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...