Most coastal hot spots here seem to be shared between Germans and Croatians. The Croatians will park anywhere and everywhere: we have driven from Rijeka to Pula in the last few days, the ‘beaches’ (sheer cliff faces ending in a shallower area of water, rocky underfoot) are usually reached by a steep, shingled descent and are sign-posted by the blocks of cars shunted up onto the embankment, in between trees, on hairpin bends.
Perhaps it was the few national holiday days that caused the mass exodus to the coastline, but now in a pretty fishing town 10 minutes from Pula, the crazy Croats are supplanted by the law abiding Germans. None of the cars at the expensive harbour parking are native, who (as do we) prefer to bumper each other into a small area behind the supermarket. The restaurants too are segregated: early diners at posh table-clothed venues are the tourist’s choice while a couple of local bars clinging to corners near to the centre are the Croatian’s favourite haunts.
In fact, as two Brits, young and not all that inconspicuous in our bright red van, it seems we are total aliens in this hidden continental paradise. 24.6.11
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