Rock and the Beast, Phil and Liz on Pag

Zagan the motorhome’s still under pines at Camping Village Simuni on the Island of Pag (N44.46363 E14.96747). Weirdly, I’m writing this blog post in the morning though, (we never do that!), and we’ll be off rolling down Croatia’s back roads by the time anyone reads it.

Zagan’s Parking Space on Pag

We’ve been having a party! Literally, a party! I know, I know, our amblings about the place don’t usually include nights out sinking jägerbombs and strangling karaoke, but they have these past couple of days. Phil and Liz arrived a couple of days ago in The Beast (photo below explaining the name, he’s 12m long and weights over 12 tonnes!) and have been laying on entertainment since! Woo hoo!

Phil, Liz, Bridget (le pooch) and the Beast

Liz dropped us a line a few days ago to explain they’re heading south through Croatia, while we’re heading north. A collision course evolved and we agreed we’d meet up on Pag. Easy for us, we drove over the bridge at the bottom of the island. Not so easy for those guys, as the island is a gazillion km long, and there is no bridge at the north end, just a ferry. When they arrived at the tiny port, the ferry sat docked with its mouth gaping open, but fenced off with a thin rope. The wind was howling away at this point and it became clear a night’s free-camping at the port was in order.

Some bad weather on Pag these past few days

The following day the wind gods were still huffing and puffing, and Phil’s attempt to ask the ferry staff whether they sail were greeted with hearty guffaws. Gale force winds were predicted. Plan B: they exited the port and drove all the way of the south of Pag and back up to greet us. Heroes.

Looking north on Pag

On arrival we took a tour of their Winnebago, named The Beast by the previous owner, and were predictably slack-jawed at the space (slide-outs make a massive difference), the washer-dryer, the microwave and gas oven, and, best of all, the karaoke machine. Umpteen litres of liquid loosener later, as it was officially ‘drunk Monday’ a tradition in The Beast, (I am told, my memory fails me, ahem) I took one of the cordless mics into the loo and attempted to recreate the Austin Powers wee fountain scene, failing badly. Happy days, we ended the whole thing with the traditional New York, New York rendition. Fortunately, the campsite is empty.

The campsite laid on breakfast the next day, even flinging wood onto the enormous fire in the restaurant to warm us up. “Would you like an aperitif? It’s traditional here in Croatia before a meal?” the young waitress asked us shyly. “Errrm, before breakfast even?” we asked. “Yes, yes before breakfast too”. Out came four glasses of firewater. Mine, I am quite ashamed to admit, was sneaked into the orange juice bottle and not quaffed. The other guys sank theirs, how, I don’t know.

Bridget Chillin’

The days have passed quickly, sharing stories, being fed umpteen cuppas, having our washing done (yeah baby!) and using dog clippers to trim Bridget in readiness for the anticipated heat in The Beast’s next destination – Greece. Liz and Phil are heading south, which means Albania or a detour round it. We never made it to Albania but word is the roads south of Tirana, the capital, get a bit ropey. Kosovo, to the east, isn’t looking too stable according to the foreign office, so other routes are being worked out.

Wild sage on Pag – nah, you can’t forage for it here

We’re all heading outta camp today, so we’ll not see ’em for a good while, but the stories will stick with us. They’re seasoned sky-divers (they showed us amazing videos as they catapulted ground-wards over Portugal) and snowboarders (they loved doing a whole season in the French Alps). Phil was (and still is I guess) a motorbike stunt rider and racer, when he wasn’t working 100 hour weeks. They’re a cracking couple, buzzing, dedicated and keen to make the most from their lives. As I said before, they’re heroes to me, yet more inspiration for us as we tootle onwards.

Pag town

You can follow Liz, Phil and Bridget on their blog by the way: the wonderfully-named A Tale of Two Dickens!

Cheers, Jay