Port in Porto, Portugal

(Written on the plane from Portugal to Croatia)

So, another first.  I'm on an airplane that has a stopover in Bologna, referred to vaguely on the ticket as a "technical stop," during which we all hang out on the plane while some passengers exit and the cabin crew identifies which hand luggage belongs to which person. 

Very strange indeed.

I left my hostel at 3:45 this morning to catch the 4am airport shuttle; I think I slept a combined 45 minutes all night because I was afraid to sleep through my alarm and miss my 7am flight.  I'm so tired I even managed to doze off on both the planes I've been on today, which I never manage.  I'm fairly sure when I get to Zagreb I'll pass out as soon as I hit the hostel.  

So, Porto.  I'm sad to say farewell to Portugal, but it had to be done.  I'll write a post outlining the schengen travel restrictions soon for those of you that want to spend a lot of time in Europe.  Suffice to say it was something I ignored prior to leaving but after a little research I decided deportation and a big red stamp on my passport labeling me an "illegal immigrant" weren't worth not playing by the rules.  So, off to Croatia I go, since it's one of the glorious countries that hasn't achieved schengen status yet.  Take that, European Union.

I had a really great time in Porto and, yes kids, Port Wine from Portugal is 100% better than anything else you've tried.  It's like drinking Guinness in Ireland; you just can't compete.  Also, it's ridiculously cheap.  If it wasn't such a pain in the ass to get home believe me I would have sent some of the real stuff home, but I expect that would defeat the whole inexpensive point.  I was tempted to grab a bottle to bring with me in my backpack, but never got around to it.  Just as well.

I arrived in Porto after a 3 hour train ride, which was thoroughly confusing because while most European trains humor the tourists and announce things in English as well, the Portuguese do not.  And Portuguese sounds like a combination of Spanish and French spoken with a Russian accent.  Yeah, just try to decider that one.

I arrived at the hostel where I had to book two different rooms because none were available for all the nights I wanted to stay, but I was determined because the place had been recommended and recommendations usually pan out the best.  So night one I had a bottom bunk in a four bed room, while the rest of the time I had a single bunk in a five bed.  It worked out rather well.

I did a little walking around day one but didn't really get around to much.  

Day two I swapped rooms and then took myself out wandering in search of a new pair of jeans.  Conveniently I had managed to rip a hole in one of my two pairs of jeans, right in the crotch (bullseye!), and you absolutely cannot survive backpacking with one pair of pants.  That's just a wine spill or some other similar catastrophe waiting to happen.  One of the guys at the hostel pointed me in the direction of the shopping area where everything is still on after-Christmas sale and I scored a new pair of dark skinny jeans.  That afternoon I met up with the walking tour which is where the photos start to come in.

First we visited this book store, which was a big influence for JK Rowling for the Harry Potter series.  They don't allow photos inside but the staircases in the movies are modeled after the one here.  The Portuguese just love to take as much credit as possible for things Harry Potter related and to be fair Rowling did live in Portugal for several years.

Then we took a stroll past the "lion square" as it's locally known.  If you ask for the square by it's proper name, nobody knows what you're taking about.  

Also, they're actually not lions, they're griffins, but that's the Portuguese for you.

This is actually two churches right next door to each other.

Front view.  The left half is the older church, the right half is considered the more beautiful.  They are separated by one of the narrowest houses in the world, that strip with the two windows.  They did this because back in the day you could not build two churches directly next door to each other, so rather than tearing one down they put this space in the middle and called it a house.  To this day the two churches compete with each other and you're in one camp or the other.

After the square we took a walk through some of the local gardens where the Portuguese couples like to hang out and "do interesting things" according to our tour guide.  Thankfully more so in the summer than this time of year, so I wasn't exposed to anything too traumatic.

Hanging out by the laughing guys, sculptures made by some sort of famous artist that are widely photographed by tourists but not well liked by the local population.  Partly because they don't look Portuguese at all, they look Asian.  Also I'm supposed to reiterate best tour guide ever.  He was actually pretty good, but boy were we a boring group.

It was getting on near sunset so we went to one of the famous city view points for the obligatory photo shoot.

It really was quite gorgeous.

Then off to a second look out point for the last of the sunset views.

Eventually we found our way to the river and then back up to the hostel, where I hung out and ate dinner in house, which was very good.  The free drinks went until 11, when they have "shot-o-clock," wherein they give you a free shot of whatever booze they please and then play dancey music until you decide you want to go on the pub crawl.  It works.

I made friends with a couple British tourists and spent the next several hours drinking more than any reasonable person should, almost losing my jacket at least a few times, and dancing (which is a sure sign I've been drinking too much).  Made it home safely and proceeded to pass out.  Mistake number one: not drinking any water.  Mistake number two: no Advil.

The good news was I slept until noon so I wasn't lacking sleep.  The bad news was the headache.  Definitely my own fault.  All I accomplished that day was to go out for lunch, sit on a park bench for a while, and then go back to the hostel and watch youtube videos until bedtime.  

You can in fact watch youtube videos all day, even in foreign countries.  And you may say waste, but I say if I never stopped to relax a bit I wouldn't make it as long as I hope to on this trip.

Day 4 I woke up at a reasonable time, and even made it for the walking tour in the morning!  And I'm very glad I did, because our guide Marcos was a lot of fun and I wound up meeting my soon-to-be partner in crime for the next three days, Daphne, a French Canadian living in Amsterdam.  But back to the tour.  

First we saw the train station, which was awarded third most beautiful train station in the world, or something to that effect.  This is why.

That, my friends, is all tilework.  Holy s*** status tilework.

Then we walked up to this church that looks really nondescript from the outside, but on the inside...

Portugal was one of the most powerful empires in Europe for quite some time because of all the gold they got from Brazil (go Colonialism!).  What did they do with all the gold, you ask?  Invest it in infrastructure or the people?  Nope, it all went into glamming up the churches.  The amount of money the decorations are worth in the churches in this country is mindblowing.  Economic crisis?  Maybe, but we still have our glitzy churches.

This was the window to the convent.  Three guesses why they had iron spikes...  Nothing like iron spikes to discourage gentleman callers...

We walked up the old city wall from there (my favorite, heights and no railing) and drank some port courtesy of our tour guide in the tower while checking out the view.  

(Note: as I continue to write this I am sitting in my hostel room in Zagreb, Croatia, listening to the rain absolutely frigging pouring outside and missing the Portugal sunshine).

Finally, a stop off at the Cathedral where we got more stunning city views, before heading down towards the river again.  

Oh, and I better not forget, on the way down to the river we stopped at the Cake Lady's place.  It's literally this Portuguese woman's house where she sells chocolate cake out of the front room, and I had heard about this from the Aussie guys I met in Lisbon.  "Make sure you go on the morning tour and get the cake, it's the best."

It was excellent.  A slice cost about 1.20 euros and it was absolutely decadent.

Our tour ended by the river and Daphne and I decided to grab a beer with Dee, an Aussie who also came on the tour with us.  An Australian, an American, and a Canadian walk into a bar...  It sounds like the start to a bad joke, but really we had a beer, a sangria, and shared a plate of tapas before heading off.  

That evening Daphne and I asked the hostel for recommendations for dinner, and wound up literally a couple blocks from the hostel eating steak with fried egg on top and sharing a bottle of red wine.

Then we went back to the hostel after buying a cheap bottle of wine and proceeded to drink that.

Then we decided the pub crawl was an excellent idea.

Oh boy.

On the pub crawl we met some French girls, and as D drinks more she speaks in French more, which was surprisingly easy for me to follow while drinking.  Or maybe I just thought I could?  Who knows.

There was also dancing, an epic broken glass incident (not my fault), Portuguese men trolling for tourists, and eventually a club where I pretty much lost D until I decided to leave, whereupon I found her in the coat check and we were both really stoked.  On the street outside we ran into one of the French girls with a massive hot dog, which prompted D to track down the vendor for one of her own, topped with every weird topping under the sun (I remember corn and mushrooms being involved...).  Those ladies must make a killing being outside the bars all night.  New business plan, check.  We shared it on a park bench once we realized we knew where we were and then went back home.  This time I pounded a bottle of water and took Advil in advance, so I woke up in surprisingly good shape.

Which was a good thing since it was port tasting tour day.

I pregamed with Kebab, because one must never go port tasting on an empty stomach.  That's good advice, pay attention.  

Port tasting left around 2:30 and we walked across the river to Gaia, which is where the port houses are, not in Porto.  It's called Port because Porto was the main harbor the barrels left from, thus they were stamped Porto, so the wine got nicknamed Port at some point.  Fun fact.  Also Gaia, being across the river, wasn't subject to the church taxes in Porto, and money is a strong motivator.

Here are some shots from the walk to Gaia.

So anyway.

First off we hit Casa Ramos Pinto, where we went on a museum and cellar tour.  A lot of the port houses are fairly old and Casa Ramos Pinto is no exception.  They made a name for themselves by commissioning several nude artworks which was pretty racy at the beginning of the 20th century, particularly in such a Catholic country.  They have some great prints and I sent one home - which cost an arm and a leg but it was worth it.  

Tell me that isn't the coolest poster.

Here are a couple cellar shots.

Then, finally, the port!  We tried a white port and a ruby, both of which were excellent, although I liked the ruby more.

Afterwards we took a stroll along the river to kill some time; they space out the tastings, which I suspect is in the interest of keeping the participants sober enough to behave themselves.

Thanks for taking the photos Daphne!

Then onto the next port house, whose name escapes me.  They had live Fado music, which is a traditional Portuguese thing.  It originally started as a lament for people left behind when their loved ones didn't return from journeys, wars, etc, since as our guide put it, "they didn't have Facebook to keep in touch with the people back home."  As a result the musical style is quite sad although modern adaptations branch out a bit.

Here we tried a tawny port, which was my least favorite of the day and honestly it tasted much more like a ruby to me.  Who knows.  

Daphne and I.

Another walk along the river to kill time.

The names of all the port houses are on these flags.

These boats sit here with the exception of one day a year, where they have a race, and the winning boat gets a champion flag until the next race.

Sunset on the Douro.

Porto.

Finally we went to our third stop, where we had a professional tasting lesson.  This was my favorite part of the entire day.

We even got to taste a pink port, which is something I didn't know existed.  Apparently it's a fairly new thing, and honestly I didn't like it all that much.  It reminded me of bubble gum.

We took our last glass up to the roof, where our guide broke out some really amazing cheese for us to share.  Just look at the view!

It was a wonderful day and Daphne and I had some really excellent food on the way back to the hostel.  One of the cheapest and best meals I've eaten; rice, potatoes, melt-in-your-mouth pork, a salad, and a couple beers to round it out.  We both went to bed early and decided to meet up early the next afternoon to get a little more port tasting done before our respective departures.

The next morning we walked back across the river to Gaia, where Daphne had gotten a recommendation for Taylor's, which was supposed to have a great view.  It absolutely hit all the expectations.

All the ports here were divine, but the tawny was the decided favorite.

By this point lunch was calling, so we went in search of Francesinha, which is a typical Portuguese calorie-fest.  Imagine a grilled cheese sandwich, stuffed with various kinds of meat, topped with a "spicy" sauce, and you get the idea.  

The story behind the Francesinha is a young Portuguese chef went to France to learn how to make new dishes for his uncle's restaurant back home.  When he returned all he could really make was a Croque Monsieur, which for those of you that don't know is pretty much a fancy grilled cheese sandwich with bechamel sauce.  His uncle wasn't too happy about this but decided if that's what the kid came back with he better make the best damn sandwich out of it that he could, thus the Francesinha was born.  There are several theories behind the spicy sauce, my favorite of which is this: Portugal, as I've already touched on, is a very Catholic country.  Back when the Francesinha was born the Portuguese women, as a result, dressed very conservatively.  The Portuguese chef, having spent the time in France, much preferred the French girls who were a bit more racy.  He decided to make the sauce spicy with the hopes that, with the heat, the Portuguese women wound start fanning themselves and then start disrobing to cool off.  

For the record, the sauce really wasn't all that spicy but it was delicious, and the experience was definitely worth the 2000 calories.

We decided to hit one more port house before going back to the hostel, and wound up at Ferreira, which is one of the bigger names.  The place was deserted and we got our own personal guide to walk us through the tasting notes.

We opted for a white, a ruby, and a 20 year tawny.  The tawny was above and beyond anything I've ever tasted and I am probably spoiled for life now.  It was seriously indescribable.  Rich, nutty, smooth wonderfulness.

Afterwards we went back to the hostel where Daphne and I said our goodbyes; she had a plane to catch that evening back to Amsterdam.  I had dinner at the hostel and then bailed for bed, knowing I had to get up at the most ungodly hour to catch my flight.  

So now I'm in Zagreb, Croatia, hanging out in my dorm since it's raining and absolutely freezing outside.  Plus, everything is closed, being Sunday.  I leave Zagreb tomorrow for Slunj, which is about 30km from Plitvice National Park and an easy bus ride away.  Agenda for the rest of the day includes figuring out a bus ticket and packing.  Then I need to plot out where to head from there, probably to Zadar.  I will update as I go.

Thanks for reading!

~Swan

Lisboa

Good news is I'm only a city behind now.  

Bad news is I spent about five days in Lisbon and have a stupid amount of photos and memories to sort through.

But let's give it a whirl.

On the recommendation of Jahnavi, a hostel buddy from Granada, I booked myself at the Home Lisbon Hostel, found a flight, and finally left Spain after almost a month.  

Of course, commercial flying being my least favorite mode of transportation, I got myself a Bloody Mary and a burger for breakfast at the airport.  In retrospect, one Bloody Mary is never enough.

Luckily both my flights were nice and short, only about an hour each, so I didn't have to suffer too long.  That being said, why is it that the sickest person on the airplane is always seated directly behind me?  Nothing quite as disturbing as listening to someone phlemmy coughing the entire way.  On both flights.  Yippee!  I also had the joy of being unceremoniously ousted from my coveted window exit row seat in favor of a middle seat directly behind it (thanks Air Iberia), so I could watch my previous (and purposely left empty) seat the whole way.  Boo.

But I made it!  Walzed out of the airport without so much as a glance at my passport and found the hostel with absolutely zero problems via the metro.  Then it gets weird.

Outside the door to the hostel I see a familiar face.  We both stop, look at each other, and I finally pipe up and say, "dude, Madrid!"  Yep, there was New York, whose real name I actually do remember but I never think of him that way.  He and another guy from the hostel in Madrid had started traveling together, and as luck would have it, we all wound up in Lisbon, staying at the same hostel, at the same time.  Seriously, this kind of thing happens all the time.  Strange huh?

Outside the front door I also met a couple of my soon-to-be room mates, two Aussie guys who kindly let me in the front door and pointed me up the two flights of stairs to the reception desk.  First thing, the girl behind the desk got me a shot of ginja, which is a cherry liqueur that is very popular.  Kind of like port, but using cherries instead of grapes.  A little reminiscent of cherry cough syrup, but in a way that is oddly appealing.  But to continue.

Got all checked in, given a brief tour of the place, and made my way upstairs to my room where, score, I had a bottom bunk.  It's all about the little things.  Bonus, they had "privacy curtains," which is a totally brilliant fucking idea and all hostels should take note.  There I was formally introduced to the Aussies, got myself settled, and made my way down the street to find an ATM so I could pay for the dinner at the hostel.  Home Lisbon Hostel, just so you know, has a really amazing trade secret, and her name is Mamma.

Here's the story on Mamma.  She's the mother of the owners, and every night she makes a fabulous home cooked meal including soup, entree, and dessert, and feeds an entire hostel full of rowdy (usually hammered) visitors.  For 10 euros you get all this plus as much beer or wine as you please.  And you can tell the woman absolutely loves it.  No joke, I ate dinner here every night except for one, because there is nothing better when you're far away from home than a lovely, warm Portuguese woman making you dinner.  A mamma away from mama, if you will.  

Around dinner time I ran into yet another recent acquaintance, Laura, who I had met through Jahnavi and eaten Indian food with in Granada.  Mind = blown.

That night after dinner a group of us decided to go out and wandered over to Bairro Alto, which is where most of the nightlife in Lisbon is.  Being a Sunday night it was pretty quiet, but we had a good time anyway.  In lieu of overpaying for beers Laura and I found a market with the direction of one of our hostel mates, bought a couple 40s, and hung out street side ogling this guy who may or may not have been Avery from Grey's Anatomy.  

FYI about Portugal:

Even though it's technically not legal, you can drink in the street, and nobody cares.  You can also smoke pot, smoke cigarettes in bars, and have sex in public, (don't worry mom and dad, I'm not saying I've tried all this) and unless you're really pushing your luck, you're pretty much left alone.  Again, not legal, but the police generally cant be bothered to give you a hard time.  If they did I think they would be awfully busy because the Portuguese like to go out and drink, a lot.  On the other hand if you get in a cop's face they will clock you in the nose.  So, basically, don't be an asshole and you're fine.

The larger group splintered off eventually and after losing one of our company in a bar and doubling back to find her, we went back to the hostel, where I fell asleep.  At least until the room mates came back, when I was briefly woken up by an exceptionally drunk Aussie opening my privacy curtains, either to see if I was still awake or to take my bed if it was empty, I don't know.  Here's how you know you're used to hostel life: I immediately rolled over and went back to sleep.

If you have personal space boundaries, stay in hotel rooms.  

The next morning I took the walking tour, which turned out to be totally useless for two reasons.  Their names were Joel and Fred.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to concentrate on historical facts when you have a couple of 19 year olds making excessive amounts of inappropriate jokes?  Well, I do. Luckily for me I have both the sense of humor of a teenager and am not easily offended, so I became a third wheel and wound up spending a couple days with them.  Honestly it was like hanging out with Beevis and Butthead, except with random political and social arguments thrown in.  

That evening they wound up coming along with Laura and I to see the sunset from the Castelo de São Jorge, which is one of the best views in the city.

Here are the photos from day one:

The outer facad of one of the churches in Lisbon that took a dive during he big earthquake.  All Saints Day, 1755, what they now estimate to be a 8.9 earthquake rocks the city for something like 7 minutes. All the roofs on the churches fall, crushing the people below.  All the candles lit for the religious holiday then catch the city on fire.  Those that survive that much head to the river where a tsunami then takes them out.  This is basically the moment when the Portuguese started thinking, hmmm, natural disasters may not have very much to do with whether or not God is pleased with us.  Particularly since, in the greatest of ironies, the parts of the city that survived included the red light district and the Jewish and Muslim quarters of the city.  

Hanging out in the lounge area at Home Lisbon.

Sunset at the castle.

Ahoy, sailor?

Sleeping Beauty.

If there's one thing these two love it's posing for pictures.

So as you can see I didn't get a huge amount of photos from the first full day in Lisbon. And a lot of the ones I got are ridiculous photos of the boys which would take up an inordinate amount of blog space.  So, on we go.

That night I wound up staying up rather late, drinking with a group at the hostel.  I also smoked with the Aussies, which became a sort of before bedtime tradition, if you will.  Big thanks to those guys for inviting me along on their smoking sessions every evening.

The next morning I wasn't too terribly happy to wake up after such a painfully small amount of sleep (not to mention my liver was fairly pissed off), but it had to, because I was heading to Sintra.

Sintra is a small town about 40 minutes from Lisbon, and a pretty common day trip.  The hostel offers a day tour including a stop at the most western point in continental Europe and of course I had to jump on that wagon!  

Sintra has palaces, gardens, historical sights up the wazoo, you name it.  The boys tagged along so I was treated to spending the day with B&B, who instantly managed to irritate the hell out of the tour guide.  Sorry, João...

Despite the cold and off-and-on rain it was absolutely amazing and we had a pretty great time.

View from the first stop.

After a quick stop at a viewpoint the group split up, and we headed to Pena Palace first.

View from below Pena Palace.

It doesn't look real, does it?

There's a whole ocean theme going on here.

Despite the absurdity of B&B, they are genuine.  When we walked along the edge here, Fred found out I was scared of heights, and would double back to make sure I was ok when I fell behind, and actually resisted making fun of me for a few minutes, even though I'm sure it was tempting.  Joel did the same when we got into the grottoes at Quinta de Regaleira later that day and I would fall behind because I had stopped to take photos, to make sure I didn't get lost in the pitch black caves.

But before we get too serious:

Back to where we were.

The old Moorish castle below.

Old camera inside the castle.

Shells in the walls.

Handrail.

Part of the ceiling.

Old phone.

The Stag Room.

Next up we got a ride back into town, where we went to a local bakery and ate travesseiros, which are these local pastries filled with egg and almond cream.  Sugar overload.  Delightful.

Our next sightseeing stop was Quinta de Regaleira, which is this old estate with gardens that are filled with underground grottoes and wells, which was probably one of the coolest things I've ever seen.

Bobbing ducky.

Inside the grottoes.

Walking around in the gardens.

Tower.  Climbed to the top.  God my fear of heights is so irrational.

Behind a waterfall.

Rope lights in the grottoes.

Caves from the outside.

Inside the initiation well.  As the name implies, this well was actually never intended for water, but instead the site was used for Masonic initiation rites.

Looking down into the Initiation Well.

Epic rainbow.

Normal antics by the top of the well.

By this time it was around 5pm, so we all piled in the van to go to the western most point in continental Europe for sunset.

As you can see from this picture, it was really fucking windy.  And cold.  Not just cold; freezing, biting, icy cold punctuated by raging wind.

Can't say it wasn't beautiful though.

J looks displeased and I'm hunched over and grinning like a madwoman.  Excellent photo.

The majority of the group hiked down the rocks; I said no thank you and hung out at the top.  Rock climbing isn't exactly my bag.

Swan, Western most point in continental Europe: check.

Once it got dark the group reassembled and we rode home back to Lisbon.  Upon arrival the boys were grumpy so I dodged off to my room for a bit before we all met up and went out to dinner.  We actually managed to have a serious conversation at dinner, which was impressive.  That night I repeated my usual - stay up drinking until far too late, smoke with the Aussie crew - then conked out until rather late the next morning.

Where I woke up with a head cold.  Goddammit. 

After lying in bed in a puddle of mild self-pity for a couple hours, I got myself out of bed, showered, and decided to go to the aquarium, because there are few things in life that make me happier than aquariums.

I got marginally lost trying to find it but hey, what else is new.

As it turns out Lisbon has a pretty nice little aquarium.  It's no Monterey Bay, but I'm spoiled rotten so I can't compare.  It gave me the chance to play with my camera a bit more too, which was delightful.

I do think it's pretty neat that the building is literally out in the water.

The big central tank.  The building has a large tank in the middle and the exhibits basically circle it.

This guy was just splashing around and having a grand old time.

Just chillin with his butt hanging off the rock.  NBD.

Penguin spiral!

I freaking love my zoom lens.

Preening and swimming.  Multitasker.

These guys had to be some of the fattest, laziest otters I've ever seen.

Little pink tongue!

From the top level you get to look down into the tanks below.

They had a special amphibian exhibit going.

This was such an odd creature, it looked like a toad with a tail...

Penguin underwater.

Jellies!!!

As intended, the aquarium was cathartic and I felt a million times better afterwards.  In the gift scope I picked up a fleece, which has turned out to be surprisingly warm and good for when I don't want to lug my rain coat around.

That evening I ran into one of the girls I had met the first night and sat with her and a new French friend for dinner.  Since Sofiane speaks English, but not 100% fluently, I was able to practice my French with him for the first time since I'd left France which was a fun challenge.  I actually do know more than I thought I did!  So, the French lessons did turn out to be helpful anyway.

Same story that night.  Yes, I'm well aware my liver absolutely hates me and it definitely thinks I should leave Portugal.  

The next morning I got up, early, because I had agreed to walk around with Sofiane for the day.  I probably spent ten minutes staring at my shoes debating whether or not I wanted to go through with it.  But I put my big girl pants on and got myself downstairs, and we spent the morning into the afternoon walking aimlessly through the city.  

This is a not so flattering statue of one of the Portuguese kings.  Note the snakes by the horse's feet; some sort of symbolic meaning that translates to coward overall.

Are we in San Francisco or Rio?  I thought I was going to Portugal...

  

Nice view of the city with the castle.

The red ceiling for the blood of those who died in the earthquake. The black for the ashes of the city.  Looking from the outside you would never guess this was what it looked like inside.

A coca cola trolley too?  

Lisbon is such an amazing city!

Made it back up to the castle for the view.

Archaeological site.

I love the moss growing in between the stones.

By afternoon we headed back; I had a fair amount of laundry to do and wanted to relax.  Laundry took up the entire rest of my day and in the end wasn't even dry when I had to pack up in the morning.  For some reason the Europeans use driers that literally take about 2 hours.  Who has the time for that?

Dinner at the hostel, drinks with the guys, bed at a shockingly reasonable time.  Not a bad way to end my time in Lisbon.

I took the train to Porto the next morning and have been here ever since.  I was sad to leave Lisbon but now am equally in love with Porto, so it goes.  And today is my last day here before I leave for Croatia, and I definitely will miss this place.  Although my liver will be quite relieved.

That's all for now, signing off!

~Swan