I awoke this morning to the sound of heavy rain beating relentlessly against my door, a thumping so urgent that I thought it might want to come in. Grappling in the dark for the light switch, I succeeded only in turning the extractor fan on in the bathroom, waking everybody in the house by turning the radio to full blast, and causing a sudden cry of dismay from next door where something had obviously happened that I am still unaware of. The only thing I didn't do was work out how to turn the light on. Through the curtains, which were flapping wildly against a window I had foolishly left ajar the previous night, I could make out the eerie shadows of branches as they reached out to knock-knock-knock on the window pane, the howl of the brewing storm whistling through the room as I pulled the bedclothes tightly around myself. Then, I realised that I was supposed to be writing a travel blog and not a ghost story, so I got up and opened the door to see what was going on.

No, I hadn't been dreaming, the clouds had actually opened up during the night and a small lake was falling from the sky. But this was fine, because I was British and more than used to a little rain, and it also meant that I could leave the sweat buckets in the apartment for a change. Washing quickly, I slipped on my jacket and headed off in the direction of the old city, dancing in the rain like a man possessed and startling anyone else foolish enough to be out at this time of the morning into leaping out of my way for fear of their life. After the heatwave of the previous day, I think it's fairly safe to say that I was happy with the prospect of getting a little wet.

Now, I'd like to make you aware of something at this point. If you ever get up and find it raining in this part of the world, and I mean this quite sincerely, this does not mean that it's a good idea to put on a jacket. All that will happen is that it will suddenly stop raining at some point and you'll spend the rest of the day both overheating and looking like a complete pillock to everyone around you in their tee-shirts and shorts. Take your jacket off, and you'll end up carrying around a heavy item of clothing which will weigh you down and wear you out even quicker. Just go out in the rain dressed for a summers day and wait for summer to arrive, that's my advice. Unless you catch hypothermia, of course, in which case you haven't seen me, alright?

On the way to the old city, I passed a number of people on one of those Segway tours that have started to pop up all over the planet recently. You know, those annoying self balancing motorised upright scooter things which we're told everybody is going crazy for at the moment - except that they're not. Seriously, have you ever seen anybody riding around on a Segway on their own? Have you ever heard of anybody buying a Segway, thinking about buying a Segway or asking for a Segway as a gift? No, you haven't - and there's a reason for that. The only people remotely interested in Segways are tourist companies who can pass them off to their clients as a modern way to see the city in order to save on having to hire a bus for the day. I reckon the Segway company must sell 99 percent of its stock to tour groups and the other 1 percent to nerdy nutters who display them on a pedestal in their museum of cool, next to their Sinclair C5 and Leyland P76 in "peel me a grape" purple. Anyway, as this group of Segway riders forced their way past me on the pavement - because Segways aren't even sophisticated enough to be allowed on the roads - I had no choice but to jump out of the way and get knocked down by a passing truck. For a moment, I seriously thought about letting them see the full force of my British fury by waving my fists at them meaningfully as they disappeared into the distance, but the guy at the back had just run into a tree so I was too busy laughing. We're funny like like - spill our drinks, and many of us appear to be only too happy to put someone in hospital, but actually try to kill us with a motor vehicle and all we can manage is a general waving of fists or a mumbled apology for getting in the way in the first place. There's a Segway tour coming to your town soon - warn your friends.

This afternoon, I took the cable car to the top of Srdj Hill - and don't even think about asking me to pronounce that - for exactly the same stock view of Dubrovnik old city you see everywhere in brochures and magazines, and on all the picture postcards offered for sale down below. The entrance is adjacent to the old city itself, and now sports a brand new sleek modern terminal after the original cable car was destroyed during the war - although hopefully not while anybody was on it. On the way in, I was accosted by a gentleman who turned out to have the privilege of being perhaps the one and only cable car tout in the world. He could, he assured me, take me to the top himself for a much better price and would even throw in a free history lesson when we got up there. I found this quite surreal - assuming that you've gone to all the trouble of seeking out the cable car in order to enjoy the magnificent views as it ascends the side of the hill, why would you then decide to abandon this plan in favour of a ride to the top in the back of some bloke's van instead? Also, why is it always possible to buy a one way ticket on a cable car? That one's always stumped me. Why would you not want to come back? Are these people hoping that if they hang around at the top until closing time then the management will just be forced to bring them back anyway? The mind boggles.

The view, for the measly return price of around 8 Kuna, is everything you could possibly hope it would be. Once you leave the cable car station at the top, you'll find numerous indoor and outdoor restaurants looking out over the medieval walled city below, as well as a souvenir shop waiting to separate you from whatever cash you might have left. Every expense has been spent to ensure that you can look out over Dubrovnik from three different levels, because clearly the view is going to be so tremendously different if you go up another ten feet. In reality, the view is extraordinary from wherever you stand, and certainly something to be experienced before leaving town - and just in case you're one of those people who can't leave your gadgets alone for five minutes, someone has even thought to install free Wifi. Back in the UK, it's hard to find anywhere outside of a Starbucks Coffee Shop which actually lets you use their Wifi without paying through the nose - here in Dubrovnik, they clearly believe it to be an absolute necessity that you can check your e-mail while riding the cable car. Now that's what you call customer service.

When I arrived back at the apartment this evening, I was more than a little surprised to find the large metal double doors which led to my courtyard closed and bolted. On either side, a number of featureless black doors led off up the street but none were numbered and there was no way to know which, if any, were anything to do with my apartment. Nevertheless, I walked up and down the street several times, knocking randomly on doors in the hope that somebody would answer. I tried to ring the number on the business card that my hosts had given me, but it was one of those ridiculously complex international numbers where you only dial the first zero if it's followed by a two but only when the number has less than seven digits and it's a wednesday afternoon in June. I reckon I must've sat on the step opposite the bolted metal doors trying every combination of numbers possible until my iPhone battery was all but exhausted. In the end, I pressed myself up against the door in an attempt to connect to the apartment Wifi so that I could send an email asking them to let me in - and as I did so, I noticed movement inside. It was Elena, Nina's niece, peering out from her private apartment. Quickly, I began hammering on the door again like a man possessed, and she came over to let me in and see what all the fuss was about. She then showed me, much to my embarrassment, that one of the featureless metal doors a little way down the street had been unlocked all the time and that I could've got in that way - but for some reason, I hadn't thought to go trying all the doors in the street in case one of them was unlocked. I'm funny like that.

I might have ended the day feeling a little stupid, but Elena was certainly nothing if not apologetic and understanding - at least to my face. I expect they'll all be telling anecdotes for years about the stupid English guy who couldn't even open the front door. She apologised for taking so long to respond to my frantic knocking but explained that she had been in the shower. She then mentioned, as an afterthought, that she would be happy to let me in anytime I wanted. Unfortunately, what with her being a supermodel and everything, I don't think she meant the shower.

About Simon and Burfords Travels:

Simon Burford is a UK based travel writer. He will be re-publishing his travel blogs, chapters from his books and other miscellaneous rantings on these pages over the coming weeks and months, and the entry on this page may not necessarily reflect todays date.