Just got out the other end of two very relaxing weeks jaunting around the Croatian Coast. I traded hiking boots and museums for a towel and sunscreen, and was it ever good. My travelling buddies for the whole of this time were the Melbournians Daniel and Louise, and they deserve their share of the blame for the debauchery that you're about to read.

The first island we hopped to was Hvar. A quick little ferry ride from Split revealed something pretty damn close to paradise on earth. The tiny little town (maybe 1000 people) has all the side-dishes of any European town worth visiting -- a fortress on the hill, a couple of cathedrals and monasteries hither and thither, and a cobblestoned square -- it's just that this town creeps up the hills around a magnificent harbour and beaches. No, you don't understand. The water in the harbour, and in all of Croatia, is incredibly clear. Even between all the boats, you can see straight to the bottom as through its a swimming pool. And when you're in the water, look straight down and sooner or later a fish will swim past.

You can imagine that after a day or two of Hvar, we really needed a break from all that hustle and bustle, so we made tracks to Palmizana, a small island off Hvar. The only infrastructure on the island was the boat harbour, a 4WD track, and three restaurants. My kind of place. We found a quiet beach on the other wise of the island and after once again being hypnotised by the water (look -- blue! look -- plants and fish!!) we settled down to spend the day there. On the walk over we met a British couple who were looking for the Holy Grail of the Mediterranean -- a sandy beach. All the swimming I did was off rocks or concrete jetties. Ideally, you'd find a beach with smallish and mostly rounded rocks, but realistically you have to settle for jagged rocks without too many spiky sea creatures waiting for you. The water is so calm over there. The only waves come from passing ferries, so any energetic thoughts about bodysurfing or what have you quickly vanish, leaving you free to just float around and chill out. I, for instance, discovered that I float much better with my arms above my head and with maybe a 60 degree bend in my knees. Can you imagine discovering something so important about life on Main Beach in Surfers? I think not.

But this nirvana was short-lived when three big fat Germans took of ALL their clothes (no tan lines) and plomped themselves down far too close to us modest Australians. There were some more old and saggy nude Germans further up the beach, eliminating our escape route. Why? Why? Why this great harm to perfectly innocent bystanders, completely unprovoked! But the most traumatic part was yet to come. I was swimming out in what I considered to be the demiliterised zone between the peaceful beach-goers and the evil, sag-flaunting Krauts, when I caught a glint of sunlight coming from of one of the Krauts that could mean only one thing. She had a piercing in a part of her anatomy that was only recently seeing sunlight. Now, seriously, how can this not be considered some sort of human rights abuse? Can someone call Amnesty?

Then, Korcula, the next island south. Like Hvar, Korcula had tiny little pedestrian streets cris-crossing the town, oozing history at every intersection. Most of the old town was in the walls of a castle the Venetians built back in the Olden Days. One night, I saw a gaggle of tourists looking very lost, trying to decipher a map. They must have been very new to town, because in the time they spent studying the map, they could've crossed town twice. We had the best accomodation in Korcula, as well. By this time, we'd bloated out to five with the addition of Farouk and Will from California via Copenhagen. We were lucky enough to get a stunning apartment, with an incredible balcony terrace on the fourth floor. From there, we had a perfect birds-eye view from the centre of town: across the water to the nearby islands erupting out of the sea into mountains; the entire town with all the tall skinny houses sticking up unevenly like a handful of spaghetti; and only ten metres to the church belltower, the highest point on the island.

We had a perfect view inside that belltower, and it turned out to be quite amusing. Ever hour, two guys would climb up to the top and scrambe around the beams supporting the bells and ring them by hand. Four chimes in a low, loud bell to announce the hour, then the number of the hour hesitantly and arhthymically rung on a softer, higher bell. I found myself counting along with the second bell because you're not so confident that he's going to ring the right number. I wanted him to, sure, but it was just far from a foregone conclusion. And then, for some unknown reason after a successful chiming, they would repeat it all again at about 7 past the hour. This all carried on at least until 2 in the morning.

And Dubrovnik, my friends, will have to wait.