As the sun rose over our balcony perched in the hills over-looking the Adriatic ocean, we found ourselves tense and clinging to our phones. Finally, after the twenty-third call, there was an answer- and without a breath a hello or a Ciao, the angry Italian police man said in perfect English “ I’m going to bed”.
At this point the only thing to do is to laugh or cry.
The journey hadn’t started well; we had already missed our flight and waited at least six painful hours, prowling the shops in Gatwick north.
Eventually, after a drive through the mountains and borders of Italy,Slovenia and Croatia; finally we arrived at our destination: Pula.
Greeted by our giant Croatian host, whose stature had its own shadow, but with a kind heart, he says sternly “Helllooo” with emphasis on the L and the O.
With the holiday bug filling our bones, we dropped our belongings in the room that we had stayed in last year. It seemed slightly more basic than I remember it.
The pillows looked more like cat mats than pillows, and the yellow walls seemed to dominate the whole room. However, nothing was going to dampen our spirits, and we headed off for our first adventure of the week.
Each year, on the first week of September, we head to Croatia for a music festival- for one last gallivant before the summer ends. The last moment of freedom before the cold freezes our souls and our pocket
The festival was well under way by the time we joined it and the spirit of Woodstock was in the air- it seemed a little like the party would never end. It was truly magical and as the sun dropped below the electric sky, we danced the night away.
Inevitably the night would turn to morning, and like ghouls of the night, before too many people could recognise us, we headed back to our little resting place in the hills. Planning just enough sleep to recover before the sun turns tropical and we can brown ourselves.
Fate however had dealt us an ugly hand, and as we stepped closer towards our little shack we could see the flower pot smashed on the floor- the mosquito net on the patio- and the curtain billowing in the wind.
As we looked at each other the realisation struck. A tingle sensation rose up through my spine and a gust of fear struck my heart. We had definitely been burgled-.
But how much was taken? Ironically the door was still locked, and we rummaged through our pockets for the keys in a state of silent but rising panic.
Eventually the door was unlocked, and almost immediately I wished that it wasn’t My suitcase was upside down and my clothes were spread everywhere. It looked like a tornado had just been unleashed in our very small room.
Everything was gone laptops, ipads, and watches. I then let out a scream “my make up”- they had even taken my make up.