Queen's landing
‘It’sgoing to be super-hot in August,’ I said to my mom, Jean. We were planning a trip overseas, and after much deliberation (on my part; her contribution was, ‘You decide. I’m just tagging along’) we had settled on Croatia. (And later, Venice, but more on that next month.) I had been there once before, so I knew that it was beautiful, sunny and relatively affordable on the rand.
‘I don’t care,’ she said. ‘I want to swim in the Adriatic.’ She had me there. The last time I’d been was during May and the water was still on the nippy side. Not Llandudno nippy, but still flinch-as-you-go-in nippy. We settled on Dubrovnik, Croatia’s most picturesque city, and one of the South Dalmatian islands nearby. And we booked our flights for late August, despite website after website warning that August temperatures were stiflingly hot.
It was, in fact, boiling. But we managed, thanks to a routine of getting our sightseeing in early, regular swims, late dinners and copious amounts of gelato. We also spent
