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...