English really is an international Language

From staying at the Campsite in Albania and here at Galeb in Croatia – Montenegro doesn’t count as Dušan spoke several languages, and nor do the previous ones as they were empty – I already knew that English is not just spoken for us Brits at campsite reception desks but also for their other guests where the reception staff don’t speak their language.

It’ll come as no surprise that we speak to everyone we bump into no matter where they come from, especially Steve who loves his constant stream of new camping neighbours from around Europe, and are generally bowled over by how many speak fluent English.  I suppose in comparison when we’ve stayed at hotels, we’ve met the odd non-Brit person or couple at a bar or by the pool or in a restaurant but never such a large group of non-Brits who mingle in such friendly ways at the campsites we’ve stayed in.

It’s August, the campsite is mostly full and everyone seems to be packing as much as possible into their holiday breaks, especially family groups spending their days around the beach and their evenings outside enjoying the 30°+ temperatures. It’s fun to see the different travel vehicles with their awnings and outdoor set ups. Today we saw a double decker coach, similar in size to a London Bus, complete with a sun terrace and golf buggy to get around in. I went round to take a photo and spoke to the owners to find out that only four people travel in it and then only for three weeks of the year, every year. I don’t know how old it is, who did the conversion or anything else. If it is still there tomorrow, I might ask, as I couldn’t see through the blacked out windows.

I regularly relax on my sun lounger on the sports beach when its windy to watch the wind and kite surfers. I also love watching groups of children around 10 years old on smaller sized windsurfers being tutored. They have little fear, just like the littlies bombing down ski slopes wearing crash helmets.  I’ve heard all sorts of conversations in English by different nationalities to chat with each other about what they’ve done, where they’ve been and who they are with. I love this one. The other day I heard two men of different nationalities discussing kite surfing.  As one was helping the other to pack down his rig, he said how he couldn’t go kite surfing the day before ‘as the wind had fallen down’. They understood each other perfectly and I smiled discretely promising myself that I would continue plodding on with Spanish until I mastered a second language as well as they did.  

Last Saturday afternoon Steve returned to the caravan, where I was concentrating on writing one of my posts, and told me excitedly he’d not only spotted a motorhome with an English plate, but he’d spoken to its travellers and we were invited round to theirs for a glass of wine at 6pm. My first thought was, oh no, it’s going to be some boring oldie couple, forgetting that we’re through the winter season which was filled mostly with retirees and are now into peak summer holiday time with anyone travelling. Anyway, not wanting to drink on an empty stomach or arrive empty handed I prepared bite sized boreks – individual filo pastries filled with spinach and cheese – to take with us.

Plate in hand, carrying my wine glass I asked Steve where this couple was located on the campsite, for him to grin back at me saying ‘just over there’ which was diagonally in front of us. The only two English units on this large site of 200 pitches within yards of each other. Unbelievable, it had to be fate, or in our words RPRT.

After a short walk of some 10 steps arriving at their motorhome I was introduced to Sally and John and I knew immediately we wouldn’t run out of conversation, only time. Introductions done, sat under their awning facing the sea, we started off with where we’d each come from and when we started travelling. Before we knew it, the sun was setting and we were being offered a roast chicken dinner. When the plates had been cleared Sally got out her acoustic guitar, which she refused to play, so Steve picked it up and strummed a tune or two. It was the best I’d ever heard him play and I swear it had nothing to do with how much any of us had had to drink!

The following morning, over a breakfast of local pastries, we chatted even more. They told us they were on a two month travel trip in their motorhome and had come to Split to view a yacht with the intention of buying one and having it moored here. They were exhausted from many days of constant travelling so Steve and I took it upon ourselves to slow them down and show them around. After all, it was our second stay in the area and we knew it pretty well.

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John had some inflatable paddle boards and invited Steve to have a go as Steve hadn’t’ been on one before. When the offer was extended to me, I explained I wasn’t a swimmer, my inflatable noodle had a puncture and what a shame I couldn’t participate.

That night we walked into Omis, Sally and John unaware how close it was, for a meal in one of the popular restaurants that Steve and I couldn’t get into earlier in the week and wanted to try. Walking through the buzzing cobbled streets full of excited tourists, we got a table. It was 7:30pm and the church behind us rang its bells, probably not for us, but they certainly added to our experience. I did take an audio but I’m sure you’ve all heard ding donging bells.

After dinner, we walked around the block to make our way back to the campsite when we spotted an Irish Bar. Well, it had to be done didn’t it? We asked why it was empty and were told at 10pm it was too early but we found out the truth. We’ve been around. It was their frightening price list which we didn’t spot until the bill arrived! Well, we thought, we won’t be going there again!!

On Monday Steve and I were delighted that a replacement water pump which we had ordered last Thursday for delivery on Saturday, had eventually arrived at the campsite. I’m so lucky to have such a ‘man who can’ and after several hours of dedication, it was once again take as many showers as you like. Actually, thinking about it, Steve is very lucky too, as he has a ‘woman who can’. Steve remembered about our trip up the Cetina Canyon with George and asked me if it would be an idea to go to the Radmanove Mlinice Restaurant that evening. I thought what a great idea and wonderful way to treat the man who put the caravan back in full working order again and that we should ask Sally and John as they would never know have found about this little jewel of the canyon.

I texted George who was too ill to take us in his small boat, as much as he wanted to, so we all walked into to Omis hoping to find a water taxi on the Canyon side of the bridge. I got the impression from messaging the restaurant that it should be easy to do so. Wrong! Every boat we passed was unattended. Walking to the end of the moorings was a sign for hire boats, there was no-one about, but there was a house behind the kiosk with signs of activity. Steve went in to see if he could find anyone and came out with the boat owner. The boat owner arranged for his teenage son to take us as it would be too dark on the return trip for his eyes to cope. The trip was well worth it as we could admire the beautiful scenery on the trip out (as we’d seen before but very much enjoyed again), see the myriad of zip wires across and around the canyon (which wasn’t open in April), see the restaurant mostly full (it was empty last time) and enjoy dinner in the forest setting.

On our return it was a unanimous decision that we each got a bottle of wine and move our chairs to the beach to watch the shooting stars and listen to the waves. Steve and I toasted you, our absent friends, and look forward to the next time being with you on our return to the UK.

Completely changing subject, as I sometimes do, Steve always manages with a minimum number of shoes as he’s a size 12. It’s always a case of do you have anything in my size, rather than having any choice which is why he doesn’t like or generally do shoe shopping. Both his pairs of sandals had fallen apart and his trainers were binned months ago. Now we were back in Croatia near Split, with its shopping malls and more choice of shops than we’ve seen for quite a while, Steve suggested we go shopping at the Salona Mall which has a Decathlon. The traffic was dire with endless traffic on the single carriageway into Split, our 20 minute journey taking almost two hours.

Steve was left alone in Decathlon, whilst I had a quick wizz round the centre, he found a pair of shoes and a pair of sandals. He was on a mission as he knew if he wasn’t successful, I would have dragged him into one of the expensive shoe shops and he really didn’t want that option at any ‘expense’. Ticking everything off our shopping list, including a polystyrene noodle (I’d punctured my inflatable one), a better quality induction hob, refill of our French camping gas canister, bits and pieces from Bauhaus (hardware porn shop) and new nail polish, we made our way back.

Through both journeys to and from Split, 25km each way in at least 34° temperature, we saw the coast line full of Summer traffic on the roads, inflatables in the sea, buses full, sunbathers filling any expanse of beach, beachwear worn on the main roads. The one thing that didn’t seem to have changed was the number of yachts still in their marinas and not on the sea.

Returning to camp to unload, Sally and John asked if we would like to join them for a spag bol dinner. It seemed rude to refuse! It was delicious, really delicious and perfectly cooked al dente. Our Dutch neighbour Geoffrey took this photo for us.

At the end of dinner I walked to the beach to see if I could capture an evening shot on my phone of the illuminated coastline. I was standing by a long trestle table set up between two motorhomes where some Polish people were enjoying their evening, up until that point undisturbed. We started chatting and the group consisted of Mum and Dad, their two sons and the grandchildren, who were by now in bed.

Never one to miss an opportunity I returned to our caravan to get a bottle of schnapps and our four shot glasses, gathering Sally, John and Steve on my way back to the table of the Polish family. Out came a bottle of Vodka from them and John brought out Whisky. It was just another great impromptu end to an evening.

The following morning we said our goodbyes with some of our Polish and Dutch neighbours who wanted to get in the picture.

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We promised we would keep in touch. We got on so well, they might have a yacht next year for us to trial and it would be rude not to don’t you think?!

I eventually managed a short video clip of the human traffic control. I’m not quite sure what he’s doing with his left arm, but I don’t think it was anything to do with a bad meal.

View from the Cockpit

We meet mostly motor-homers, they drive up, unroll the sunshade, and get out the tables and chairs and beer. Oh if we had that luxury, we arrive and ……

unhitch the caravan, turn on the motor mover and get the caravan onto the pitch.

We take the bikes off the front rack, open the front locker and switch on the gas and we have a fridge.

We unroll the electric cable, find the supply post, and we have electric, which is our hot water and coffee machine, fan and printer.

So far the motorhome is beating us by a half an hour, as the occupants drink their beer and smile encouragingly at us.

We might put the awning up, ours can be a sunshade, like the motorhomes, or it can be another spacious room in the winter. It’s an hour’s work for the big one, 20 minutes for the smaller one. I’m certainly ready for a beer by then, and if I’m lucky the motorhomers feel sorry for me and bring over a beer or two.

So motorhomers have gained an hour, maybe a bit more as they travel more quickly between sites than us.

But just like the tortoise and the hare, I’m now smugly confident, knowing tomorrow is a new day. We wake up in our very large wobbly apartment, leave the bed, rather than have to raise it into the ceiling, shower in comfort. We take the car, drive to the supermarket, stop for a coffee at a market, stock up with fresh veg, go to the hardware shop for that left handed widget we need. Continue to the town centre, park up and take in the local town and flea market. We can maybe drive around the local area, sometimes along roads that cling to the side of the mountain, taking in a fortress or two. If it’s a good drive, we may even stay an overnight or two in B&B. We will reserve our caravan pitch for a week or two and really get to know the area.

The motorhomers, if they haven’t moved on by when we return, have walked the local area, have maybe cycled to the nearest town, got as much shopping as fits in the bicycle’s front basket, sampled the beach bar and found a favourite (generally the closest) restaurant to eat out in. they cannot move off the pitch, the motorhome is too big to tour, too heavy to cling to the side of mountains and too high for supermarkets.

So now we’ve gained a day, or two, and the longer we stay on this site the more days we gain, enriching our experience. It works for us, but wouldn’t for the motorhomers, they flit from site to site, sometimes staying for free, which entails a car park or roadside stopover, and a cold shower – now could you imagine Blanche agreeing to that !

P.S. Apologies to those motorhomers we know, each solution works for each couple, it just wouldn’t for us on this tour.