Our journey from Verona to Dale's family home in Croatia required two trains, a bus, and a hire car and took the better part of a day. At 7:30am our taxi driver was ready and waiting to take us to the train station as requested. What we had not expected was that he would arrive early and already have the meter running (up to 5 euros by the time we got in the cab)! Not wanting to risk losing our taxi driver and missing the train, Dale did no more than grumble about the steadily climbing taxi fare. Train number one was uneventful and we made it to Venezia Mestre in time to catch the 9:24 train to Trieste. This train took us from the top of the boot of Italy, around the upper end of the Adriatic, to Trieste, a busy port city lying against the Slovenian border. There were spectacular views over the coastal curve from Italy towards Slovenia and Croatia as the train slid along cliff tops high above the water. Giant container ships were anchored in the middle of the calm Adriatic, smaller vessels ferried people from one coastal point to another, and white sailed yachts cruised lazy zig zags around the bay. We passed small Italian towns descending the steep slopes below us to the edge of the water, where boats were moored or narrow beach frontages were dotted with sun umbrellas.

At the train station in Trieste we searched for signage pointing the way to the nearby bus station, where we planned to catch a bus into Slovenia to meet up with our rental car. Unhelpfully, the only signs pointing out buses were to the domestic bus stop outside the station. After walking a couple of circles, we found an unmarked door leading in the direction that the map seemed to show the bus station was. After walking a short distance we saw the promising sight of a terminal with lines of buses parked outside. We continued towards the buses and faltered as we got closer and saw no sign of an entrance to a ticket office. We walked up and down...nothing. We asked people in the parking lot...nobody understood English, or my broken Italian. I went into a shop and asked...the shop lady pointed in the direction of the train station. Totally baffled and beginning to wonder if there was a ticket kiosk we had missed at the train station I returned (a little huffily) to Dale. Finally a bus driver spoke enough English to point out the ticket office in a building we had walked by which had scaffolding all over the front of it obliterating any signage. Sure enough the scaffolding concealed a ticket office and for 6 euro we had our bus tickets to the Slovenian town of Koper. We were then directed out a back door, which resembled a fire exit, to the bus platform - a dingey concrete garage where we were the only waiting passengers. I was sceptical as to whether this actually was a bus platform until 10 minutes before the bus was due to leave and a flood of middle aged and elderly women exited the door we had come through and began vying for prime position at the bus stop. Fortunately for us, the bus door opened exactly at the point where I was standing, so I didn't have to clash elbows with these determined women. While I found seats on the bus, Dale stowed the luggage and minutes later we were on our way.

The border crossing into Slovenia did not require the bus to stop since Slovenia is another EU country. One moment we were in Italy, and the next we were in Slovenia. The only noticeable difference being fewer vowels in the obscure destinations listed on the road signs that whipped by. 45 minutes after leaving Trieste (or Trst in Slovenian) we were deposited in Koper where we then waited another hour for our Slovenian rental car to be dropped off to us by 'Dennis'. Not knowing what to expect, we were pleasantly surprised when a nice looking young Slovenian guy turned up in a car which had all its wheels, was dent free, and was built more recently than the fall of the Berlin wall. Our Toyota Yaris is not a bad looking car, the only fault is that the cigarette lighter didn't work. (Not because we have taken up smoking, but because we needed to plug in Dale's Tomtom device loaded with maps of Eastern Europe). Once again we found ourselves map-less and driving on the wrong side of the road trying to drive in an unfamiliar part of the world. We followed road signs to the Croatian border and then ended up on a pristine multi-lane highway heading south at the 110km speed limit, as cars overtook us travelling twice our speed.

The highway really was impressive for an Eastern European country with such an indifferent approach to so many other modern conveniences (for example, radio reception or sushi). We travelled over causeways high above flood plains, on bridges which spanned hundreds of metres across gorges, through a tunnel that was at least 3km long and, most spectacularly of all, we took a highway exit which looped out over a cliff, so that for a few moments we were suspended over the sea far below!

We were greeted at the family home in Drivenik by Dale's father, brothers, aunt and Grandmother. (Dale's mom was still recovering from their 2am arrival that morning). Ouma was born in Croatia and moved with her family to South Africa to escape World War II. Later she was married off to Dale's oupa - who had also moved at the age of 13 to South Africa from the same village in Croatia. Oupa's family retained their family home in Drivenik - a 100 year old farmhouse at the top of a valley - and his share of the house was inherited by Dale's father and uncle after Oupa passed away three years ago. In typical Croatian fashion, the house had been split into two self contained units some time before, with the ground floor belonging to Oupa, and the top floor owned by Oupa's male cousin Zvonko, who is based in Zagreb. Recently, Dale's father and Uncle Boris bought the top floor from Zvonko.

This visit to Croatia is the family's first since the purchase and Dale's father was anxious to begin making improvements! We arrived at the house only a day after the rest of the Benic clan and already the top storey had been mostly cleared of junk left behind by the previous occupants, a new bed assembled downstairs, and cleaning was well under way. Piles of rubbish bags, old mattresses and other large objects destined for the dump had been moved into the crumbling stables building next to the main house. There had been some water damage over the winter caused by a burst pipe in the extreme cold. It was difficult to imagine the house covered in ice and snow as we stood in the shade complaining about the 35+ degree heat!

Fortunately for us, Dale's parents have also rented an apartment in the nearby coastal town of Crikveniza. Not only is the apartment more comfortable and less musty than the house in Drivenik, but it has beautiful sea views and is only a short stroll from the water. This apartment is something of a sanctuary from the work taking place at the Drivenik house and we happily took up the offer of the available third bedroom.

Zlatko, Dale's dad, succeeded in getting all his labourers to the worksite on our first full day in Croatia. We spent the morning emptying cupboards of old shoes and rusty tools, and sanding down the flaking window frames. I discovered a window which has obviously been closed for years as when I opened it I found the remains of a wasps nest lodged between the window pane and shutter, as well as several startled spiders! Ouma (who must be at least 86) kept getting into trouble with her son and daughter, who kept finding her 'helping', either standing on a wobbly chair to clean a window or trying to climb the ladder to the attic. Each time she was caught, Ouma would patiently wait out the scolding, but it never deterred her from going on to find another job better left to her able-bodied grandchildren!

In the afternoon we had a brief respite from sanding and tidying. We obtained permission to go to the beach for a swim. By 'beach' I mean rocky sea-shore since mostly there are no sandy beaches here. Instead, there are often platforms set up on the rocky edge of the sea, where people can sunbathe or jump from into the cool, clear water. The water temperature here is only just cool enough to be refreshing and so salty that floating is easy.

Back at Drivenik Ouma had cooked up a storm - wiener schnitzel and fried potatoes with salad. Although the hottest part of the day was over it was still plenty warm enough to undo the work of the swim. Sitting at the outdoor table the only sounds were the evening bird calls, the occasional bleat from the goats next door, and the soft thud of overripe plums hitting the ground under the well-stocked plum tree. At one stage a hare galloped by, and Dale commented that last time his Ouma was here a family of wolves had padded along the fence line. I wasn't sure whether to believe him, but I won't be wandering in the woods on my own any time soon!