She said:

We literally ran from the caves of Postojna to make the last train Rijeka, in order to catch our overnight ferry to Split, Croatia . On the train, we met Jac, another Aussie, traveling for an extended period of time. We traded travel stories and spoke of hometowns and lives outside of traveling; this seems to be the standard introductory talk amongst travelers. What wasn't standard was the gentleman who entered our room upon seeing our Rick Steves travel guide. It was his catalyst to begin a conversation, which he seemed very eager to have. He came into the cabin, and in his deep southern American accent, began to inquire where we were headed. The conversation quickly changed focus, and we began to hear of his life and stories of his travel days. This man was 74 years old, married with children and grandchildren (although a self-proclaimed terrible grandfather, presumably for his chronic absence).

The conversation started out interesting and somewhat funny, but as his southern opinions began to show themselves and the conversation turned to politics, I was quickly turned off and began to tune out his "shock effect" statements . He lingered on long enough to annoy our new Aussie friend and embarrassed me as a fellow American in front of a native Croatian in our car. As he was bragging about his "free spirit" and travel itineraries (with and without his wife), something made me think that he was a very lonely man in need of some attention. When he bragged of knowing someone whom Chad was previously employed by in Marietta, Chad politely smiled and looked my way. He later told me that this man he spoke of was a son-of-a-bitch, and I wasn't at all surprised.

When we arrived in Rijeka, we proceeded to the ticket office with our new friend and overnight travel companion, Jac. We headed straight for the boat (two hours early this time) in order to get an inside seat. We were SO pleasantly surprised by how different this ferry was from the overnight Greek ferries. It was more like a cruise ship with a salon, a restaurant, and a bar/lounge. We immediately claimed cushion benches with accompanying tables and even found an electricity outlet!

We had our first round of drinks with Jac and were then joined by another couple of Aussies . THEY ARE EVERYWHERE! Seriously, Australians are the most well traveled people I know at this point. Anyway, we hung out for a while, and then headed for the restaurant for some below average "ship food". We spotted the elderly gentleman from the train on the way and quickly detoured. We brought our bottle of wine back to the table and enjoyed sailing for the remainder of the evening. I fell asleep pretty early (despite the blaring Croatian TV near us and the subzero temperature of the ship), and actually got about 5-6 hours of good sleep. Am I getting used to sleeping on benches?

We arrived in Split to the usual crowd of elderly men and women waving their accommodation signs in our faces. Although we eventually ended up going with one of them, we now have a strategy of walking past them initially to avoid being swarmed and hanging off to the side until the chaos dies down. Then, one or two who haven't picked up travelers will approach us, and it's easier to haggle . Since it was so early in the morning, we sat at a café with Jac, who would be departing on a week mini-cruise to see the islands. We seriously considered this since we would be island hopping as well and only had a limited time here, but it ended up to be more than we wanted to spend. We went with an older lady to see her "sobe", but her aggression and persistence turned us off (she actually woke up the people in the room to show it to us at 8 am!). We passed on her place.

After a while, we decided it was time to explore and began to search for a place on our own. Eventually, we were hooked up with a man, via shady travel agency, with big muscles and a sort of walk that made me think he just got off a horse. The first place he took us to was his friend's grandmother's house. Between the smell and the poor location, we passed again. Also very persistent, he took us to another place where he bragged we would have our own apartment. Tired, sweaty, and in need of a bathroom, we went with him . Since it was a private, cheap apartment, we impulsively took the place after naming our price. After he hurriedly took our money and left, we surveyed the place...

The Schutt Apartment (not to be confused with the Schrutt Condo in Vail): Eight flights of stairs up (makes Holyfield's place look easy); separate toilet, sink, and shower facilities (the only sink was in the kitchen, so that's where we had to wash up and brush our teeth); not clean (all trash we eventually discovered was swept under the sofa), toilet seat and cover completely fell off when Chad raised it; and portable A/C unit that smelled like raw chicken when used for too long.

Needless to say, the sleep sac made another debut and shower shoes became mandatory, not just in the shower, but throughout the apartment (for both of us this time!). Like I said, we impulsively took the place, and in doing that, we paid two nights up front, in cash...we were stuck . There was a silver lining, though. We got free internet WIFI. This meant that we could not only check email and catch up on blogs, but more importantly, listen to the Gator game on the internet! Chad was beside himself and immediately took a nap in preparation.

After napping, we went directly to the launderette, the only one in the city, as laundry was getting to be an issue. From there, we explored the town a bit and had some dinner. We bought drinks and snacks for the game (nothing like Gin Mill snacks, but sufficient enough), and headed home for the pre-game show. We listened to the game in its entirety, and because of the time change, didn't go to bed until 4 a.m.

Obviously, we slept late the next day, and as the clock inched past noon, I began to wonder if we were going to see the town of Split at all! I dragged us out of the apartment, and we began a guided tour of the town. The main attraction in Split is Diocletian's Palace. It's pretty amazing how the town has built itself right smack in the middle of what was once an enormous palace. We learned the history of its previous inhabitants. We walked around the old city and peeked in the shops and cafes surrounding. As the sun set, a mediocre band began to play American cover songs on the main promenade by the water. We sat and people watched for a while and then headed home to shower for dinner .

Fish isn't as cheap as I expected it to be on the coast, but since touring costs were at a minimum here, I enjoyed a good dinner of mussels and risotto. We drank wine from Korcula, a town on the coast that we hoped to be visiting in a few days.

Split is not exactly how I pictured the Dalmatian Coast to be, but it has some real charm if you give it some exploration. As we began to plan the rest of the coastal towns we wanted to see, we realized that peak season was officially over. This was evidenced by the lack of ferries traveling between places; therefore, we would base the next few stops solely on where and when the ferry could take us there. That meant that the next stop would be Hvar island...

He Said:

"You know we're both Gators," I said.
"Oh, well I'm sorry." He sounded like Jimmy Carter.
"You should be. You guys have won twice in the last 16 years."

He told us his name was Mr. Jordan, and that a few years back in Kenya they had asked him if he was related to Michael. Funny. He was as white-bread Georgia as it gets, and his wrinkled brows were hidden by thick glasses and grey fuzz falling from the sides of his baseball cap. It turned out he knew my former employer in Marietta, Georgia - Otis Brumby. This isn't really something to brag about unless you like being associated with the old-school lynch mobs that were active in the South during the Civil Rights Movement . I worked for Mr. Brumby less than a year and promptly moved to a Blue State.

I've recently made a discovery about my conversational techniques that I got the chance to consciously try out on Mr. Jordan. I have these internal benchmarks that I use to determine whether or not someone is full of shit. They are based on personal knowledge of a particular subject within a conversation, which I then use to extrapolate over a person's entire wealth of knowledge. For example, if someone tells me that the Gators won the National Championship in basketball only because they had to play George Mason in the Final Four, I know this person is completely full of shit and doesn't know what they're talking about no matter what the topic. When Mr. Jordan said that he was sorry for us being graduates of the University of Florida, I should have just tuned him out. He looked like he wanted to talk, though, so I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

Mr. Jordan was a boisterously, self-proclaimed Republican, who told me that he was against the war in Iraq. I was interested to know why. When he said the war in Iraq has nothing to do with oil, I began to throw the bullshit flag - fifteen yards and loss of down. War is never about just one thing, despite any nation's attempts to win over the people for a single whistle-blowing cause, and in this case, I find it real hard to believe that oil isn't at least a small factor . According to Mr. Jordan, though, this war is solely an Israeli war, and the United States is doing their dirty work. For the Jewish population that voted Republican, you're sharing a political pillow with people like Mr. Jordan.

Despite the fact that he shook my hand and said, "Congratulations, you've graduated!" when I told him we had quit our jobs to travel, there was something two-dimensional about him. Alli and our new Australian friend, Jac, were not too fond of Mr. Jordan, so on the overnight ferry ride to Split, I was often prompted to hold a book over my face so he wouldn't see me.

The boat finally arrived at some ungodly hour in the morning. The sun was up, but it shouldn't have been. It was still too early. Alli, Jac, and I sat down at a café to finish waking up, and Alli and I discussed whether or not we should take a week-long cruise of the islands along the Dalmatian Coast as Jac was doing. We crunched some numbers using what I liked to call "football math" since the Croatian kuna is roughly seven to the euro - 7, 14, 21, 28, etc . - and we decided that it probably wasn't worth it. So, after a morning of searching, we wound up in a top-floor penthouse apartment overlooking the entire old town and its adjoining harbor.

It really is amazing how things can sound better than they really are because this was probably the worst place we've stayed in on the entire trip. The toilet seat came off in my hand, and after searching the whole apartment for the buzzing sound of music, I discovered a singing greeting card pushed underneath the bookshelf with god knows what else. Alli almost vomited when she saw the hairballs. The saving grace, though, was the wireless internet connection, AND the birth of the Croatian Gator Club.

After naps, laundry, and some pretty good pizza, it was game time - midnight local time. We sat around the living room table and listened to Mick Hubert call the entire game. I cannot even begin to explain how thrilled I was to be able to listen to the 43 to 0 rout, and we wound up going to bed at four o'clock in the morning as happy Gators, knowing that we finally might have a decent offense.

Our tour day in Split led us through one of the most interesting city plans I have ever seen. After retiring as emperor of Rome, Diocletian returned to his homeland of Croatia and built a massive retirement palace. He wasn't the most popular of people, though, partially due to the fact that he murdered so many Christians, and partially because he divided the Roman Empire into quarters, eventually leading to its decline. After his death, the palace was virtually ransacked, and the citizens of Split moved in. In time, the entire city was contained inside the walls, and to this day, people still hang clothes from windows that were once bedrooms in his mansion.

I could see why they moved in because Diocletian knew how to design a palace. The enormous holed-dome vestibule reminded me of the Pantheon in Rome and was one of the grandest entryways I have ever seen. The waterfront windows overlooked the bay in the direction of Italy. But most interesting was the towering mausoleum that Diocletian had constructed to be his final resting place. In one of those ironic twists of fate, the mausoleum is now Split's main cathedral and contains the bones of many Christian officials that Diocletian had executed. His remains were removed by an angry mob a long time ago, prompting us to use one of our favorite phrases: "Whelp, he made his bed."