We stayed in Dubrovnik for three nights. During our stay, we visited a nearby island (even Becka managed a dip in the sea, as well as her towel and shoes) and wondered about the ancient old town. Having been home, my grandfather showed my a sketch he drew in the 1970s of the main street in the old town – it’s changed now. It’s more commercial, there’s more shops, supermarkets and tourist-traps.

Dubrovnik and Split are both very pleasant places. Perhaps a little busier than some may like, now Croatia is a popular holiday resort. I’d recommend both.
The train line stops in Split, so we got another bus to our next destination, Montenegro.

One of the newest countries in the world, Montenegro was part of Yugoslavia and then Serbia and Montenegro. First recognised by Iceland in June 2006, the country has received European Union funding to give itself a leg-up. While not in the EU just yet, they do use the euro currency – something we all understood.

The bus drove around the edge of the coast – out of Croatia and into Montenegro. We stopped at a town called Kotor, near one of the main airports. Most people got off the bus here – so the drivers moved us onto a smaller local bus, along with many other people. After a worrying journey trying to decide where our stop, Budva, actually was, we eventually made it and bargained with a taxi driver to take us to our hostel.
We only had two days and a night here – but we made the most of it.

It’s a very beautiful country. We sat by a beach for a whole afternoon, playing with the pebbles (there are few sand beaches). The towns, still a little rough from the war and low economic interest looked a little sad, but there was plenty of hope. A row of motoryachts with British and American flags in the harbor gave the town some glamour. Even McDonald’s managed to make it, with a sea-side outdoor restaurant. We’d all like to go back and explore, but we must move on.

Rachel convinced us it was a good idea to get the night bus for the next leg of our journey. This would take us from the coast of Montenegro, into Bosnia and Herzegovina, to the capital, Sarajevo. It’s only 300 km, but there is no motorway or major roads. Some stretches of the road wasn’t even made up – just left as dirt tracks. The bus left before midnight and we were to arrive at about 6.30 the next morning.

At the bus station we met a Russian girl called Anna from Moscow. She studies at Cambridge, but was traveling around as much of Europe as she could. I never really valued an EU passport so much until she explained how difficult it is to get visas. Some can take six weeks to get, and a bit of cash. Her Bosnia and Herzegovina visa was rushed a bit and didn’t look like it had been completed properly.

It took me a while to fall asleep on the bus. We were quite close to the back – the smell and sound of the engine wasn’t appealing, but eventually I slept until we were all woken up at the passport border. We handed over our passports to a policeman. One man right at the back of the bus was causing a bit of fuss. As far as we could tell, he didn’t have a passport or ID. We cleared Montenegro, with a large well-lit EU funded border crossing made from steel and glass, and drove around a large bend, over a little wooden bridge and to the passport control of Bosnia and Herzegovina. This was essentially a small cabin with a corrugated iron roof. It did the job. The gentleman who had caused the fuss earlier was taken off the bus by a Bosnian policeman – we didn't see him get back on again. Half an hour later, everybody’s passports had been checked (and stamped, much to Becka’s joy – collecting stamps for her new, blank, passport), we entered Bosnia and Herzegovina and headed to Sarajevo.

This part of Europe was at war between 1992 and 1995. Many buildings still haven’t been repaired since. As a result of the war and the treaties signed, Bosnia and Herzegovina has three presidents which rotate around. Many people of generations older than mine will remember the war, but this makes for interesting reading to catch up.

We arrived at a bus station, far outside of the city centre at 6.30 in the morning. Foreign buses don't tend to go into the city – relations are still tense. We had no local money and no real idea where we were suppose to be going. Our guidebook, the Lonely Planet, offers little advice for this part of the world – but we did manage to discover there were two bus stations and we were at one of them.

Rachel went off with a German couple to find an ATM, while we tried to get our bearings, a bit sleep deprived and hungry. We had the address of a hostel, which we showed to a taxi driver. He'd take us there for €10 – rather than mark, the local currency which Rachel managed to get a bit of from an ATM.

We arrived at the hostel at 7.30 am. An Australian was sitting outside. He'd pressed the bell and was waiting for somebody to answer. A tired young man answered the door. He gave us a quick tour, said our beds were still being slept in (check out wasn't until 12), so we made ourselves comfortable in the common room. The table had various empty beer and spirit bottles on it. One by one, the guests appeared. They looked like they'd had a good night. That was generally the philosophy of Haris Hostel. The guy that answered the door was Haris. He's 19, but he's been running the hostel since he was 15. During the war, his house had bomb damage and the top floor had to be rebuilt. To pay back the loan they took out, they made it a little bigger than needed and turned into a 30-person hostel. On the traveler review sites, it rates very highly. Yet it has no kitchen and only one shower. Shows how much you really need and what a good atmosphere and a good owner can do.

Haris took us for a tour around Sarajevo. We started with the tunnel. Built during the war, the tunnel runs under the airport, which was under the control of the United Nations, to safe Bosnian territory. The Serbian forces had Sarajevo otherwise surrounded. All of the cities supplies came through the tunnel, which was 1.6 metres high and a metre wide. Men would carry 50kg (110lbs) packs on their back through the tunnel, taking 40 minutes. We also visited the Olympic stadium, from the 1984 Winter Olympics and Sniper's Alley, an infamous road frequently attacked during the war. The city could be one of the top cities in Europe if it wasn't for the siege during the war. It's on the mend though and reform is happening.

A friend of Rachel's is from Sarajevo, we met up with her a couple of times. She took us to some nice places to eat to have traditional Bosnian food and one of the best hot chocolates I've ever had. It's a fantastic city and I'd love to go back, but once again, we have to move on.

We got the train to Budapest in Hungary with two Australian girls who were staying in our hostel. The 12-hour journey passes through Croatia (more stamps!) and then through the Hungary. We only stayed in Budapest one night, with enough time to get a little taste of the city. Six hours just isn't enough, so I'll have to return there. We had to get back to Bratislava for our flight.

Sorry this entry was so late, and so rushed. A lot happened in a short space of time. I'd recommend you visit all the places I visited. Montenegro for a little off the beaten track, Croatia for a great holiday, a Sarajevo for somewhere you'll never forget.

Thanks for reading.

Food and drink is cheap, away from the coast and with many places to choose from. Our dinner that evening, I had pizza and two glasses of wine, only came to about £5 a person. The food is like most other European cities, Italian, French and German dishes.

We met another student, Jay, from Australia, we headed out in the evening. There didn't seem very many tourists out. The only other people we met were staying at our hostel. The evening ended in a small bar towards the edge of the city centre. We talked about life, the universe and everything. A policeman was having a beer, then a coffee and a chat with the bar owner. It was a quiet, damp evening, so we headed back to the hostel.

The next morning we awoke early to head to a national park. We must have looked a little puzzled at the tram station, as a kind lady helped us find the right tram and asked the tram driver to let us know when to get off.

Two bus journeys later, we arrived at a wet national park in the mountains. Plitvice National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage site, has a series of lakes connected with waterfalls. The crystal-clear waters and stunning scenery are complimented by the subtle paths the Croatians have built around the park.

It was wet, but it was beautiful. We'll have to return another day to appreciate the true beauty.

We booked accommodation through an agent at the park. Privately run, you stay as a guest in somebody's house nearby. A gentleman picked us up in the evening and drove us to the near-by village where he lives. The tall houses were split into flats and looked like a Swiss village, but it was a little worn and the streets old. If you could imagine a Swiss village, but made by communists, that's pretty much what it looked like. It was a joy. It was clean, quiet and quite beautiful. A little supermarket (or just called 'market' here) had all the basics you'd ever need. They couldn't believe I had come all the way from London to their little village.

We slept well after walking around the park all day and left soon the next morning, headed for the coast. We waited at the bus stop. A large taxi-van pulled up and asked us, as well as two other women waiting, if we'd prefer to get the taxi instead. More comfortable, quicker. After some negotiation on price, we agreed for HKR170 each he'd take us the 2000km (1,250 miles) to Split, on the coast. That's £17. Brilliant. It was also four hours quicker than the bus.

We went for it, hoping he'd keep to his word. As we approached the motorway, he asked if we wanted to use it as it costs extra. £1 each, but it would save a lot of time. We smiled at let him continue. The ladies we shared the taxi with had a map from 2004, but half the motorway wasn't marked. They still haven't finished it. The roads and bridges are new and they've built long tunnels through the mountains - the longest at 5 km (3 miles). We arrived in Split, and true to his word, we paid him £18 each and he was gone.

We'd arrived in Split, originally a Roman fortress, just after lunch. It was about 25C degrees and we still had our coats on from the cold mountains. We quickly changed and dragged ourselves, with our backpacks, through the narrow streets to a tourist information centre. The friendly man in the centre explained we'd be lucky to get space at a hostel. Rachel looked after the bags while we ventured around asking at every hostel.

Unsuccessful, we went back to the tourist information centre. We looked hot, we looked tired and it looked like we'd have nowhere to stay. The man said he'd see what he could do, and made some phone calls. He told us to go to the main square outside the theater. A bald man would meet us and sort us out. We wondered up to the square and sure enough he was there, waiting for us. He questioned why I was traveling with two girls as we followed him out of the city centre. "If you need any help, you call me" he said. The streets got narrower and we followed him down a small side to a little block of old flats. It looked rather dingy. He opened the door with a smile and we walked in. Big clean kitchen and dinning room, a new bathroom and two large bedrooms with fresh linen and towels. He turned the air conditioning on and smiled "not so bad, is it?" Not at all.

Split is a very touristy city. The food and drink is more expensive. We managed a good price of £18 each for one night in the apartment, the same price as a hostel. We were lucky. We ate in that night (with a bottle of very nice Croatian £1.20 bottle of white) and wondered around the city. Another UNESCO site, the main city still keeps its original Roman walls. It is inhabited and has many shops. Wondering around it is like a modern-day Pompeii. Bars, restaurants, markets. We sat by the sea and in the squares, having a drink, watching people and chatting.

The next morning I got up early and wondered around the city. It was a Sunday and people were busy. The fish market was full of life. People were going to church. Men sat in squares and chatted. The tourists were not awake yet.

I got some provisions and breakfast and headed back to the apartment. We packed and set out for Dubrovnik. Further down the coast, it's another ancient fortress. We'd booked ahead this time and were told to wait at the bus station after the four-hour journey for collection. A large, well tanned man with a mustache turned up in an old VW Golf. He was very merry. "Have beautiful three-bedroom for you" "Lovely view" "Is very nice". He drove up the hill behind the city. "Town, that way, 20 minutes" "Straight" "My house, there, blue". We were very high up the hill and could see his three-story house. His family lived on the side and the rest were apartments. He showed us up more stairs and explained which key opened which door. We were high. We'd driven a long way up a lot of hills and seemed quite far from town. 20 minute walk seemed a long way. He opened the balcony doors and we were treated to a view we'll be enjoying for the next few nights.

Welcome to Dubrovnik. The supermarkets were closed, so we ate out. I had scampi, real scampi - Becka helped me get into them. It was absolutely delicious. I only got a few, so tucked into the bread. We looked tired so headed back to the apartment, watching a band play on the way.

Now we have some beaches to go to, some books to read and generally - relax.

See you at the beach, I'll be the one smiling

Once we'd caught up on some sleep and filled our bellies, we explored. It's a very beautiful city, feels like most other vibrant modern European cities. The buildings are painted in many pastel colours and most of the city centre is pedestrianised. Trams and trolley buses make their way around the peaceful streets.

By the Danube one afternoon.

Sarah's birthday is in October, when none of us will be around. Although Rachel managed to leave her phone in the car, she did remember to bring a small cake, some candles (seven candles, times by 3, you get 21!) and matches. We celebrated on our last evening before heading out for dinner. After dinner we had generous 40p ice creams, with an acrobatic server, who held my ice cream behind the sneeze glass while I clawed at the air.

We headed up the UFO, an observation deck and restaurant, high above a bridge south of Bratislava. Shortly before closing time at 11, we were the only people up there with the whole of Bratislava and the surrounding area to take in. On the way back to the hostel, we finished our night with cocktails. I had a Zombie, lots of fruit with a punch of rum. Rachel had some kind of giant mint tree soaked in rum. It wasn't really a drink, more of a meal.

There's a train that leaves Prague early in the morning and winds its way around eastern Europe, down to Split in the south of Croatia, arriving the next morning. There's one train a day and it leaves Bratislava at 1341 and arrives in Zagreb, the capital city of Croatia, 8 hours later. This was our first leg of our trip.

Getting tickets required a bit of thought. We were turned away by one lady who pointed in the corner of the station and said something in Slovakian. We wrote down the date, time and train number from the timetable on a bit of paper and approached another ticket desk. Success! Three tickets to Zagreb.

The morning of the train we had a large brunch, stocked up with provisions, oranges, bread, ham, bananas, and headed to the station. A middle-aged couple were sharing our compartment with us. They were from the Czech Republic and were on the train for the entire length, all the way to Split. Their provisions were a six-pack of beer.

The train passes through two borders – Hungary and Croatia. The Hungarian border control was a halt in the middle of a railway yard, protected by large concrete walls. "Passport control!" The train continued on after two large men had checked everybody's passports. "Thank you" to us, 'thank you' in Czech to the couple. We passed small stations with only the station controller watching.

Passport control for Hungary

Each time I started on a meal, the Czech man would start a new beer. He wasn't the only one though. All down the train, people were drinking wine and beer. A man had a coffee making machine in one compartment and was selling more beer too.

The train sped through the country-side. Open fields, tractors, sunflowers. Night fell. We arrived in Zagreb, a city of 700,000, at about 9.30pm. Rather tired, we got the right ticket for the right tram and headed to our hostel on the edge of town. Deposited at the end of the tram line, "last stop" a passenger told us, we used Rachel's make-shift map to find our hostel down a little side-road in a residential area. We followed a couple of British/hostel looking guys, until they realised that they were being followed and asked if we were looking for a hostel.

We're going to spend the next day or two in Zagreb, finding the right bus routes for our next stop – a large national park towards the coast, with crystal-clear pools of water connected by waterfalls.

Rachel was, shockingly, ready on time. We almost made it all the way out of Lingfield, her village, before she realised she'd forgotten her phone. Her phone was lying on the floor lighting up her hallway. She woke her mum and she rescued the phone.

The M25 looked no different to when it would at 10 in the evening. All kinds of cars, all going somewhere. We questioned why there were so many and what they were all doing. But they were probably thinking the same of us.

Half-way through our hot chocolates, muffins and croissant in the departure lounge at Stansted just before our flight, Rachel announced she'd left her phone in the car under the seat. No time to go back.

The plane was boarding. As per some kind of family tradition, it was at the gate furthest away from the terminal.

Having been awake since 1 and not having more than three hours sleep, we happily dropped off on the flight. I drifted in and out of sleep, with partly incomprehensible announcements. "Buy a Ryanair scratch card, only €2 and yes, you could be a millionaire" "Anybody want anything from the trolley? Drinks, snacks? Anybody?" Nobody. We were all sleeping. Or trying to.

We arrived in Bratislava 10 minutes early. Bratislava airport isn't big. There were only two planes in the terminal. Our bags came through promptly and we went out. Rachel managed to get a map and find out that the bus tickets were purchased from the newspaper shop across the road. They use a similar system to most of eastern Europe, you pay per minute. You buy a 10, 15, 30 or 45 minute ticket and validate it as you enter the bus. You can then use that ticket on any public transport until it runs out.

Dry grass was on each side of the highways running around the airport. Large industrial units, Velux, Panasonic were around the airport. A drive through McDonald's at one junction with adverts for T-Mobile and O2. Where's the fun in traveling gone?

The city centre was more like you'd imagine. Beautiful old buildings, with wide open roads and many trees. A second bus dropped us near our hostel and we navigated around the Bratislavian version of Hyde Park Corner to our hostel.

We've got to get ready now to head to Croatia, so I'll post more when I've arrived and get some photos to show you.

And all the people of the lulled and dumbfound town are sleeping now.

Hush, the babies are sleeping, the farmers, the fishers, the tradesmen and pensioners, cobbler, schoolteacher, postman and publican, the undertaker and the fancy woman, drunkard, dressmaker, preacher, policeman, the webfoot cocklewomen and the tidy wives.

Young girls lie bedded soft or glide in their dreams, with rings and trousseaux, bridesmaided by glow-worms down the aisles of the organplaying wood.

You can hear the dew falling, and the hushed town breathing.

Only your eyes are unclosed to see the black and folded town fast, and slow, asleep.

It's about 1.30 in the morning and I've just had a shower. I slept from about 8.30 last night until midnight. Too many things to think about. Pyjamas. Too many things I've probably forgotten. Walking socks.

I don't feel tired, I'm extremely excited. CD player. I thought ahead and decided I'd need a little wake-up just before I start driving, so I bought a Red Bull yesterday. I put it in the glove compartment, ready for the journey. Phone charger. It was quite warm yesterday, it needed cooling down. Nothing worse than warm Red Bull in the morning. £1 for the tunnel. In my haste, I put it in the freezer. So now I'm drinking freezing cold Red Bull. With lumps of frozen Bullness.

I don't know what to expect. My next door neighbour told me that Bratislava was not grand, or magnificent. Tooth brush! It was interesting, different and arouses much interest. Water bottle. On BBC Two last night was a programme about one of the national parks in Croatia. Padlock. A series of ponds, connected by waterfalls, creates a crystal-clear water haven. Great for walks. Maybe more walking socks? It's one of the few places you can see lynx. Do I have enough reading books?

I'm only going for sixteen days, it shouldn't be a problem. How much stuff do you really need? My bag feels heavy. Maybe the shampoo and conditioner is a bit much? Rachel will laugh at me. Becka's bringing a hair dryer, so I'm not the worst. Have I got enough plug adapters?

I feel prepared. Sun screen. I know where Stansted is and I know where we're parking. I know where we're going when we arrive. Sort of. I'll probably be quite tired. Why did they decide a 6.30 am flight was a sensible idea? It'll be fine, it's a city, with tourists. Not that many though... They don't speak very much English. How do you say "please take me to the main square" in Slovakian? That's elementary really, I don't even know what "hello" is.

This should be fun.