Top ten tips for surviving a trip with the olds

My top five

1. Stick your brother on tourist duties
2. Keep them slightly tipsy with homemade mid-afternoon mojitos
3. Introduce them to the traditional English pub quiz - that way you don't have to make small talk at the pub
4. Take them to all of your favourite restaurants and let them insist on paying
5. Agree with everything they say because they are always right

Mum's top five

1. Agree with everything they say because they are always right
2. Stay slightly tipsy with mid-afternoon mojitos
3. Don't offer to pay because they'll accept
4. Don't believe them when they tell you something is oly five minutes away. That's code for half an hour
5. Get in some quality time while you can

Waz, mum and I at Waxy O'Connors

Greenwich, Cambridge and other expeditions into the English pysche

You've got visitors and you can't leave stinktown? Don't fret, time to dust off the Britain Lonely Planet and do all those things you love doing in old Blightly, like eat and be merry, as well as those things you've always wanted to do but have been to hung over or lazy.

Mum and Gus arrived for a whirlwind tour about a week and a half ago, but I've got no visa. So we made the most of the good weather and treated them (and us) to some fun and games here. Including ...

Punting on the river Cam in Cambridge

V-fest, V-fest, V-fest: take two

I know, I know, it looks suspect. But Wazza isn't pregnant. He is, however, a man who will go to great lengths for his beer. At last year's V-Festival, we didn’t realize you weren’t able to take your own booze into the arena and were left completely broke by the cost of a pint at the bars. This year, though, Waz had come prepared. He had his own secret weapon and was determined to beat Virgin, the corporate monster, at its own game. The beer belly – not a real one – was filled with 6 pints of beer. And it worked … on the second try. Hehe. Love your work, Waz.

The other valuable lesson we learned from last year's V-fest was that you need to be prepared for all kinds of weather. As usual, the skies opened up while we were putting up our tents, turning the grounds into a muddy mess. Then five minutes later the sun came out. That means you should never EVER attempt to spend four days at a summer music festival without a pair of wellies (that's gumboots for us Aussies) ... and a hat. Hence the farmer joe attire.

None of that really matters though. Cause when you get down to it, the only thing that mattered at the V-festival this year was the music. Two days of awesome music. For Carl, the highlight was definitely Radiohead. Right up there was Beck, Gomez and the Glimmer Twins.

For me, it was Groove Armada and Paolo Nuitini (okay, and secretly the sugar babes but Donna liked them more).

We had a wicked weekend, clearly. But don't worry. I've found a way for you all to hear and see some of the tunes from the weekend. Click on the links below to view our videos:

Superstyling
The Beck puppet movie

To the manor borne

Wasn't entirely sure how our lungs would cope with the clean fresh country air after three and a half years of sucking up London smog, but we could not turn down a weekend at the Manor. Huge shout out to Emma and Tim for sharing their little slice of heaven with us for a couple of days. They are the latest in a long line of kiwis to work at the manor, a property just outside of Oxford. They planned to stay for six months but are still there more than a year later. And we can understand why.

Rufus and his mum go nuts on the croquet lawn. The former offices of the national trust are in the background. Not too shabby ...

The Manor house, a beautiful old stately home. Comes with its own church (and ghost, at least that's what they told us!), tennis court, maze, bat walk and the biggest and best fruit and veggie garden I ever seen!

One of the many canals throughout England runs just behind the property...

Walking home from the village pub

Crazy Ren and her party bus posse

It was the night that an old routemaster bus met its match. Fifty people. Pumping subs. And Renski. There could have been no better way to farewell Renski than the London party bus. A crazy, entirely lovable character who we're going to miss hugely when she goes home to New Zealand. From the granny who grooved to ABBA at Trafalgar Square to the cockney DJ and his (bus) pole dancing partner ... Renski, gave us a night we'll never forget. Here are just a few of the photos Waz took on the night!

We were dubious at first but soon found our party bus groove!

Too risky to stand and boogie ...

Proof that those boys are good for something ... modeling our handbags!

The party girl takes her rightful position, above the crowd, in the DJ box!

The red tiled roofs of Dubrovnik!

Walking the massive walls of the old town

We had such good intentions. We'd head to Dubrovnik, spend a day or so checking out the old town, then fill our last couple of days in Croatia with a day trip to Mostar in Serbia or maybe to Kotor in Montenegro to see Europe's largest fjord. Or maybe we'd cruise out to another island, like Korcula, and check out a traditional sword dance.

Mmmm ... we did spend a day or so checking out the old town, which is a UNESCO world heritage site. We strolled through the narrow white stone streets, explored all the beautiful old buildings and we walked right around the city along the old fortress walls (okay, so we skipped the last little bit but we were parched and needed beer!). And we did visit a couple of tour companies to price some day trips to Serbia and Montenegro.

forgetting the view ... just for a moment

Unfortunately, we encountered three problems. The first problem was that Steve and Waz, having had enough culture for one holiday, decided they wanted to do something a bit of adventurous. From our cafe just outside of the old town, they spotted canoes and before we could muster the energy to protest we were booked in for a paddle around the nearby Locep island.

We set out at 4pm, with the sun still shining. Couldn't pronounce, let alone spell, our guides name. But he was about our age and we quickly got chatting about life in Croatia and, of course, the events of 1991/1992, when the serbs attacked Croatia because the people dared to declare their independence from the Milosevic regime. Our guide was from Split but he remembered when the serbs set the old town of Dubrovnik alight. When the television cameras showed the city in flames, Milosevic claimed that the Croats had set alight the tyres of their cars. But the damage to the city tells another story. Signs around town show where the serb forces hit the old town, destroying the city's distinctive red tiled roofs and spattering the white stone walls and streets with bullet holes. Apparently, one family has a serb bomb hanging on a wall in their house, after it dropped into their living room one night and failed to detonate.

We paddled our way right around the island, past the gay nudist spot, stopped for a late lunch and a swim in a little cove, and views of the old town, which can only be appreciated from the water. I thought it was a relaxing way to spend the afternoon. Carl - who had been forced to share a canoe with me - was feeling the burn in his biceps big time.

This is our fav swimming spot

The second problem was that, when we paddling around, we spied the most amazing swimming spot. To get there, you had to climb through a small doorway in the old wall, take up a spot on the rocks and never leave (or you'd lose our spot), which suited us because we just couldn't muster the motivation to move, even if we'd wanted. Great music, some beers, the clearest of clear water, the sun, great big rocks for Warwick to jump off. And, yep, those hot girls.

Steve and I cooling off

The third problem ... well, some of the rest our photos should give you a big hint ...

A smug shot, just to make you jealous ...

I am sitting outdoors in the sunshine typing this, so as you can guess we are not in London anymore! We are in the old town of the spectacular city of Dubrovnik - picture massive castle walls surrounding a city made of white stone. Walking along the walls the only thing you can see for miles are red tiled roofs and the most beautifully coloured, glistening sea. We are on the last leg of our croatia trip. We've seen such a small part of this country but are completely hooked. From the cobbled streets of Split to the holiday haven of Hvar, the beautiful coves hidden in the pekleni islands and now Dubrovnik, it's amazing! But there is so much more to see.

Travelling with the two bros and carl has been an adventure in itself ... but some of those stories are best left for a more select audience! Need to fit in my afternoon swim before we head off in sea kayaks to explore the surrounding islands .... so I'll sign off and will update you all when I am back in stinktown (where, I hear, the sun is also shining).

Not a bad view

The bus journey from Split to Dubrovnik is one of the most beautiful we've been on. Not as treacherous as the bus rides to the Cinque Terra and Amalfi in Italy, although maybe the view was a good distraction when we were driving precariously close to the edge of a cliff. I took these photos through the bus window ...

Hvar-ing a great time!

Hvar from above

There are five kinds of boat owners that dock their boats along the harbour in Hvar: well-off, rich, very rich, stinking rich and crazy bloody wealthy. We mixed with none of them. The boat we arrived on was almost the biggest, but we had to share it with a couple of hundred other people and it didn't have its own helicopter. Still beggers can't be choosers. It got us exactly where we wanted to be and ,anyway, those other boats didn't get a welcoming party of old women with moustaches offering them a room in their house, did they?

Hvar harbour

Hvar is just a small island, but it is THE island to go to in Croatia right now and everyone we'd spoken to raved about it. We'd heard about the Pekleni Islands with hidden coves that were a haven for naturists. We'd heard about the great bars and the beautiful people who party until dawn. And we'd heard that the island enjoyed more than 2500 hours of sunshine a year. We wanted some of it but first we had to find a place to stay.

Beware women with beards/moustache who tell you that they have luxury apartment for four people five minutes walk away. What she means is she has three beds, a couch and a cooktop 15 minutes away, uphill. A much better bet is the guy who looks like your dad and says has two bedrooms only one minute away. Our digs for the next three days were smack bang in the centre of Hvar, with a roof terrace overlooking the city and a big mama who loved to have a good chat, whether you can or want to chat back.

Steve catches some rays

Next we needed sunshine. Hvar is surrounded by beaches, but a better option is to find a quiet spot on the rocks, away from the crowds, with your own carfeully positioned lounge chair and a good book. Maximum distance from the water should be two steps or close enough for you to just roll off the chair and into the crystal clear water.

Carl and Waz doing what they do best: not much

If you're feeling more energetic though (and by energetic I mean, you can be bothered getting in and out of a boat), skipper your own little five horsepower tin boat and leave the millionaires and their spiffy boats in the habour. Head across the strait (and let me tell mixing it with high speed ferries when you in a dinky tin boat is scary), find yourself a nice little cove - preferably one without a crusty old nudist standing on the deck of his boat catching the breeze in his dangly bits - in the Pekleni Islands.

Wazza listening to some tunes in the sun

Drop your anchor, go snorkling, lie in the sun, go for a swim. If you get bored, pull the anchor and head off to find another cove or go inland to one of the little traditional restaurants. It's a tough way to spend a day.

Carl and I take a break from the boat

But don't worry it wasn't all lying about in the sun. We made good use of the great bars, we drank mojitos with the beautiful people at Carpe Diem, we even partied in an old fortress until 4:30am. But, if I'm honest, Steve's really best placed to report on the nightlife in Hvar. After all, he's the one who drank every imaginable concoction of shooters with the staff of a local bar. He's also the one who stumbled home at 6am with a bunch of sea urchin spikes in his foot after an early morning swim with a swedish lass ...

Let's Split!

Steve, Em and Carl in Split

Right, so I’ll admit it, we were a little apprehensive about heading to Croatia less than a month after the Socceroos ended the Croats World Cup campaign. Not apprehensive enough to consider canceling our holiday, mind. But we did wonder whether it would be safer to say we were kiwis for eight days than admitting that we were a) from Australia, and b) had actually been there to witness their spectacular defeat.

We needn’t have worried though. After just one day in the Dalmatian coastal town of Split, we realised that the Croats didn’t hold a grudge. In fact, they weren’t even upset about the game. At first hint of our Aussie accents, almost without fail, every Croatian will happily claim that 5/6/7 members of the Socceroos were Croatian (the number fluctuates depending on who you talk to). And, they’ll hasten to add, their cousin/brother/sister/friend/dog lives in Sydney/Melbourne, so Australia is really just a far-flung outpost of Croatia and by default all Aussies are Croatian and vice versa. Take the argument to its conclusion and you’ll see what they’re getting at: our soccer teams are actually one and the same.

Sure, if that’s what helps them sleep at night. And if that’s what’s going to get us through our summer holiday unscathed, I’ll buy that.

Aahhh, summer holidays … I’m not sure that Aussies really truly appreciate their summer holidays. But, after three years in London, we were in dire need of aproper summer holiday, which involved sun, surf, sun, swimming, sun, cocktails, sun, sightseeing, sun, sun, sun. We wanted to transform our pasty white skin, toughen up our super soft feet, increase our freckle count and remember what if felt like not to have to carry around a jacket when you go out at night. Croatia met our list of demands and then some.

The port of Split

We flew into Split, the transport hub of the southern Dalmatian coast. From here, you can get pretty much anywhere along the coast, using whatever mode of transport you prefer. We chose ferry, which in hindsight was maybe not what our little bro was hoping for. I couldn’t understand why he wasn’t looking forward to cruising on the turquoise blue Adriatic sea or why he wasn’t impressed with the enormous (and extremely expensive) yachts dotting the harbour, until he pointed out to me that as a technician in the Navy he spent most of his days on much bigger and more impressive boats. Mmmm … he had a point.

Anyway, our first two days were on land, waiting for Waz to join us from London. We got ourselves a couple of great rooms right in the centre of the old town. We’d been told not to book accommodation in Croatia in advance, which was good advice. A soba is a private room in a house. It’s cheap as chips, usually more central and you get to meet some interesting local characters, like nana and her crazy black poodle in split and a 500 year old lady in Dubrovnik who would happily carry on a ten minute conversation with you in Croatian even though we clearly couldn’t understand a single word she was saying.

The old town is also home to Split’s Diocletian's Palace, which is one of the most imposing Roman ruins in the world. More a fortress than a palace, its walls were originally 215m by 180m, and contained the imperial residence, temples and a mausoleum. Its tiny streets, which are paved with a slippery type of white marble, are a great place to get lost. However, they provided little shelter from the Serbian army in 1991/1992. One of the locals we spoke to told us that he was forced to take cover in the basement of his building at night, as the Serbian army fired on the old town.

An ancient Roman in the Diocletian's Palace

Just outside the old town is the beach of Bacvice. It’s got no waves and not much sand, but the water was clear and the sun was out and that’s all we needed. Most people seemed to have the same idea as us during the day. By night, however, the water was filled with revelers from the nearby bars, playing football in the water in their underwear.

The beach at Bacvice

By the time Waz arrived at the end of our first full day, we were exhausted. Steve, on the other hand, couldn’t believe his luck. He’d come to Europe expecting to see castles and churches but he never realised that the Croatian had another little gem up their sleeves: “hot, hot, hot women”.

Steve celebrates

More photos from Split here.