A Croatian moment

Driving back from Bosnia with all our wordly belongings stuffed into the back of a little Renault Clio, Dave and I had a moment that will always be remembered. It was April, but still cold. We'd been camping all the way along the coast of Croatia, and had been rained on. We were broke too - the previous night in a campsite across the water from Korcula, we'd put the tent up in a howling gale and Dave had insisted upon cooking dinner on the campstove. I'd been up for a local pizza, but beans and sausages it was. The next morning everything was wet. Everything. Tent. Sleeping bags, clothes. The food was starting to smell damp. It was cold. It was chucking it down with rain.

About 10.30 I ventured that I would quite like a coffee please. Dave concurred and turned right. I was impressed. The man knew where a coffee place was. It wasn't looking promising, the Croatian inland was looking pretty bombed out and not like there would be a suitably marvellous coffee place, with sofas, fresh coffee, papers. You know the kind of place I was thinking of. But he had confidence so I believed.

Oh, foolish girl. We pulled over beside a wall and Dave leapt out with his trusty calor gas stove. He even had a windbreak out to ensure the flame didn't go out. The water boiled and a cup of instant coffee (with powdered milk for good measure) appeared, along with the sun. There was really only one song that could be the soundtrack for that moment, the maxwell house coffee advert from the 1980s sometime: I can see clearly now the rain has gone. We sang it the whole of the rest of the way from Croatia to Calais. I had to laugh, there was no other option. As Dave said, you'll remember this coffee for much longer than a capuccino in another Croatian cafe.

Married the man for a reason. His addiction to the windbreak for his calor gas stove.