Croatia

• On the Ship where every one knows your name
• Paris is perfect, if you ditch the men! - France
• An appetite of Venice - Italy
• Party time in Tapas Central - Spain
• Croatia uncovered! - Croatia
• I'll have the state room please - Portugal
• Seeking Spain's hidden gems - Spain
• Let's tryst again - Sicily
• Dallying with Delia - Majorca
• Wax gets the works - Majorca
• B&B at the Palace - Italy
• The Golden Oldie - France
• Amazing Amalfi - Italy
• Follow the Stars - Europe
• Tuscany - Italy

A VERY HAIRY, stark naked man shook his fist at us and uttered a few expletives.

Windsurfing is a precarious activity for a naturist, you would think, but dozens more exhibitionists sailed by without a thought for their modesty.

To complete this bizarre scene, bare-bottomed sun-worshippers floated by on lime-green Lilos. We were exploring by boat the Istrian coastline of Croatia and, apart from hirsute naturists, found this part of the Adriatic most scenic.

Enchanting, castle-topped fishing towns dot the 267-mile shoreline, ochre-coloured buildings reminiscent of Italy’s Riviera. The sea is warm and one of the cleanest.

It is also host to the largest nudist colony in Europe. Croatia has become one of Europe’s hottest holiday destinations and a favourite with celebrities such as Roger Moore, John Malkovich and Naomi Campbell.

This heart-shaped Adriatic peninsula close to Italy offers miles of unspoilt beaches. It also has superb Roman remains.

About 1,700 years ago the Roman Emperor Diocletian gave up oppressing Christians and returned to his home town of Split to build what is now the best preserved Roman palace in Europe.

Perfect little paradise

Sadly, many of Croatia’s tourist hotels lack his style and are stark concrete East European blocks. We, fortunately, stayed in the resort of Plava Laguna Galijot just outside Porec.

On a small promontory, it has neat, well-equipped whitewashed bungalows set among lush lawns and pine trees, with easy access to the sea.

For us adults it was a perfect little paradise but it was too peaceful for our two sons. They set off to round up some playmates but soon realised we were the only English guests. The first clue was the sea of Chelsea football shirts and the second was the Russian translations on the menus.

Our fellow guests were predominantly Russian, and their affluence, although not quite in the Roman Abramovich league, was apparent. The women wore goldcoloured bikinis bulging with breast implants.

Within our resort there was a supermarket, two restaurants and a beach-side taverna serving goodquality local produce cheaply. A family of four could eat very well for between £20 and £30.

Fresh meat and fish were grilled to perfection and there wasn’t a chicken nugget or children’s meal on the menu. My son Dan discovered the thrill of fresh barbecued squid, which bore no resemblance to the soggy, battered rings he usually favours.

The currency is cash, the local kuna, and no plastic is accepted. But toasts were in Russian as champagne corks popped across the dining room. We decided it was time for quieter local cuisine. We took a ten-minute water bus to Porec, a small port where the main attraction is the 6th Century basilica which glitters with golden Byzantine mosaics.

Tiny streets are lined with Venetian-style, terracotta- roofed houses. On the harbour we enjoyed a bottle of chilled Malvasia, Istria’s most popular white wine, and fresh gilthead bream. We decided to check out the casino but were discouraged by the sign on the door saying ‘No Guns and No Ice Cream’. Guns? In this peaceful little place?

An enchanting place

Then we met the captain of the Monvi, a tourist boat, touting for business in the marina. He persuaded us to join him the next day on a ‘fish picnic’ to visit the cave once used by the English pirate Captain Morgan. He was, he claimed, an ex-policeman and had taken early retirement to run ‘corruption-free’ coastal excursions.

Next day we set off for the Limski Canal, a spectacular seven-and-a-half-mile-long fjord en route to Captain Morgan’s cave.

Alas, my hearties, there were no pirates and the cave was a big disappointment. However, the captain redeemed himself by docking in the port of Rovinji – for us, the jewel in the crown of Croatia.

With its ice-creamcoloured Baroque and Renaissance buildings, it’s an enchanting place. We climbed the pretty, cobbled streets to the cathedral with its elegant bell tower modelled on that of San Marco in Venice and wandered around the lovely harbour with its open-air cafes, market stalls and restaurants.

We bought peaches, beautiful shell jewellery and Croatian football strips. The weather broke a few days later and the heavens opened.

Luckily our bungalow had satellite TV. Unfortunately that meant Eurosport in Russian, German Big Brother and something called Pimp My Ride.

We hired a car and headed inland. Away from the coast, vineyards and olive groves line every road. Smallholdings sit among the rich red earth and rolling green hills, and idyllic hill towns bring Tuscany to mind.

Our first stop was Svetvinc˘enat, a walled village with a 13th century castle and a square where toothless old men watched children perform wheelies on their bicycles. Heading north, we found deep pine forests famous for the excellent truffles unearthed in autumn.

The Istrians were the first to build walls around their hilltop settlements and there are 136 such fortified towns in this part of Croatia. Motovun is one of the prettiest.

The long and winding road

A long and winding road leads up to this masterpiece of Gothic, Venetian and Romanesque architecture which is encircled by an original 13th century wall. We were rewarded with breathtaking views.

Groznjan is a another charming medieval hilltown, home to painters, potters and sculptors. Within the partly preserved 14th century town walls lies a warren of narrow, winding, cobbled streets and old stone cottages.

Most exciting was the well preserved Roman amphitheatre in Pula. Once, 23,000 spectators cheered here as gladiators and lions tore into each other.

These days operas, ballets and pop concerts are the main attraction. As we wandered around the magnificent arena, a stage was being rigged for Marilyn Manson.

I’m not sure what the Romans would have made of him but I’m pretty sure he’d have been thrown to the lions.

That said, it is surprising who is popular in Croatia. Geri Halliwell, for example, appears to have her main fan base there. Old Ginger Spice serenaded us all the way to Trieste airport through an impressive traffic jam.

We arrived at the airport to see our plane about to leave. I thought I’d give hairy men a wide berth after the windsurfing incident but there are exceptions to every rule.

As our taxi driver persuaded airport staff to reopen the check-in desk, I threw myself into his arms.

He may have had the most magnificent handlebar moustache – but at least he kept his clothes on.