My hostel - the only hostel in Zadar - was in Puntamika. Puntamika was described as a bus ride away from Zadar. I'm ignoring the fact that you would need to carry your backpack, but I could've walked there. But it was only 8 kunas ($2 AUD), so stress levels weren't totally going crazy.

This trip to Zadar was purely to get a cheaper flight to London Stansted, and from there, Belfast. I had no intention of checking the town out, mainly because I lacked - yet again - any knowledge of the place, other than the musical chimes that play according to the waves crashing. And that fancy highlight could be heard from my hostel window.

My hostel, however, was the interesting part of my arrival. The reception building was straight to the left as you walked past the open steel gates. To the table, the first thing that popped into my head was 'Dolly Parton'. The reason for this, as I quickly realized, is due to 'Jolene' being played quite loudly on the stereo, to a head-bopping receptionist.

"Dobar dan," he says, then looks for a second, and continues with "Hallo". I "hallo" back, and tell him of my reservation. He scurries into his logbook, and I scan the room. The keys to the rooms - or should I say key to the room - were one per dorm, meaning the last person to leave locks the room up. I started thinking how annoying it could be if my clumsy roommates forgot to give the key back to the receptionist.

Next to that cupboard were many signs and paraphernalia of Muslim-relation hanging from the wall. "This is voucher for breakfast, is from eight to nine," the receptionist broke my daze."Is there a kitchen?" I asked. I had about a kilo of rice left from 'Split' and wanted to cook it up for dinner."Yes, you buy tokens here for lunch and dinner," he replied."You can't cook your-""No."

Yikes, I thought. This is pretty this-that-and-nothing-else of a place. I grabbed my single key to the room. "There is somebody else in your room," he said as I walked out. There was no one person, but one bag. And not a big backpack like the one strapped to me so tight my pecs highlight, but a school-sized backpack. Was this guy really travelling with one bag? It could just be a weekend vacation, and the person packs light, like me. Well, only when I'm travelling for a couple of days, not months.

I couldn't sit in the dimly lit room for long, because not only was it a miserable moment sitting in a room - by yourself - in a foreign country, but it was sunny outside and I was a little hungry.

Outside of the hostel is the yachts' home - a small area for docking your boat/s - and a pebblestone beach alongside it. I wanted to save the beach for the upcoming sunset, so I went down the road. Past the small supermarket is the primary/high school, lock stock full of kids hanging outside, smoking their cigarettes. It just looks dirty when you see an 11-year-old puffing on a death stick. It's not going to help your pimples, ol' boy.

Further down, more cafes and restaurants, leading on to a residential area. I turn around and realize that sunset has already done so, past the peak of the mountain and hiding contently from eager on-lookers. But that wasn't worrying me. My stomach was singing its all-time favourite 'Grumblegrumble', and I was sick of hearing it over and over. But the day my stomach sings something else, it could be a more severe outcome. That, or that egg and cheese sandwich you saw a dollar off in the vending machine could be getting you just as cheap.

My little supermarket around the corner had plenty enough to eat if you were able to reach a kitchen, but with my scenario, I needed something quick, and already-to-eat. A bag of bread rolls would suffice, but I had a hankering for something like butter.

I didn't check the dairy section - as one would looking for butter - but the spreads section. There were jams, Nutella, and at the bottom were little packets of Nutella rip-offs and what appeared to be butter packets. I scooped a Hazelnutty packet and three of the 'Pad's and went to the till, saying my greeting and appreciation in what I'll assume is still incomprehensive.

Along the smooth rock beach were smaller pebbles making a pathway along the coast. Benches made their appearance every ten metres or so, and I sat nicely in the middle of the nine available. I opened my packet of Nuttelly or whatever the smiling nut liked to be called by his friends, and dipped in.

With a tug to rip the slightly tough bread, I recognized the taste of what I was eating. It wasn't Nuttella, but the Milky Way spread you can get. The kind that gets sickening after your third or fourth bite. After my fourth bite, I felt assured my judgement on those kinds of spreads was indeed accurate, and I put the metallic peeling of the friendly nut back on the top.

The butter, I assumed, would be the perfect way to fix the slight tummy ache Nutmeister gave me. The packet was golden, with red writing and Croatian ingredient listings. I peeled the lid back to find not butter, but a transparent golden-

So I bought three packets of honey. If I had a sore throat, this would be the most convenient remedy I accidentally bought. Unfortunately, my vocals were good enough for SingStar, and I wasn't in the mood for honey. Hey, nothing wrong with plain bread, I said to myself.

Alas! The apples! I bought two of them as well. Here's my saviour, my one and only fruit that makes me sigh with relief of flavour and satisfaction. It started out okay, but as I progressed the green and red apple was starting to make my stomach sing a different tune: "Oww...".

I can be so stubborn sometimes. But I can also be resourceful. Resourceful in the sense that I went back to the shops after throwing Hazelnutster out, got a couple packets of butter - in the 'Dairy' section - and ate my bread with it.

Hey, I'm not paying 30 kunas ($7.50 AUD) for 'pasta' the kitchen was cooking. Not letting me use the kitchen is a foolish move, Youth Hostel Zadar.

Oh right, the beach. I hope I didn't distract you from the view I was painting of the slight crashing of the waves against the collection of round rocks sharing space, or the warm glow of the lights as they slowly turn on to brighten the town along the edge of the coast. Or even the fisherman floating in his tugboat, with faint sounds I thought I could hear of "Heh heh hoo, woo...".

Sitting in the slowly fading darkness of a town I never wanted to go to, I thought of how pretty my Puntamika beach was. Yes, it was mine. Nevermind whoever owned the land behind me, or the fishermen. No one was where I was, and that's all that matters right now.