The Island of Krk in Croatia

Tuesday 13th September 1983

Breakfast was pitiful – 3 small slices of toast and marmalade. We supplemented this with the remainder of the bread and cheese from yesterday, although George was loathe to eat the cheese. It was sunny for a change and only a few woolly clouds were visible in a blue sky. We headed uphill back to Jugoslavia, worried as the route was ill-defined and we were low on petrol and had no Italian currency left. We gained the border just in time and filled up using a Jugoslavian coupon. We got through with a smile (of mirth at our bikes) from the Passport Inspector and stopped at the border café for coffee and Coca Cola. The weather was a treat and we idled in the sun.

We then embarked on the most joyous stretch yet, to Rijeka. This is the principal seaport and the third-largest city in Croatia (after Zagreb and Split), but was in Jugoslavia in 1983. The sun beamed on the rolling wooded hills (reminiscent of Greek countryside) and we cruised along, often downhill at 30-40 miles per hour. Some awful noises are coming from both bikes and they are both reluctant to start. George has stalled several times. They both may be at the end of their tethers but they have done remarkably well and I will always have a fond regard for the Honda 90. Today we did our first run without wearing helmets. Now we sit in the square at Rijeka in the glaring sun, writing postcards by a fountain. Another similarity to Greece is the roadside shrines we pass every now and then.

We were approached suspiciously by the militia but they left us in peace. When we had finished writing we found the Post Office and hurled the cards into a wooden box filled with postcards – I hope they get to their destinations.

We pulled out of the massive city with it’s huge shipyards and headed south along the coast road. Our destination was the island of Krk. The views were magnificent. The road weaved around picturesque bays amongst “Spaghetti Western” scenery and we looked down to the crystal blue sea on our right. The towns seemed to climb out of the sea, up steep wooded slopes into the hills, again reminding me of Greece (where we had been to in 1979 visiting Thassos Island on an 18-30’s-style holiday with Young World).

We came to the bridge linking Krk Island with the mainland and had to pay a 20 Dinar toll to cross. The bridge was fantastic and we swept on across the undulating terrain of the island, past the airport and on to Punat. Punat is a small town, now in Croatia, located on the southern coast of the island of Krk. The view of the town, whether it is approached from the sea or land, is unusual: the town is hedged in by the coast with an extremely deep bay called Puntarska Draga. The town was a dream and just like the Greek islands we visited in the past. Colourful fishing vessels and yachts filled the harbour and German tourists frequ.ented the discrete shops and cafés. The sun blazed and we treated ourselves to a meal of veal and tomatoes in a restaurant. We were as happy as Larry and decided to stay put for at least a day. We booked into a hostel where we were grudgingly received and went for a walk along the sea front.

We settled on a future Youth Hostel address (Thessaloniki, Greece) and sent another card home so the folks could write to us at this address. In those days there were no electronic communications and international telephone calls were expensive, so we had to rely on traditional mail (now dubbed Snail Mail). We used Poste Restante, an incredibly useful way of getting post and mail sent to you when you are travelling, allowing you to have your post delivered to a post office of your choice anywhere in the world. In most countries the costs will be limited to a small fee for each piece of mail collected.

Now we sip Coke (Lero Cola) in a Punat café and write up our logs, feeling well contented. English music came from a nearby vinyl record stall. We went on to the supermarket and bought bread, sardines, butter and a bottle of wine which cost less than 40 pence. We sat on the edge of the harbour (Sitting on the dock of the bay!) and tucked in heartily as the sun sank behind the hills in front of us across the bay. The sunset was marvellous and we chatted as we polished off the wine in a tranquil mood. When it was completely dark we returned to the hostel and turned in.

Bike reads 14,882

Later Note written 26/09/1983 At Punat we began to relax and mentally adjust to the attitude required for the trip. Time and new sights began to dull memories of home and we began to enjoy ourselves more. George said later that he did not experience the same sense of homesickness as I did.