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Game of Scones

OMG we’re on holiday IN A FOREIGN COUNTRY. For the first time since we went to Annecy in December 2019, we’ve left the UK. Blimey we’ve missed this. I actually flew once while covid was hitting, in early March 2020 - to Dublin, where I ran a parkrun in the most deprived housing estate on the entire Emerald Isle, and then pretty much stayed in my room until it was time to fly home, scared that the air would poison me.

But that was then! And this is now. It’s late 2022 and I’m about to tell all 8 or so of you about the time we went to Gatwick and flew to Dubrovnik, scene of much Game of Thrones tourism, apparently. Neither of us has seen so much as a single episode and don’t care about it, but it gave me the title for this post and I’m laughing about the pronunciation flag to which I’ve nailed my colours.

The day of our journey started like this: it was so, so cold and we had a bunch of chores to do before we could leave the house. Take rubbish out including cat litter and a load of recycling, fill up all the bird feeders, have a chat to our neighbour and his dog as they were on their way. I did it all in short sleeves and if you’d asked “aren’t you cold?” I’d have said yes, yes I am. Absolutely brassic.

Chores done, our local cab firm app told us the driver was 7 minutes away, about 20 minutes early. So we put our coats on, grabbed our bags, and went and stood down at street level… only for the cab to arrive on time, not early at all. FFHS. He said literally nothing en route to Guildford station. We could’ve got the train but the changeover to the Gatwick service was scheduled at only 6 minutes, and as it happens that first train was heavily delayed so the cab was the right choice.

GWR service along the North Downs Line to Gatwick via Redhill and it’s platform zero. The sun was trying to burn the clouds off, but generally the view was of hills and farm animals covered in frost. Moving through Dorking I was minded to google “why does Dorking have three train stations?”. TL;DR: it just does, alright? They were built ages ago.

Fast track at Gatwick was quite fast, even for a “three tray wanker” like me. Look, I was wearing two hoodies and had a bunch of electronics, alright? It’s a bit of a trek through the upper floor of the terminal to reach the BA lounge. Reception was busy, full of people complaining angrily to the staff about delays. Our flight was already showing a 29 minute delay since early in the morning. We were directed to the lounge on the right, the “club” lounge rather than the “first” lounge… because my BA gold card is no more, perhaps forever. It was a good run. Silver will have to do.

The lounge is moderately busy but there are plenty of places to choose to sit. We arrange our bags and stuff and then I go to get myself some lunch.

Lunch is pie, mash gravy, and a tumbler of prosecco. PROSECCO. Not champagne! Oh woe is me! Pfft. Once I’d wolfed that down, and Helen returned from her own sortie for calories, I got dessert.

Dessert is a can of meh beer, and a big ol’ slice of coffee cake.

Everyone around us was talking about how delayed their flight was, and ours was getting worse too - creeping up to 58 minutes late at one point. Well, you know what that means: more prosecco please!

Our original departure time was meant to be 1540, meaning a great sunset was on the cards. But now we were in the lounge as the sun dropped, so I tried to unobtrusively grab a pic out the window here.

The Croatia vs Brazil world cup fixture was on the TV above us, after the lounge staff took a good 10 minutes trying to figure out how to change channel. It was 0-0 as we left and walked to gate 32, a deceptively far gate given the ones in the 90s are much closer to the main terminal. Of course, there was no sign of boarding when we reached the gate. There also didn’t seem to be anything like a full plane’s worth of people waiting around.

I think we only hung around for 5-10 minutes before group 1 boarding did start, and we made our way to row 2. Yay, business class! Also I got to wield my 2021-vintage post-Brexit passport for the first time.

The staff member looking after the Club Europe cabin was a friendly chap, telling each of us in turn that today he was offering an afternoon tea service which he assures is best washed down with champagne. Is that what we’d like once in the air? Well yes, yes it is.

I kinda sorta regretted letting Helen have the window seat, but not much tbh. Especially as she was happy to take a few pics for me during our ascent. And then, once we were cruising, here comes all the free stuff. Yay! Free stuff!

Finger sandwiches, a warm scone with jam and clotted cream, a little cake, and a 200ml bottle of incredibly difficult to open champagne. The only way we could open it, either of us, was to use a paper serviette to grip. I had twice as many sandwiches as pictured ‘cos Helen didn’t want any of hers. It was all very nice!

Once the food was taken away, our attendant made it his job to just keep basically throwing champagne at people. Not just us, rows 1 and 3 were definitely as well oiled as us. He even gave me a bonus bottle to drink during descent, swapping my glass for a plastic, AND gave us two bottles to take with us back to the hotel. If only I still had a gold card and could issue a Golden Ticket!

A bit strangely, the cabin lights went off as if it were a long haul flight. As we got ever closer to foreign lands, I realised I had no clue whatsoever how mobile phone data roaming works these days. Was I going to be price gouged now that the UK had left the EU? Eek.

Helen took a pic of me and said, oh no, we need a different one. I looked super fat in it, supposedly “because of the angle”. I reckon it was more because (a) I’m pretty fat (b) I hadn’t had any fizzy drinks in 3 weeks or so, and now was really quite several fizzy wines in and in a pressurised cabin there was bloat.

As we descended Helen checked her booking email for check-in instructions at the accommodation, only to discover that “check-in closes at 8pm and we do not offer late check-in”. Uh, what? The flight was originally meant to land at 7.20pm, and we were 40 minutes late. Eek! But a WhatsApp conversation earlier in the week had really given us the impression that someone would be there for us. Fingers crossed!

Once we landed and I turned phone signal back on, I got a LUDICROUSLY long text from Three telling me all about what’s what. Crazy.

Dubrovnik airport, in early December, has pretty much no more than 5 flights a day and on most days only 1 or 2 of them are international, the others coming from Zagreb. I assume it’s much busier in summer because it’s not the teeny tiny airport such a schedule might lead you to believe. I’d booked us on the shuttle bus into town, and it was extremely easy to find and pleasingly there were no shifty cabbies vying for our money.

The bus left with only about 6 or 7 passengers in it, and we went way beyond where we were meant to be which made us panic a bit - until we switched back a couple of times, making our way down the hill and towards the correct stop. Phew!

Our walk to the hotel was right through the centre of the old town, in the rain. It was pretty empty but also gorgeous. The hotel was easy to find and mercifully someone was indeed there to check us in.

Not just check us in, in fact, but UPGRADE us! Woohoo! Not sure the true reality of the situation, but for whatever reason they saw fit they’d given us the room immediately by the front door, number 001 (why 3 digits in a place with only 6 bedrooms?). It’s a lovely room, with its own private covered terrace on which we can choose what time they will make us breakfast. Well, how about 0930? Yep, that’ll be fine.

The room has a fake library wallpaper, and a typewriter. I really wanted to type this up using it, if only it had a bluetooth adapter.

Once we were left to our own devices, we headed straight back out into the old town. The rain wasn’t particularly persistent, and unlike the sub-zero temperatures back home it’s a nice 15 or 16 celsius, and there is mulled wine and hot dogs to be had.

You enter the city by going over a drawbridge and through this wonderful gate.

The rain makes the street as slippery as an ice rink, but apparently only for me. Helen has no issues sliding about whatsoever, and it doesn’t look like anyone else does either.

Many of the market stalls have seats directly in front of them, with folk sat right there like people propping up a bar in a pub. It’s a bit odd. But there are so few people around it’s quite strange, certainly compared to the markets we visited in Annecy and Innsbruck this place is empty.

The spicy hotdog with mustard is nice though. The mulled wine is MUCH too hot to begin with.

On either side of the main drag (the Stradun) there are these wonderful alleyways, flat to one side and with long, steep staircases on the other. It’s all very well lit up due to Christmas, but barely any of the businesses are open. We find the craft beer bar I want to visit, that closed at 5pm. There’s a “festival bar” which has someone playing piano way too loud. And there’s “Irish pub” which, meh, I’m years past seeking out the local Irish pub wherever I go. Unless it’s Ireland.

Oh look, a “selfie museum”. Obligatory photo is obligatory.

Also check out this massive bear made of lights.

On the way back to the room we pop down to this bit just outside the walls, watching the pretty lively sea for a bit. Near us are a load of drunk, very very happy Croatian football fans. They only bloody beat Brazil, didn’t they? Amazing.

Successfully navigating our way back to the room, we grabbed one of the 200ml champagne bottles and struggled to open one. Eventually succeeding, we sat outside on our private terrace because why the fuck not? It’s still about 15c and we’re on us holidays and it’s champagne o’clock all the time. I am, unsurprisingly, really quite shitfaced at the end of the night and that’s just fine with me, albeit with the residual worry that I’d “stag-do” the whole thing, ruining Saturday by being an immovable, irrevocably hungover broken mess. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.

Created By
Darren Foreman
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