Croatia, then. Split to be precise.
After the wash-out that was my Portugal trip I was so monumentally cheesed off that I actually cancelled this trip. Wiped everything except the uncancellable flights.
And then. Then. What happened? Not too sure. The prospect of an all-night drive to Gatwick didn’t seem so very terrible and – oh, sunshine! Just imagine the sunshine. The bright blue skies reflected in water so calm as to be a looking glass. And those islands stretching like lazy fingers into the distance. Quiet coves with old fishing boats. A chance to bake my bones in Croatia’s famed heat.
That went well.
It rained. Again. There was a COLOSSAL thunderstorm and not once did I have to reach for sunscreen.
And so I did what any sensible girl would do – I ate. I ate average food. I ate AMAZING food. I drank so much coffee I shook and shimmied my chubby way home.
I walked. And I walked. And then I walked some more.