show you how.'

He jumped on board, and with what seemed like embarrassing ease took the boat back 10 yards slowly, dropped the anchor and then tied us to a boat the bar owned. The hard bit should now have been completed. Unfortunately getting off was to prove even more difficult for yours truly. Trying to clamber off three different boats to get to the shore, I slipped and fell between two, dropping into the sea in the process. Cue hysterical laughter from the barman and pretty much everyone else who witnessed my ineptitude.

Rosh tipped the barman 50 kuna - roughly a fiver - and we went inside the bar. Laginini is my favourite bar in the world. I must have visited 10 times in the last two years - more than a lot of pubs I frequent in London. The view is spectacular, the cocktails are amazing and the music is always good. There is nothing to dislike about it. I said to Matt and Rosh after all the money I'd spent on Mai Tais in this establishment, I probably had earned a helping hand getting out of the sea.

After a couple of cocktails, we decided to head to the boat and go back to Hvar to ensure we returned before dark. Surely I couldn't possibly repeat my earlier humiliation and fall in again? I'm afraid to say I could - indeed I fell in deeper this time. For the second time in two hours, the barman helped fish me out of the water laughing his head off so much I think I'd actually made his day. 'Twice! Twice!' he giggled hysterically.

With me being drenched, Matt took us out of the harbour. We were making our way out, and I was looking forward to being out of sight, when people on other boats started shouting and gesturing at us frantically. We hadn't pulled our anchor up and the rope from it was getting caught under other boats. After rectifying that oversight, it was something of a relief to leave Palmizana. As we headed back to Hvar, I excelled myself by spilling two beers - not long after berating the others for doing precisely the same thing.

We got to Hvar without any further incident. It had certainly been a memorable day. And what could possibly go wrong?

Split

They have an interesting approach to punctuality in Croatia. By that I mean they don't seem to have one. Our bus from Novalja to Split was 45 minutes late arriving, and when it did turn up it took five and a half hours to reach its destination rather than the scheduled three. No apology was offered for this.

It wasn't that we were caught in traffic or anything. The main cause of the delay seemed to be that this long distance coach journey was doubling up as a local bus service - stopping in every single town imaginable between Novalja and Split, picking people up and dropping people off at places that weren't even bus stops. The scenery was amazing, but we would have all rather been in Split sampling the views there rather than staring out of a coach window.

Probably the most amusing part of the journey was the perverted ticket inspector. Sat on the seats in front of Rosh and myself was an admittedly extremely attractive young woman, sporting what I have heard others describe as 'a decent pair'. The inspector wasted no plausible opportunity to keep approaching this girl - checking tickets, searching for 'lost property' under her seat and so on. Eventually he just gave up with the excuses and sat down next to her and started chatting her up. Funnily enough, she didn't seem up for it, but he'd probably stored up enough in his head to make what he was obviously going to do when he got off the bus worthwhile...

We got to Split at around 8pm, which was a real shame as we were only staying one night and I wanted us to experience much more of this corking city. Split reminds me very much of Barcelona. It is a port with gritty outskirts and a wonderful old town. A lot of people just pass through here en route from the airport to the islands, but it is well worth stopping for a while.

After dumping our stuff we headed to a restaurant in the old town serving traditional Dalmatian grub. The food, the wine and the surroundings were simply outstanding. I do not posses the vocabulary to do it justice. Truly wonderful.

We had a couple of drinks outside a lively bar, but by now Rosh and I in particular were feeling pretty tired so we decided to call it a night and head back to our apartment. When we got back, Matt decided he wanted to go for 'a walk'. I asked him to buy me some water and retired to bed not thinking much more about it.

He came home five hours later. What started as a walk turned into a bar crawl. And he didn't buy my bloody water.

We nearly missed the 10.30am boat to Hvar, but made it on board just in time. Rosh humiliated me at Connect 4 on my iPad. When it got to 7-3 I snatched it off him, put in my bag and went to the bar and ordered a beer.

Novalja

It was 2.30am. I was half drunk, dehydrated and awoken by shouting going on outside our room. It sounded like somebody was playing football in the corridor. 

'This is like being back in the halls of residence at fucking university,' said Matt.

'I think it's worse than that,' I replied.

The noise was too loud to ignore, and so I went out to remonstrate with whoever was responsible. A group of young girls from the room next door were having an impromptu party in the kitchen. I asked them to keep the noise down and then returned inside.

'You were very polite in the circumstances. I would have sworn at them,' Matt ventured.

'Well they've quietened down, so it must have worked.'

'That or they are still in shock at the sight of seeing you in your pants.'

'They brought that on themselves.'

Matt had met me in the town of Novalja on Pag Island that evening, having flown into Zadar from Stansted, whilst I'd arrived by boat from Rab. We were in Novalja to sample the experience of nearby Zrce beach, which Lonely Planet describes as having an 'incendiary' array of bars and is often touted as Croatia's answer to Ibiza. 

Walking to Zrce in the morning, I wondered aloud whether a holiday where we are awoken by partying teenagers in the middle of the night and visiting a clubbing mecca was the sort of experience we should be enjoying in our mid 30s. It didn't take long when we got to the beach for any lingering self awareness to be banished from our minds.

Zrce is a beautiful area three kilometres outside of Novalja - far enough away for nobody to be disturbed by the goings on there. I'm not sure how this secluded beach looking out across a beautiful light blue sea and the baron mountainous terrain became a party hotspot. I guess somebody must have come up with the bright idea of opening a bar here and it spiralled from there. Across the back of the beach are a string of glitzy bars, all resplendent with pool areas where punters dance to house music being pumped out by DJs. It's quite a spectacle, with the only things that lower the tone being a tattoo parlour and a stall selling poppers...

We took our seats on a bar on stilts jetting out in the sea and sipped a couple of cold Croatian beers. This was the life. Unfortunately for Matt the moment was spoilt when his chair fell back whilst he was applying sun tan lotion to his legs, he lost his balance and unceremoniously tumbled into the sea. The bar owner helped drag him and his chair back up. Fortunately for Matt, there were not many people around to see him sat there soaking wet and nursing cuts to his leg. He is also keen to stress that alcohol was not a factor in his little mishap. In my book that would have been a better excuse than just being hapless...

The rest of the afternoon was a sun and beer drenched mix of relaxation and witnessing the full-on antics of Zrce. One bar seemed to put on a stage managed party of random excess, with an MC dressed as a construction worker imploring the bar's patrons to get in the pool and party. Attractive young men and women - obviously paid in free booze by the bar to be there - enticed people in. But not us. We are too reserved and too self conscious - as well as not being drunk enough - to jump up and down with our tops off in a bar alongside people much better looking than us. But there was always tomorrow....

Tomorrow came and Rosh arrived on the Stansted to Zadar flight, to complete the triumvirate of single 30 something Royal Holloway graduates hanging out somewhere we were probably too old for. 

We headed to Zrce. Within a few minutes Rosh had announced he could happily visit there every week. We sank cold beers with our legs dipped in swimming pools, gorged on water melon drenched in vodka and laughed at an eccentric German in a sailor hat dancing like a tit. The music in some of the bars did become a bit annoying - it was if they had decided that the volume and repetitiveness of it had some correlation with quality. But we even got used to that after a while. 'This music is so shit I'm actually starting to enjoy it,' as Rosh remarked. 

Probably the biggest compliment I can pay to Zrce is that despite it being frequented by thousands of people, most of whom are intent on getting drunk, we did not come across any idiots - very much unlike Ibiza. That is not to say there never are any, but generally speaking it is a good natured crowd of people from all across Europe. It wouldn't be everyone's cup of tea, but we were all agreed on wanting to visit again.

We caught a cab from Zrce back into Novalja and went for drinks by the harbour. By now Matt, having eaten nothing more all day than a slice of my vodka soaked water melon, was somewhat tired and emotional. We went to a nearby Mexican restaurant for urgent sustenance, and the food - washed down by cocktails - was divine. The same cannot be said of Rosh's attempt to chat up the waitress...

We returned to our guest house, where Rosh had decided to sleep on the floor of our room. Not long after arriving, he decided that the Croatian herbal brandy I had was not suitable for his night cap needs, so we went back out again in search of a decent bottle of whisky. After a failed attempt to persuade a closed supermarket to re-open, we eventually found an 'offy'. The cost of a bottle of Jack Daniels - around £30 - was too high for us, so we settled on two bottles of local red wine. After persuading Rosh that we didn't need a load of beers on top of that, we returned to the guest house, only to very quickly realise we were actually in need of sleep more than we were booze.

It was impossible to actually sleep, even though we were all shattered. The heat in our un air conditioned room was stifling, the fan wouldn't work unless all the lights were switched on and if we opened the window we were kept awake by the noise from other guests. When we did nod off, we would be awoken the girls in the room next door, who it seemed never went to bed. At one point it did seem as if silence had at last descended upon the guest house, but instead we were disturbed by a steady stream of men who arrived ringing the doorbell - to visit the girls. The last one arrived and was let in at 7.30am. 'I think we might be staying in a knocking shop,' was a bleary eyed Matt's unsurprising conclusion.

We checked out and headed down to the harbour for breakfast. After coffee and omelettes, and a debate about whether we had indeed spent the last three nights in a knocking shop, we had a few restorative beers before catching our bus to Split. 'If it was a brothel, and I couldn't pull in it, I don't like my chances for the rest of the week,' Rosh perhaps wisely concluded. It had been an unforgettable experience in Novalja, that much we could all agree on. And for all the drinking and debauchery, it is a beautiful part of the world that is well worth a visit. They do nice cheese and stuff like that here. Just swallow the cost of staying somewhere a bit more upmarket than where we ended up...

   

Lopar

Lopar is on the north side of Rab, and is famous for having glorious sandy beaches. These are something of a rarity in Croatia, where most of the coastline on the mainland and the islands either contains no beach at all, or those of the pebbly variety. So I decided the 20 minute journey north from Rab Town would be a worthwhile trip on my last day on the island.

The beaches were superb, even if Lopar itself was a fairly nondescript resort. With clear shallow seas stretching out for hundreds of yards and the mountainous terrain of the Croatian mainland in the distance, it was picture postcard stuff. What sandy beaches and shallow seas also attract are families, and it was the presence of so many young children charging around that rather spoilt it for me. I don't wish to sound like a whining old fucker, I really don't, but I just do not wish to spend my holiday with German toddlers running around the beach in the nude and being very loud. 

I normally go out of my way to avoid family resorts on holiday, so the fact I ended up here I suppose represents a fail on my part. However, the beach was still lovely, the bars were still welcoming and the scenery was splendid. 

Tips for people coming to Rab Island. As well as being family orientated, most visitors are German or Central European. So be aware that unless your children are multi lingual, it's unlikely none of the other kids will be able to understand them, which may spoil things somewhat. I didn't encounter a single other English person during my time on Rab, but ironically such is the variety of nationalities visiting the place virtually all conversations between customers and staff in bars and restaurants are held in English. In short, this is a charming island and well worth a visit. But better for families than childless miserable blokes in their 30s...

Rab

I find it difficult to talk about Rab without thinking about Rab C Nesbitt - the string vest wearing Scottish alcoholic comedy character from the 1980s and 90s.

In truth, there is of course very little about this Croatian island that would normally conjure up images of an out of condition Glaswegian, but the weather on my first full day here did its best to remind me of Central Scotland. For the first time I can recall seeing during a Croatian summer, it rained and the temperature dropped considerably. Indeed a look at the weather showed that it was actually warmer and sunnier in London - which is probably the most annoying feeling on holiday apart from being robbed.

With the climate set to be scorching for the rest of the week in any case, I had resigned myself to a day of relative dullness just hanging out and reading books in the bars of Rab Town. Indeed it seemed everyone else had the same idea. Sat looking out over the harbour around lunch time, I noticed how almost everyone was just sat in bars drinking coffee or beer. Apart from the people serving the drinks, I could see no other evidence of activity at all. It made me wonder what on earth goes on here for the bulk of the year when the tourists aren't in town...

After a spot of lunch, the day took an unexpected turn when the rain disappeared almost immediately and the sun came out. Myself and scores of others vacated our expresso and lager swilling perches, and made our way out of the bars and into the streets of medieval Rab Town. What had destined to be a day indoors was transformed into an afternoon exploring the churches and towers of this lovely little place, which afforded stunning views of the sea and the island's backbone of hills.

The old town was great to walk around, but equally as enjoyable were the small beaches on the west side of it. This was Croatia at its best - pine trees providing a wonderful aroma as the sun dazzled on azure waters. There were lots of holidaymakers wearing German shirts after their World Cup victory over Argentina the night before, but this did not bother me at all. They just walked around with smiles on their faces. Can you imagine the behaviour in Ibiza or Majorca of English holidaymakers if we had won the tournament? They'd still be washing the vomit off the streets by the time of Russia 2018...

The only down side of my stay in Rab was my choice of hotel. The Hotel International, while comfortable and boasting impressive facilities, was far too family orientated. By this I mean the pool was overrun with screaming kids, who when they were not bursting the eardrums of sunbathers were running around the corridors from around 8am. If the children didn't wake you up, the cleaning staff - who started work at a similar time - would. They would descend on the corridor in groups, and start banging on people's doors to see if they could come in and clean as if they were trying to evict people from the hotel. When they were admitted to somebody's room they would make so much noise you could be forgiven for thinking Liam Gallagher and Pete Doherty were having a party next door. As if that were not enough, I have never known air conditioning to make so much noise and have so little effect. I might as well have shoved an ice cube up my arse and farted. Given one of the reasons I selected this hotel over a cheaper nearby alternative was the presence of air conditioning, this was annoying. Still, the breakfast was very nice...