When I needed a Shelter - Croatia Travel Story
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Title: When I needed a Shelter
Website: http://www.thirty30.co.uk
I’m on a ferry from the islands down to Dubrovnik and, as we dock, I’ve already hatched a plan, I know there’s only one hostel in town and I’m pretty confident of getting a bed there following my luck so far. The ferry door lowers onto the harbour and I dash ahead of the couples and groups who are discussing their next move, past a vocal group of grannies waving signs and arrive at the hostel half an hour later, well in front of the chasing pack. The hostel is absolutely full for the next three days so my luck has come to an end. As I contemplate a twenty-minute walk toward the old town with Clive (my backpack) on my shoulders in thirty degree heat, I hear a voice nearby - an old gentleman has noticed my quandary and kindly offers me a room in his house - on the proviso that I have a friend who can take the other bed. I inform him that sadly I haven’t got any friends and ask whether it would be possible for me to take the room on my own. He’s not having any of it and suggests I go and make a friend and return. I reluctantly trek to the old town to see if the tourist office can help me find somewhere cheap, or a friend.
I make it into Dubrovnik’s old town and can just about make out what a stunning place it is through the sea of sweat that’s stinging my eyes - a walled fortress filled with some spectacular architecture, white paved pedestrian streets, narrow alleyways, stairways that seem to go up forever and bucket loads of tourists. I call in at tourist information but the price of a single room is far more than I can afford, so I ask them what budget options are available to me and they suggest finding a granny and give me a couple of locations around the old town where they are known to gather to tout business. After spending another hour walking around in the stifling heat, dragging Clive and soaked through with sweat, there are no grannies to be seen. As I begin to lose all hope and start to plan a night on the streets, a large woman, wearing a bright yellow tent and sporting a bushy moustache, approaches me:
She: “You looking for room boy?”
Me: “What do you have?”
She: “I have no room.”
Me: “Thank you. That's incredibly helpful.”
She: “But the sisters, they may have room"
Me: “The sisters eh? And where would I find your sisters?”
The woman nods and points me to a nearby door where I would find (I imagine) two more ugly (that’s an additional two, not two ‘more ugly’ – there couldn’t possibly be an uglier woman) sisters and a younger beautiful sister performing household chores and wanting to go to the ball. I ring the bell as directed and the door opens, I step into a dark, empty room and try to adjust my sight to the poor light.
All of a sudden an old woman dressed as a nun appears out of nowhere. Now either: a) I’d just walked into one sick party or b) I was about to try and spend the night in a nunnery. When, after a couple of minutes, several smiling nuns surround me (ah! I get it! The sisters!) Speaking in Italian and stroking my hair, I must admit I was leaning towards the former but it transpires that the latter was true. They name their price, and not knowing whether I’m permitted to haggle with women of the cloth, I instantly agree. They say something in Italian that at the time I believed was ‘Do you choose to repent evil and all your sins?’ but with hindsight may well have been 'try not to leave pubic hairs in the shower tray love'. A nun then directed me (wearing what I imagined is the away strip - white getup with black headband) to my ‘chamber’ and there it was - complete with writing desk (with crucifix above) and a picture of the Virgin Mary hanging above my bed. And that, my brothers and sisters, is how I was rescued by our Lord on the streets of Dubrovnik.
This is an excerpt from my book: '30: A Sense of Adventure and No Sense of Direction' which is a collection of humorous short stories and anecdotes detailing a misguided attempt to travel 30 countries in one solo trip to mark my 30th birthday.
Website: http://www.thirty30.co.uk
I’m on a ferry from the islands down to Dubrovnik and, as we dock, I’ve already hatched a plan, I know there’s only one hostel in town and I’m pretty confident of getting a bed there following my luck so far. The ferry door lowers onto the harbour and I dash ahead of the couples and groups who are discussing their next move, past a vocal group of grannies waving signs and arrive at the hostel half an hour later, well in front of the chasing pack. The hostel is absolutely full for the next three days so my luck has come to an end. As I contemplate a twenty-minute walk toward the old town with Clive (my backpack) on my shoulders in thirty degree heat, I hear a voice nearby - an old gentleman has noticed my quandary and kindly offers me a room in his house - on the proviso that I have a friend who can take the other bed. I inform him that sadly I haven’t got any friends and ask whether it would be possible for me to take the room on my own. He’s not having any of it and suggests I go and make a friend and return. I reluctantly trek to the old town to see if the tourist office can help me find somewhere cheap, or a friend.
I make it into Dubrovnik’s old town and can just about make out what a stunning place it is through the sea of sweat that’s stinging my eyes - a walled fortress filled with some spectacular architecture, white paved pedestrian streets, narrow alleyways, stairways that seem to go up forever and bucket loads of tourists. I call in at tourist information but the price of a single room is far more than I can afford, so I ask them what budget options are available to me and they suggest finding a granny and give me a couple of locations around the old town where they are known to gather to tout business. After spending another hour walking around in the stifling heat, dragging Clive and soaked through with sweat, there are no grannies to be seen. As I begin to lose all hope and start to plan a night on the streets, a large woman, wearing a bright yellow tent and sporting a bushy moustache, approaches me:
She: “You looking for room boy?”
Me: “What do you have?”
She: “I have no room.”
Me: “Thank you. That's incredibly helpful.”
She: “But the sisters, they may have room"
Me: “The sisters eh? And where would I find your sisters?”
The woman nods and points me to a nearby door where I would find (I imagine) two more ugly (that’s an additional two, not two ‘more ugly’ – there couldn’t possibly be an uglier woman) sisters and a younger beautiful sister performing household chores and wanting to go to the ball. I ring the bell as directed and the door opens, I step into a dark, empty room and try to adjust my sight to the poor light.
All of a sudden an old woman dressed as a nun appears out of nowhere. Now either: a) I’d just walked into one sick party or b) I was about to try and spend the night in a nunnery. When, after a couple of minutes, several smiling nuns surround me (ah! I get it! The sisters!) Speaking in Italian and stroking my hair, I must admit I was leaning towards the former but it transpires that the latter was true. They name their price, and not knowing whether I’m permitted to haggle with women of the cloth, I instantly agree. They say something in Italian that at the time I believed was ‘Do you choose to repent evil and all your sins?’ but with hindsight may well have been 'try not to leave pubic hairs in the shower tray love'. A nun then directed me (wearing what I imagined is the away strip - white getup with black headband) to my ‘chamber’ and there it was - complete with writing desk (with crucifix above) and a picture of the Virgin Mary hanging above my bed. And that, my brothers and sisters, is how I was rescued by our Lord on the streets of Dubrovnik.
This is an excerpt from my book: '30: A Sense of Adventure and No Sense of Direction' which is a collection of humorous short stories and anecdotes detailing a misguided attempt to travel 30 countries in one solo trip to mark my 30th birthday.
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