The Ruins under the Basketball Court

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Issy wants to sleep in so I set off my own. I've read on Trip Advisor that a place called the Gornji Ugao Tower is one of the best places to visit in the Old Town. The reviews warn that it's very hard to find, and they're not wrong. There are no signs, and the only directions on offer seem to be in the Trip Advisor reviews. I trudge up several hundred narrow steps to a door which leads to a basketball court, and the tower's entrance is in the court's far corner. It seems that the ticket collector is also the guide. The only other people here are an English couple, and I'm not sure they're overly impressed with their homeland's road network. The guide asks them if they live close to London, and they respond that they live 40 kilometres from the centre, which they can reach in either 40 minutes by train or four hours by car. The guide inquires about my origin, and then calls me "mate". The Englishman says that there's a law in Dubrovnik that all travel guides have to call all Australians "mate", and that "no worries" will almost certainly be woven into his next sentence.

The tower's not really a tower at all, but rather the remains of a foundry which was originally built between two parallel town walls. The remains are entirely under the basketball court. The foundry was used to make cannon balls, church bells and various other metal odds and ends, such as belt buckles and baby's rattles, and was built in the 16th century. It was only in operation for about 100 years before it was destroyed by the massive 1667 earthquake which also destroyed most of the rest of the town. Our guide tells us that only the town walls and a few monasteries and churches survived. The guide asks the English couple what else significant happened in 1667, and they correctly answer the Great Fire of London. The Englishman says that they recently did a reenactment of this to celebrate its anniversary. This seems like quite a destructive way of celebrating. I hope they didn't burn too much of the city. He then clarifies that they only burnt a model of as it floated on the Thames. That's a relief. The foundry was buried under rubble from the earthquake, and the site was then used as a children's playground, so it seems appropriate that it's now under a basketball court. I wonder if any other of the world's significant archaeological sites are under basketball courts. The remains of the foundry were only discovered about twenty years ago, and it's only been open as a museum for a couple of years.

Our guide is highly enthusiastic and informative. He says that because the site's so hard to find, virtually the only people who come here have read about it and found directions to it on Trip Advisor. Apparently quite a few people come here by accident thinking it's the entrance to the town walls. He says that he had a record 62 people come through yesterday, and every year they've been open they've had large increases in numbers, which is almost entirely due to Trip Advisor. He says that because he's both the ticket seller and the guide he's finding it increasingly difficult to cope with the growing numbers of visitors. The English lady suggests that maybe he should hire an apprentice. As we leave we see a man pushing a child in a stroller across the basketball court. He asks us if this is the entrance to the town walls. I explain to him that to get to the entrance to the town walls he needs to push the stroller, with the child in it, back across the basketball court, and then down the several hundred odd steps that he's just finished pushing it up. He looks totally crestfallen.

I move onto the very impressive St Blaise's Church, and then the large but less impressive Cathedral. The Cathedral's main altar area is hidden behind a screen, and it looks as though it's undergoing some sort of restoration.

Johnny's son Ivan picks us up and drives us to the airport. The rain has cleared the air and the views along the coast are excellent. I reflect again that this must be one of world's better drives from a town to its airport.

We are again very nervous about our luggage. We only have a 55 minute connection in Vienna, and our luggage has twice failed to follow us previously when we had 60 minute connections. We have again packed emergency supplies in our hand luggage, which now weighs almost as much as our suitcases.

We're keen to get rid of the local currency, the Kuna, and the airport cafe says that it takes both Kuna and Euros. I have just enough Kuna left to buy Issy a hot chocolate and a croissant, but I don't then have any left to buy myself anything, so to avoid confusion I go back again to order and pay for my meal in Euros. The lady behind the counter acts and talks like a human computer. She has a monotonous voice and her facial expression never changes. She quotes me the price in Kuna, and when I ask if I can pay in Euro she quotes the conversion back to me to two decimal places without drawing breath or reverting to any mechanical aids. I wonder if she really is a computer. If so it's very lifelike.

Murphy's Law is alive and well. Ours is the only flight on the departure board that's running late, and our already short connection time has now been cut in half. We're travelling on Austrian Airlines, and just to make absolutely sure we don't forget, the Blue Danube Waltz is played repeatedly in the background throughout the flight. We arrive in Vienna, sprint through the terminal, and dive through the door of our flight with seconds to spare. We wonder if our luggage made it. I make a note to have stern words with our travel agent about tight connections. I don't think she realises that we're getting a bit old to be sprinting through airport terminals, not to mention the impact on our collective blood pressure.

The Venice airport luggage carousel is a giant advertisement for the local casino, with numbers from a roulette wheel emblazoned on the belt. This seems very appropriate given that the odds we've been playing with our luggage turning up right through this trip. We hold our breaths yet again as we wait to see if it appears. It's first off. This is a major miracle, although we reflect that it was probably only first off because it was last on - chucked into the hold as they were closing the doors. We catch a bus and then transfer to the novelty of a water bus. Our apartment is on the island of Giudecca, which is south of and a bit away from the main part of Venice. We walk from the water bus stop through narrow, dark and deserted alleyways to the opposite side of the island. We're not sure which apartment in the block is ours and we can't see the numbers in the dark. We try our keys hopefully in a few random doors without luck. Fortunately none of the owners seem to be home. It'd be a shame if we got arrested before we'd had a chance to see any of the sights. Our attractive apartment is on two levels, and also has a small roof terrace accessible by climbing a steep ladder and crawling through a small skylight. If we want to use this we'll need to remember to go easy on the pasta while we're here. The wifi password is 24 random characters long and it feels like we're trying to access the CIA's secret database.

We ask the waiter at a waterfront restaurant for a table for two. He looks down his nose at me, and asks if we're staying at the hotel that the restaurant's attached to. I'm wearing shorts and sandals, and he tells me that we can't come in unless I'm wearing long pants. He says that he thinks there might be a cheap cafe further back along the waterfront, with strong emphasis on the word "cheap". If he's trying to make me feel like a second class citizen he's doing an excellent job. The only other people at the "cheaper" cafe are from the youth hostel next door. It serves Italian food, but is run by Asians, and whilst this feels slightly strange, the pizza is excellent. Perhaps our snobby waiter should give it a try......

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