Squid For Tea x 10

We were later told by a barmaid that Senj 'was for old people,' and that we should have gone to Zrce, on Pag Island - 'the Croatian Ibiza'. Thus 'old' Senj suited us just fine: we were tired, poor and looking forward to a nice rest.

There was a small, cheap campsite with it's own shingle beach, and we quickly camped up and dived in. The Adriatic is crystal clear and as cold as ice - perfect, as the sun was hot enough to cook eggs on the car bonnet, and if we'd had enough money, this tasty protein-packed theory would have been tested to the full.

We were just happy to be able to sunbathe on a beach, something that Croatia's coast is strangely lacking in. Instead, Croats and German tourists jostle for sun-soaking space on large, specially-built concrete beach-jetties. They looked like langoustine on a griddle. In many ways, they were just that, oiled, pink and crispy.

After a long, cheap, satisfying rest on the beach, and many meals of grilled squid or burek - large quarter-circles of puff pastry filled with local sour cheese - we rattled up towards Karlovac, home of Croatia's main brewer of lager, Karlovacko. We stayed on another lovely campsite (a generally oxymoronic description), then spent a day next to a large, swimmable river, drinking the beer. The next day we visited Zagreb.

Croatia's capitol is small but large, local but bustling. The architecture indicated Austro-Hungarian wealth from the past, and the cheap, hearty, tasty food suggested Croatia's recent, poor, rural past. I had a vast lake-like bowl of bean and sausage stew for about £3, and Gem took another opportunity to gorge on grilled squid. We bought bottles of local, ultra-bitter Croatian aperitifs, cedar-wrapped cigars and visited ex-Croatian footballing superstar Zvonomir Boban's bar. It was a great day.

After spending twice as long in Croatia than we had reckoned, the race for our ferry in Calais was on, and Slovenia, Austria and Germany were inbetween us. The Micra was pointed for the hills.