9 Hours to Dubrovnik

Leaving Plitvice, we headed back through the serene valley that we had passed through on our way. The road snaked back and forth around the house-less, development-less country side. I would compare this Croatian valley visually to what you might find in the central coast area just north of Santa Barbara. We saw very few cars and very few people – just gorgeous unblemished countryside.

There were, however, the lucky few who lived there. Most of which kept their houses in immaculate condition, adorned with flowers and landscaping. One of which was the lady who sold us goat cheese and plum brandy. We first noticed these “stands” on the side of the road on the way to Senj. At first we didn’t know what they were, but then realized that they were locals who would make their own cheese, oils and brandy and set up a road-side shop in their from lawns. About an hour after leaving Plitvice, I whipped off to the side of the road to look at the stand of items for sale. Benny, already passed out in the back seat, lifted his head – “are we in Dubrovnik?”. No, buddy, still got about 6 hours to go. The truth is we didn’t know how far we really had to go. It became a joke – the question: “How long will it take us to get to Croatia?” Answer: “5-6 hours”, one guys said. “10-12 hours” another person said. “5-10 hours" Another said. We really had no idea how long it would take us to get there. Anyway – back to the roadside stand.

In front of me was an assortment of cheeses, oils, brandies and other spirits that I figured I had no business even asking what they were. I asked if I could try the different cheeses – she had goat cheese, “smoked” and “not smoked” – she said in her best English. I tried them both. She also had cow cheese, “smoked” and “not smoked” – I tried them both. After deciding on the “not smoked” goat cheese and the plumb brandy (“Sljivovica”), I asked, “how much”? “40 Kuna for the Sljivovica and 80 for the cheese…120 Kuna”. I thought about it for a second…doing the math…let’s see, carry the one…yada yada (which is how most mental math conversions went while we were in Europe)…ok, so that’s like $22. “Ok”, I said. We drove away, stoked about our purchase…I figured, walk into Ralphs and buy a bottle of brandy and a giant wheel of goat cheese and you’re gonna spend at least $30, right? The reality is that just by the sheer fact that I didn’t negotiate with her at all, I probably could have gotten it for less – but I didn’t care. Happy to contribute to the Croatian economy, we got back in our Peugeot and blasted for Dubrovnik.

We were happy to find the Tollway – part of Croatia’s new infrastructure. The sign was posted a 130 km/hr max. One guy we had met in Pula told us we could go “the limit plus 10%”. We did the math – ok, that’s 143 km/hr. I pegged it on 150 and just cruised.

After cruising at 150 km/hr for a few hours, we had a good feeling we’d get to Dubrovnik that night. After driving 400 or 500 kilometers, the Tollway ended. The plan is to extend the Tollway all the way to Dubrovnik, maybe next trip it’ll be finished, but for now, they’re still blasting through the southern hills of Croatia.

We were a little disappointed at first, but after about a half hour of canyon switchbacks, we were treated to what I call – “Big Sur meets Barbados”. We got on to what is equivalent to their Highway 1 along the coast. The windy coastline road had sweeping views of the amazingly blue Adriatic Sea under which the giant cliffs sank below. For the next few hours, we drove south – weaving in and out of slower traffic – at one point, we almost had a head-on collision, which was fairly sobering. The driving in Croatia, although not quite paralleling what I witnessed in Tijuana, was still quite reckless.

As we passed through beach town after beach town – we realized two things, 1) once again, Croatian women are beautiful, and 2) Croatians love 90’s rock remixes. We had the windows down, the radio cranked as loud as our Peugeot would play, and we were jammin’ to songs we hadn’t heard for years. I think our favorite was when “I don’t want to Rock, DJ” came on. We jammed for a while…when the song was over, the DJ came on the radio and said in what sounded to us like his best Count Dracula voice, “I don’t want to rock DJ”. We laughed about that the rest of the trip. Ok, so I guess you had to be there.

After driving a while longer Cotter had to pee. I kept looking for a spot to pull off the road where he could pee in the bushes, but, hey - this isn't Reno, you can't just piss wherever you want. Finally, we whipped around a corner and the sign said “Briste”. “Briste!” I said. “That’s where Daniel and Iva live.” Just then I saw a turn off and pulled off. We parked the car, got out and looked around. We were in a total beach town. Picture Laguna, or Malibu. A small beach city framed by giant hills behind and the ocean in front. “Now what?” I said. “They didn’t really want us to stop.” Cotter said. “Well, let’s at least go find a pisser.” I added. I don’t think we were really about to knock on anyone’s door, but we were stoked to actually be in Briste. We followed a little windy road down to the beach and approached the largest structure in town, which was the beach hotel. We walked towards the hotel and Cotter said, “Hey, there’s Daniel”. “Shut up, dude, you’re stupid”, I kindly said. “No seriously!” Sure enough, Daniel and Iva were on the hotel balcony having a beer.

Shocked and still feeling a little weird about running into the same people 3 times in Croatia – we joined them for a beer. Side note: One interesting thing about Croatia is that they have a Zero Tolerance law about drinking and driving. .000001% alcohol in your blood will get you arrested. With that in mind, I abstained. We hung out with Daniel and Iva for a while, traded emails and a few laughs, and then hit the road.

A few hours (and 10 minutes in Bosnia) later, we finally made it Dubrovnik at about 10 pm. We stopped and knocked on the doors of a few Sobes with no luck. We parked the car and started walking. We probably only walked about 100 yards and we looked up at a sign “VIP Backpacker’s hostel”. Done. We were beat. Our stay in Dubrovnik had just begun.