Sunday, June 2nd, 2024

Distance ridden 257 kilometres

We woke up to a grey morning but, as the radar that governed our lives had accurately predicted, it was not yet raining.

We ate our breakfasts, this time “Fitness” for both of us (you never know …), before quickly packing, setting the SatNav and heading north. First it would be the car ferry again and then onward to Istria.

The initial journey was much the same as on the previous day except that, with the luggage, the Harley somehow felt longer in some of the tighter corners.

At one point, in a particularly twisty section, a Porsche came up behind us and chose to roar past on the inside of what was a totally blind corner. There was not much traffic, but that was stupidity with a big, red, “S”.

We filled up with petrol and I waved a homage to the Triangle as we passed the smaller road that led to it. We both noticed a stall selling Donkey Milk ! Although we both like sheep cheese, which comes from sheep’s milk, that did seem a little extreme, we did not stop.

As we approached the ferry terminal at Žigljen, the queue of cars already stretched for at least a kilometre back up the slope before the barrier and the parking area was completely full. From the hill, we could already see the ferry nearing the pier.

I deftly guided the Harley up the side of the cars and dropped Lucie into the queue for the tickets. Somehow, she navigated the queue quite quickly, without annoying any of the glum-looking ladies in the line. The ferry was already loading and a large group of bikers had already been waved on board, but, clutching our ticket we shot to the ramp and were guided to a small spot right at the front.

Although the “No passengers on the car deck during the voyage” rule was not being enforced, we did head to the upper deck. This meant that we were able to watch the clever way that the crew fitted in the maximum number of cars. It was like a giant Tetris. We also noted that there was a lower car deck, something that had not been used the day before.

Almost before the ramp was fully up, we were underway. From our elevated viewpoint, I could see that the Porsche had not made the “cut”. It may be mean, but that made me chuckle !

As I said before, it was a short crossing and, before we even docked at Prizna, most people were in their cars with the motors running. We were aware that it had been a holiday long-weekend, so that meant almost everyone, including us, would be heading north on the E65 Adriatic Highway. This proved to be the case. Following some slow caravans and cars with trailers, we crawled to the top of the slope. Most of the other bikers from the ferry overtook us during the climb and, having beaten us to the “T” with the Adriatic Highway, took the turn left and were gone. A bit of hesitancy from the vehicles at the front of the line did enable us to leap-frog a few places, but essentially, that merely meant we were slightly further forward in what was a steadily moving column, heading north.

Obviously, being on a motorcycle meant that I could have jumped a few places from time to time, but I had seen another of those blue “Challenging road ….” signs, so I preferred not to risk it. Nothing, on our side could go very quickly, but the fast boys and girls were still blurring past on the other side of the white line.

Of course, a couple of cars did overtake us, exactly what they thought that would buy them, I have no idea. Assuming they looked ahead more than twenty metres, they would have seen the futility in what were, in both cases, near suicidal overtaking manoeuvres.

Then, everything on our side slowed to a complete halt and, as the left side was suddenly clear, I pulled the Harley out of the queue and crawled up the outside. At the top of the hill there had been an accident – I could clearly see a crowd of what were evidently bikers on the left verge and, as I drew closer, a totally destroyed bike blocking the right hand lane. At moments like that, as a motorcyclist, your heart is in your mouth !

As we crawled by, at less than walking speed, it seemed that somehow, mercifully, nobody had been hurt. The horizontal bike was totally destroyed, I suspect you could have posted it home in an envelope and, on the left-hand hard shoulder, was another one, also fairly comprehensively wrecked. Both riders were being consoled by the other bikers present and seemed to be unharmed, maybe quality leathers, back protectors and a good helmet can save you – just as long, of course, as you do not hit a rock wall at 150 kilometres an hour ….. Lucie said it was some of the riders from our ferry, but whether they were in the accident or just helping with the aftermath, I guess we will never know. What I do know is that the two who crashed were incredibly lucky.

On we went, as sedately as before. Sights like that bring home to you your own fragility and, although the occasional chance to overtake did arise, I rarely took them. A couple of breakdown vehicles passed us in the left lane, lights going and no doubt hurrying to sweep up the pieces, but, mercifully, we saw no ambulances.

 

We did take a drinks break, at Bistro Katerina (Sibinj Krmpotski 1, Sibinj Krmpotski). Amazingly, to me at least, Lucie had decided on this place before we even left Pag. As usual, it was a good choice. The young, English speaking, waitress went about her job with a merry enthusiasm and we enjoyed an espresso and an alcohol free beer on a pleasant terrace – whilst the traffic buzzed by a few metres below us.

Our stately progress eventually brought us to Šmrika where northbound traffic had the opportunity to branch off to the main A7 motorway heading to Zagreb and Austria. To say that chaos reigned supreme, would be to understate it wildly. Traffic from both directions was queued for several kilometres and the road towards the actual motorway was so tightly packed it would have made the ferry men, back in Žigljen, proud.

Luckily, the motorway was not for us anyway and I managed to wriggle through the mass of jostling vehicles and continue our more serene progress on the same old Adriatic Highway. It occurred to me that, in all of our travels in Dalmatia, I had not seen a single black and white spotty dog. Maybe Cruella de Ville finally has her coat !

On again and, as we began to approach Rijeka, where we knew we would have to resort to the motorway, it suddenly poured with rain – out of a clear and almost cloudless sky. For a few minutes, I thought we were in for a serious soaking, but then it stopped as abruptly as it had begun and, within a few moments, the rushing air from our progress had dried us completely. Not one drop made it into my boots !

We came to Rijeka and somehow made it through the complete dog’s breakfast that roadworks for the new, north-eastward heading motorway, the E61 and another one, the E751, have created across the city. Ironically, the motorways are there, but the necessary junctions, to enable smooth entry onto and exit from them, are not. We did encounter some tunnels, I was actually missing them. Sometimes there were two, but most were a single lane in each direction while nobody worked on the other side …

As I keep saying, it was the end of a holiday weekend and the traffic coming from the west was backed up, in two separate places, for over twenty kilometres. Luckily, we were going against the tide.

We went along largely deserted roads and through several more tunnels, one of which was over five kilometres long and, apart from a slight holdup when the German driver of a motor-home appeared to misunderstand the concept of a Toll station (and reversed !!), we hardly had to stop at all.

 

 

The only problem we did have, if problem it really was, was that the E751 motorway essentially replaced the older road, often running closely parallel to it, or even above it. This, coupled with what are presumably brand new ingress and egress points, completely confused the SatNav and it kept directing us back to the motorway. We went under it, we went over it and on one or two occasions we simply paralleled it.

Lucie and I rarely have “words” over anything significant, but she made her displeasure at this fairly evident. She had selected a place for our lunch and was afraid she might be viewing it from the elevated hard-shoulder of the motorway.

In the event, we found her choice perfectly, but it was to no avail as it appeared to be booked fairly solid. No effort was made to find us a place ( there were spare seats) and we had to go on our way. Shame on you Konoba 2 Peron (Cerovlje 6, Cerovlje), if we do write you up on Trip Advisor, you will not like what we say !

Still hungry, we went on eastwards and, it was if we had entered a wasteland totally devoid of anywhere to eat. Even in Pazin, quite a largish town a few kilometres down the road, there was a marked absence of anything that looked, even vaguely, like a restaurant or café. We did spot a sign claiming that there was a pizzeria three kilometres away on the road to Poreč. This was out of our way and elicited protests from the SatNav that were drowned out by the growling of our stomachs ! Needless to say, the pizzeria did not materialise and, well committed to the “Poreč route” by then, we sought out the next place. It did exist, but of course, it was closed.

On and on we went, our ultimate destination, Rovinj growing nearer by the second. But Lucie does not give up. Quite how she manages to do what she does on the pillion seat, I do not know but, suddenly, with Rovinj seemingly just over the horizon, she directed me off of a roundabout on the main road and into a twisty little lane into what appeared to be an almost medieval village called Sveti Lovreč.

There we found a nice little church of great antiquity but, far more importantly, the Pizzeria San Lorenzo (which we suppose to be the Italianisation of Sveti Lovreč) (Ulice Podzidine 17, Sveti Lovreč). NOTE, at time of writing, this is still shown as pizzeria Bella Istria on Google ™ maps, so it must have recently changed hands !

OK, we were hungry, but it is only when you get a pizza like we were served that you realise just how mediocre most of the pizzas you ever eat are. It was sooo good !

Full and refreshed, we made the run down into Rovinj swiftly and easily.

The SatNav guided us smoothly through the streets and we quickly found our lodgings, Villa Matohanca (Ul. Ivana Matetića Ronjgova 8, Rovinj).

Lucie had come up trumps, yet again, this was a VERY nice place. We had a large airy room, into which it felt almost a crime to deposit our dusty stuff and a large terrace. The owner (Mr Matohanca) was charming – but did not speak much English, luckily his wife did and I was able to elicit a jug of milk for my tea when I checked in.

We were able to park the Harley under cover against the expected rain, but apart from a few scattered drops, that scarcely materialised. In your face, weather radar !

On the way into town and only a few hundred meters from the villa, we passed a rather fine looking restaurant called Il Faro (Zagrebačka ul. 7, Rovinj). Because it was so handy, we went there to dine. And dine we did ! This was quite an upmarket place, but not outrageously expensive. We began with scallops for Lucie, which she absolutely adores and an octopus salad for me.

Of course, I had to blurt out “In your face, Bogaten !” without thinking. In case you are not a “film buff” – (and I assure you that I am not really one either) this was a reference to the 1952 film “The road to Bali” with Bing Crosby, Bob Hope and Dorothy Lamour. In the film, the hapless Bob Hope gets tricked into fighting a giant octopus called Bogaten. Lucie, perhaps unsurprisingly, was baffled by this and even I am not certain quite where my brain dredged it up from. Perhaps what is more significant is that, in 1952, Bali, where these days so many people just casually go to on holiday, was considered remote and mysterious.

Anyway, obscure film references over, we followed with spaghetti al limone for Lucie and tagliatelle with scampi for me. My hopes that the scampi would be integrated with my meal were dashed and they were piled, in their shells, rather scarily on top. I managed to extricate the parts I thought I could possibly eat and gazed in bafflement at the crackers I was given and could see no use for. Suffice it to say that the scampi meat that I did manage to extract made for a tasty meal.

Pushing the boat out a bit, we also did desserts. It was ice cream with an espresso shot for Lucie (which raised an eyebrow or two when she also ordered an espresso !) and a Bailey’s, ice-cream and whipped cream for me, Disgustingly yummy, the pair !

Full and satisfied we paid what I considered to be a very reasonable bill and made the short walk home to our lovely room.