Classic Pula, Day 2. Part 1

Evening gents

4 hours sleep down, and we're up. Wayne and I head down for breakfast. Sit the seats, only to be told we've missed it by 45 minutes as are clocks are still on English time. Good work. Getting back up stairs, I hear some groans coming from Jack and Danny's room. What the hell is going in there? Upon walking in, I am politely informed by Jack that the hotel receptionist was looking for me, and she sounded urgent. I head back into my room and see a sealed envelope on the floor with the words Mr. Hunter written on the front. I start to open it. What can it be? I wasn't expecting any post!

The letter read like this:

Pula Poljski Statičan

Trščanska
52100
Pula
Croatia
Phone: +385 52 538 739 ‎
1 April 2011
Mr Hunter,
Since arrival your yesterday at Pula we have tracked you due to suspicious historic movement on your Passport. Recent visits with France and United States America raise suspicions ours at Passport control.
We had security team follow yesterday you to check you legitimate tourist. I can confirm we happy with this now, and my sincere apologies if this caused you inconvenience.
However, my security team were less than impressed with your behaviour and believe you ridiculed and ashamed our local history and culture. Your behaviour has been unacceptable and you have contravened Regulation 200151 of Zakon o Krivičnom Postupku  2001 (Criminal Procedure Act) on at least 3 occasions. I would like discuss this in person with you to prevent further misdemeanours or criminal proceedings taking place.
Please could you attend the Police Station at the address above at 11.30am this morning, I will ensure your accommodation makes sure this letter reaches you.
Failure to attend will result in serious consequences and your details will be passed onto Passport and Immigration control.
I hope to see you on Friday
Hvala vam

Danijel Ferić

Poljski Direktor, Pula

FUCK!!!!!!!! What the hell had I done the night before? My mind goes into overdrive. How am I going to get out of this one? I've over done it. We won't be able to wear our all in ones. How much will I have to pay out? Do Croatian police accept bribes?

I get the boys up to have a look. No one is pissing themselves laughing, so it must be genuine. My friends aren't that organised, we couldn't organise a hotel for ourselves, let alone an elaborate prank. I ask the hotel receptionist where this place is, and points me in the direction but reccomends a taxi if I need to be there by 11:30. Fuck. It's 11:20. We run to the taxi stand and jump in. He takes us to the address. This doesn't look like a police station, but there is a big gate, maybe it's through there. I'm really panicing as it's 11:30. The boys can't control it any longer and burst out laughing. I re read the date on the letter. 1^st of April. I should have know. Jack has got me good. He has been planning this for weeks and got input from the other boys like Jeff, Kelly and Smokey. #goodeggs.

Utter relief was how I'd describe the wave of emotion that came over me. Thank God. For a while I honestly fell for it. I bet any money that as you read that, you thought “what a prick, who'd fall for that?” A hungover Peter Hunter without a clue what he did the night before. That's who.

We make our way back towards the town, and pop into the Colosseum. It's the 6^th largest from the Roman empire and is a sight to behold. Do we buy the audio guide? No. We play 5s. Two losers wrestle. Wayne and I lose, and Jack and Danny head for the stands. Jack calls out the challenger-Wayne. Wayne nonchallently walks into the centre. Jack the calls for the peoples champion. Peter Hunter. I run out, pointing at my flexed bicep. Wayne picks me up and slams me into a rock. Ouch. Not great for my herniated disc. Not to be out down, I start performing to the crowd, and tried out some footwork. I dance around, the people's champ. A crowd of school children has gathered to watch the showdown. I clap my hands above my head to encourage their support. About 30 Coratian school children are clapping along with me as Wayne picks me up again and slams me to the floor. We have a winner, and it's not me.

Enough fucking about. It's mid day, time to get a drink. We head down the street via a bakery who gives us free food, charming. Head into a bar, a honey for a waitress. We start the day off with 4 jaegers on ice, with lemon. If you've never tried this, try it. You won't be disappointed. A couple beers each, and Jack is getting going. He's winking at the honey waitress, and wonders over to pay the bill. He pays, gets the bill, flips it over and writes his number on it. He asks her where she is heading tonight, and gets the details. Thinking he was the big man, Jack has failed to see that she was actually snogging her boyfriend 10 minutes before, and she has literally taken his number and thrown it in the bin. She knows where we are going now, so she will definitely avoid it. Classic Jack.

We head on. Jack and Wayne still have Mohawks to get. This is where the new ink on my leg is going to pay off. When I am texting all our mates telling them what ridiculous haircuts they are getting. And ridiculous they are. Wayne is particularly annoyed by this, since he values his hair fairly highly. Jack on the other hand, already has a shit lid, so it doesn't matter so much. Until she gets it wrong and shaves all of the back of his hair, leaving just a tuft on top. My point to him was this: your lid is now so shit, you may aswell just go for the Lomu approach. He toyed with the idea, but resinged himself to a shit tuft on top. Absolutely ridiculous.

We get to a lovely little square in the centre of town. This is going to be the setting for the afternoon, soaked in sunshine, it is actually very nice. We do our best to ruin the scene. We chose a seat to maximise sunshine. We've picked a bar where a wedding reception is taking place, and have got some beers in. The bride steps out looking glamorous. Only one thing to do really: someone has to make a speech. 5s. Jack loses. Clinks his glass, nods at the bride, and opens with: “I haven't known the bride and groom long, but just looking at them, I can tell they will be happy”. He winks at the bride as she walks off.

Not wanting to be outdone, Danny steps up to the plate and makes a speech, involving as many of the local characters as possible, waving and winking at each one as he tells of their tirals and tribulations, giving them all nicknames. They all look at him funny, but none say anything. Our waiter, Andreas, is loving us. Probably because we have already racked up a £100 tab and it's 2:30. Time for shots? Yes. Some rank honey shots, cheers Andreas. A few mores beers and we're steaming. Jack reckons he can do 100 push ups in a row. He gets down, to start off, and we soon realise he doesn't actually know how to do a push up. Pathetic. As a punishment, we force him to strip to his boxers, they are pink and black striped. He is about to do a dash from one end of the square to the town hall at the other and back again. He's off. Jack, running through the town square at 3pm in his boxers is one of the best things I've seen this weekend, people are pointing and laughing as he parades himself about as camp as this guy.

The fun doesn't stop there. We look at the pack of cigarettes that I've just bought, and only one thing comes to mind: a smoke off. How fast can one actually smoke a cigarette? Given none of smoke, what will be the reaction to the nicotine hit? Will this be fun? Well, reader, all three questions answered below. My idea, so I get to set the pace. A respectable 1 minute 49 seconds. I'm high off the nicotine, but I feel fine, I'm giggling. Up steps Jack. Now the fun starts for me. Firstly, he takes 20seconds to get started. First drag:poor. 1 minute passes, he's coughing and spluttering everywhere. He can't smoke. Let alone smoke quickly. He decides to take the no hand approach, and puffs on it. He's speeding up, but my time has already passed. All of a sudden, the cigarette falls from his mouth and down his shirt, he jumps up in agony from the cigarette burn. He clearly doesn't want to finish it, but he isn't getting off that lightly. We make him finish it, and to his credit, he does, in a time approaching 3 minutes. Poor technique. Danny's go, and he's put in a respectable effort, just shy of breaking the two minute barrier. I'm winning, one to go, and he can't smoke for shit, I can taste victory behind the smokey flavour. Up steps Wayne. Lighting time: good. Probably on a par with me. What happens next is amazing. He ploughs through it, taking in huge drag after huge drag. Some quality smoking. He's finished, it's over, Wayne has won in a time of 1:15. Incredible (although to be surpased by Danny back in London). Wayne, clearly proud of himself has hit the deck. His 6'5 giant body can't take all that nicotine. He's withering on the floor in pain, whilst the 3 of us wet ourselves laughing at his pain. He doesn't get up for a good 5 minutes, whilst the cold sweats pass. Classic smoking.

A game of 5s is next of the itinery of things to do in Pula. The two losers have to hold hands for an hour. Wayne and I lose and sit there in the sun holding hands, Croatians find this behaviour weird, but we get on with 3 more beers and 2 more shots. We actually have a very senisble conversation about our jobs, our thoughts about our future and philosophy. Meanwhile, Danny has turned to me and said: “mate, I'm so pissed. I have no idea where I am” Classic Danny Fingers! An hour's up and it's 5 pm. I like, very much, to do something called floor swimming. This is where you lie on the floor and pretend to swim. This obviously means you have to get down there initially. How do you do these? A good swan dive. Only in Pula, we do this from a chair, onto concrete. Jack decides to give it a go first. He's landed on his feet! This isn't how you swim! I'm so angry at him, I thought he was better than that. I get onto a chair. Andreas is shouting at me telling me not to do it. A semi crowd has gathered. I need to nail this swan dive. I dive up, and crash to the floor, mainly on my body and hands. My thumb has swollen up, I think it's broken. Oh well, I showed Jack, I win.

An English lad has just sat down behind us to enjoy a quiet drink before he heads out on a date. We get him over, to give him a few “tips”. These mainly revolve around the word r.a.p.e, as we figure this is the best way for him to get laid. Jack and I sit and chat shit to him for another half an hour, whilst Wayne and Danny have crossed the square to get dinner. Jack and I head over.

What happens next in this story, is epic. I understand I have gone on for a while here, so you will have to wait for the next installment of the Croatia story. It's good. Trust me.

Happy hunting

Peter.