"Bulls Man?" - "Maybe".

The train journey from Budapest to Zagreb was relatively uneventful.

We arrived in Zagreb at 9ish in the evening, looking for the elusively entitled 'Fulir Hostel'. In Zagreb. Our arduous quest to find the hostel was notable for the many crowds of Croats blocking our path; the majority sporting the national flag and camouflage pantaloons. Turned out that there was a big old gig on, with the square housing a stage with the Nationalist band 'Thompson' performing. Loudly and colourfully. We were treated to a laser show and lots of smoke. And dirty looks from xenophobes.

Still hadn't found the chuffing hostel though. I was in charge - which may have been the reason for our lack of accomplishment - so I asked a lady if she knew where it was. She had a vague idea and sent us up a massive flight of steps past loads of boozing youths. It was not, it turned out, at the top of the hill we had just climbed. With our bags. Bitch. Found it about four minutes later though, so don't worry.

Fulir is wicked. Voted the best hostel in Zagreb, run by two fellas who love a vodka and a laugh. Our first beer was free so we joined them for a game of poker. Seven man game, 10 kunas each to play. Sure. It transpired that the hostel man was an intimidating poker player, constantly re-raising before the flop. He ended up with the chip majority after about 3 hands and we began to get cold feet. He, however, kept getting drunker and drunker. Eventually he blew it and Monty won. Yay.

We walked to a street choc-a-block (sp?) with bars, and went in one. For a drink. Walshe got chatting to a cute blonde who thought we were medics and her and her mate took us to a cool rock club. There was a coat rack. I found that amusing. The drinks were cheap and the music was good, as was the company. Unfortunately a gentleman fell over and headbutted me on his way down, leaving me with an undeservedly cool shiner. It's gone now. Doug manged to have himself another chicken scratch scrum with a French boxer who had lost both his mobile phone and wallet. Doug lost.

The girls took us to a student food hall the next day where we ate a hearty meal for the princely sum of 50p. It was rank like, but fucking cheap. We then decided a beer or two would take the edge off the hangover so they took us to a very cheap cafe bar. The chat got stale - Walshe asked them what their favourite colour was - and they left us to lash. After many frames of pool we found ourselves very drunk and in need of a lie down. Or a night out. Back at the hostel we chatted to some sexy French-Canadians, a bunch of Turks and an American anthropologist. And drank more. The lads ended up going out with the girls and the Yank but I stayed in with the Turks. I was in bed by about 11, and rightly so.

The lads and ladies get back and Walshe and Monty are mad keen on the girls. It is so dark that you couldn't see your hand in front of your face. Or who's bed you were getting into. Or who you were kissing. After the initial mix-up, Monty went to bed and Walshe took Sophie - for that was her name - out onto the balcony. After some romantic kissing and stuff she gazed into Walskadong's eyes and uttered these immortal words...

"Doug, do you think there is still love in this world?"

He, obviously, provided the affirmative response she was looking for and they continued to pash. Eventually everyone went to bed, leaving me to make eye contact with a girl and vomit on Monty's bag. She suggested I might be better off in the bathroom, but I begged to differ. Don't worry Mum. I cleaned it up the following morning. But, sorry.

The next day we went to a lake with the girls. Well, we both went but they decided to get a different tram and not wait there for us. Last night's indiscretions maybe a little uncomfortable for them, sure. Walshe and I plunged into the icy water in our boxers. Monty pussied out. After a nap and a lot of stone skipping we returned to the hostel and had a lie down. The girls came back, apologised, and proceeded to marvel at our complex knowledge of the French vocabulary. And Monty bought a banana off the fitter one. The American gent persuaded us to have a beer with him on the balcony and then we were joined by a chronically hungover, sunburned Australian nurse. We had a dark ale in the pub and then went to bed.

Check out was at 11am but our bus to Dubrovnik did not leave untill 11.55pm. Drat. We grabbed our bus ticket, leaving our bags at the hostel, and then went to find a cinema. 'Angels and Demons'. A lot of running around and quite predictable, but way better than the first one. Walshe bought a watch. Back at the hostel we watched an hour long documentary about a bridge, which included a South Korean nerd talking in South Korean, with no subtitles. The bridge wasn't even finished at the end of the show. Thrilling.

Then we took a 9 and a half hour bus to Dubrovnik...