This morning dawns a bit overcast but it hasn't deterred the birdsong wich has been a feature of this trip so far and when we leave at 10:00 it is already 28C.

We retrace our route from last Wenesday, but it looks less spectacular in the cloud and haze, and head down the gravel road into Trpanj to catch the 11:30 ferry back to Ploce. On arrival we disembark and drive a few hundred yards to Lidl. After shopping we go round the corner to the little grass carpark for lunch then set out to drive up the D8 coast road. Again, the first part as far as Zaostrog is familiar, and the route gets even prettier beyond with tiny peach-coloured towns spilling down to tiny beaches.

We arrive at Makaraska and get pitched up at this new [still being developed] site.

It's Grete's birthday so we are going into town for dinner, so they go on the bike to recce, and return to tell us our best route in.

We descend the steep road from the camp towards the sea where we are guided, pushed and dragged by workmen over and around the trench they have dug. All along the beach front is a tile promenade flanked with beach-gear and souvenir stalls or bars and restaurants, one of which is called BumBar. The beach is partly shaded by mature sand pines, some of which grow through the middle of some restaurants. Half way along a concrete ramp leads down to a hoist chair allowing wheelchair users to get into the sea. Nick names it the Dip-a-Crip Station.

We meet N+G near the old harbour where the old town nestles under a huge escarpment whit its top enveloped in cloud. Along the harbour there are old fishing boats converted into restaurants and touts for pleasure-boat and submarine rides.

We select a restaurant with tables right on the quayside and enjoy a lovely meal served by a very friendly waiter. We order seafood cocktails and grilled meat dishes. While we wait a plate of canapes arrives; toast with garlic butter and tomatoes. It is wonderful sitting out on a warm evening, enjoying good food and wine, watching this beautiful little town light up and cast reflections across the water. Ali has a word with the waiter about Grete's birthday, and after our meal he brings out a panacotta with a huge sparkler fizzing away. When we ask for the bill we are given what appears to be the normal on-the-house drink, this time a chilled pear liqueur.

We wander back through the arcade, restaurants now buzzing with diners and the stall still brightly lit. The trench has been filled as promised and we return to the vans just as there is a light, cooling shower.

We are all too full and tired for a night-cap so go to bed.