We left Camping Stoja this morning bound for the motorway, which turned out to be a toll road, heading north to Camping Porto Sole (GPS:N45.140981º E13.603910º) just outside the village of Vrsar, on the western coast of this Istrian Peninsula, a journey of only about 20 miles. We popped in to a local supermarket for some fresh provisions and some white wine before making base camp here.
There's no doubt about it, the southern part of Croatia knocks the north in to a cocked hat.
We were told that we could go off and pick our pitch and then come back to the office and tell them our chosen pitch number, which is normal practice. We could be up the top end by Reception, or down by the beach, it was up to us. If we left them our documentation we could actually drive around the campground to look. Given the heat we elected to do that.
We thought it would be nice to pick a spot 'down by the beach' and so we drove slowly past the cafeteria, restaurant and bar complex with customers sat there, probably thinking 'where are they going?
Up a narrow winding road we went until we arrived at a dead end, fenced off by large mesh gates (more of those later). Since there was nowhere to turn around I had to back up all the way down the road, and slowly past the restaurant, bar and cafeteria, with the punters probably thinking 'Another stupid sod'. In fact it's probably the highlight of their day, watching people like us drive up a dead end road, all because nobody thought to put a 'No Entry' sign at the bottom.
Having picked a pitch and set up shop we decided to have a wander down to the beach. For beach read sloping, crazy paving, laid on tons of concrete over jagged rocks. The temperature was over 30°C which is hot in whatever currency you use.
After about an hour I announced that my backside was getting numb sat on the concrete and wanted to go for a walk. Ahead of us I could see a small island with a bridge joining it to the mainland. As The Chef didn't fancy the walk I headed off on my own. Round the headland and up to those mesh gates I went. It seems they are an Emergency Exit for what turned out to be a separate holiday resort. I walked around the gates and in to a complex for .................' bollicky buffers'. I've never seen so much sagging, wrinkly meat in all my life. You never see a Pamela Anderson or a 'Hoff' strutting their stuff along such beaches, it's always these old, dried up prunes who really should keep in all covered up in the name of good taste. It must be some kind of subconscious desire they've harboured all of their lives to strip off and share 'it' with the rest of the world. We all get old if we're lucky enough, we all get a bit wrinkly, that's natural and normal but we don't all choose to share our plight with the rest of the world. This nudist resort not only had the headland past the gates, but also the island with the adjoining bridge we'd fancied walking to tomorrow. We could of course still go and join them, but although the world has had the 'Galloping Gourmet', beautiful though I think she is, the world is not quite ready for 'The Bollicky Chef'.
Back for lunch, after which we rolled out the awning to provide not only shade for ourselves but also the vehicle as, with the door open and the sun burning in, things inside were getting quite warm. Besides we needed to shade the fridge/freezer vents.
We'd both spotted the very nice swimming pool on our way back, it's discrete as it's built above the shopping/eating/drinking complex, and so we have decided to spend the day there tomorrow, chilling out reading a book.
This evening’s meal was a salad, The Chef had Salmon, I had ham and cheese as I don't do seafood. Nobody can convince me that eating something that's spent its life swimming around in radioactive or industrially polluted water or effluent is a healthy eating option. I'll eat cod and haddock but that's about my lot.
After dinner I made myself another dessert. It was to be half a tin of pineapple chunks which I'd smuggled aboard, plus another 'Angel Delight' this time banana flavour, mixed with most of the rest of that liquid yoghurt The Chef had inadvertently bought instead of milk.
In the kitchen we use 'Manual' when we're wild camping and 'Electrical' when we're hooked up. Tonight I was to again use the 'Electrical' liquidising wand or whatever you call them, anyway - a tip. If, having poured runny yoghurt in to a plastic measuring jug, added the 'Angel Delight' and turned the mixer on - hold on to the measuring jug handle, I didn't and as I mixed, so the measuring jug begun to spin round and round faster and faster until it was spitting Angel Delight and yoghurt everywhere. The Chef having returned from washing up most of the bits, cleared up behind me, she's good like that.
This evening is lovely; The Chef is outside relaxing in her comfy chair whilst I type this up. It's still fairly early and so I think we may yet squeeze in a couple of episodes of 'Doc Martin'.