They say you must visit Croatia. They are dead right. Two and a half hours after embarkation of jet on a grey Surrey afternoon at Gatwick, we were in Split, in a cosy bay in the Eastern Adriatic. We were recommended for our first culinary experience of the holiday that evening a small underground mum-and-dad-run restaurant. The lighting was cruel, the music was bad, and the food was amazing. What followed was nine days of seafood risottos, fried sardines, hake, octopus and mussels complimented by crisp, dry and simple local white wines. Thanks to rather brilliantly losing my drivers' licence a year ago and failing to mention it to anyone (I lost the licence card itself - I didn't commit a felony if that's what you're thinking!), our plan to travel by hire-car was revised at
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