Croatia

Kathleen here: Our return to the sea! The city of Split appeared before us, stretching back from the coast, after rounding yet another mountainous curve. In the magic of Balkan buses, we had departed Travnik close to an hour late and were somehow back on schedule despite having to stop for two border crossings. We were fortunate once again to have Marko’s extended family hosting us. After a quick change of buses, we were soon greeted by his mother’s cousin Sanja and welcomed into her apartment. She helped us get our bearings in the new city as we walked her to the ferry terminal with the intention of resting our weary legs on the return bus ride. Unfortunately, the machine dispensing bus passes that had worked a few hours before was now no longer. With only large bills in Marko’s very fashionable money belt and buses running every 20 minutes, we opted to walk the 30 minutes back. The remainder of the night was dedicated to sleep with promises of the beach in the morning.

The next day, we wandered along Split’s many popular beaches, stopping periodically for swims and breaks in the shade. Neither of us were amazed by the beaches, muddy and flanked by concrete. We retreated to Sanja’s apartment when we couldn’t bear the heat and crowds any longer and inevitably overslept in the welcomed AC. We woke with just enough time to get ready for our walking tour of Split’s Old City and the maze-like Diocletian’s Palace. We learned about the area’s tumultuous ancient past and of Diocletian’s near obsession with cabbage while wandering what used to be his private quarters. You could say our tour guide was worth his salt, and in doing so, you would be referencing the fact that in Diocletian’s time, salt was so valuable, it often comprised someone’s SAL-ary…get it???

After the tour, we walked the promenade and shared a falafel wrap while sitting outside Diocletian’s dining room. Pure coincidence as we only chose the spot for its proximity to porta-potties.

Months prior to the trip, I had persuaded Marko to rearrange our itinerary to squeeze in a stop in Split. My sole goal being to attend an event in the city’s Summer Festival. Except the schedule and tickets for July were only released in July, so we embarked on our journey without a definitive plan. Luckily, a LADO performance, featuring Croatian folk singers and musicians, was to be held in the main square of Diocletian’s Palace the second day of our stay. Our back-row, budget seats offered such a spectacular view that I spent half the show looking toward the stage and the other half staring in amazement at the surroundings.

Desiring a more secluded beach, Marko maps out a scenic 2-hour hike up Marjan Hill to scope out unofficial coves. He assures me the best beaches are worth such effort. I’m in no way denying his claim, but this particular circuitous trek ended 20 feet from a bus stop. After some trial and error descending the steep coastline followed by unexpected rock scrambles, we eat our now warm sandwiches in a cove shared by four naked men and enjoy the rocky alcove until the tide and sun usher us out. Surprisingly, we hail a train instead of a bus to return to the promenade for a mandatory ice cream stop and walk through the Old City. Later, we relish in cooking our first proper dinner of the trip- mushroom carbonara paired with a mixed salad.

Another day, another bus ride. This time, we are headed outside of Split to Krka National Park. Initially, I had visions of swimming in emerald pools in view of the imposing waterfalls and lounging among the lush greenery. The internet is misleading, though, and the day before, I realized regulations had changed to restrict swimming to only a more remote part of the park. The scenery and water were temptingly beautiful nearly to a point of cruelty. After walking the loop around the waterfalls, Marko and I settled for dipping our feet in a stream and swimming at the beach outside the park to cool off. We understood the need to restrict swimming to maintain the health of the park’s ecosystem, but ultimately, felt the 40 euro per person price of admission wasn’t worth the crowded boardwalks.

The next morning, we board a ferry to the nearby island of Solta to visit Sanja where she spends most of her time. And by the end of the day, we knew why she only leaves her personal paradise for Split for occasional hair or dental appointments. Her house, nestled in the small coastal village of Maslinica, has ocean views and just enough land to grow some produce. We snacked on sun-warmed grapes from her vines before making the short walk to the heart of the village where visiting boats bobbed steps away from quaint storefronts. On the way back to her home, Sanja showed us her favorite spot for swimming so that we could enjoy the picturesque bay while she cooked lunch. Marko and I wasted no time changing into our bathing suits and swimming against the choppy waves.

Sanja treated us to a spread of food and drinks almost completely caught, picked, or produced on her husband’s familial land on Hvar. From local fish to boiled potatoes and cherry liquor, we ate and drank well before having to head back to the ferry port to catch the last boat back to Split. After a much-needed Red Bull to rouse me from my afternoon beach stupor, Marko and I headed out to enjoy some of Split’s nightlife. Our attempt was short-lived after an hour of being constantly jostled by British teenagers on a dance floor far too crowded to allow for dancing. We debate trying the techno club underneath before seeing groups enter and exit within minutes and finally resign ourselves to the long walk back to the apartment.

We happily sleep in on our final full day in Split and wash two loads of laundry before venturing into the Old City. Our only aim being to find Christmas ornaments for my mom.

Marko now: A little over a month of traveling and we are on our way to receive our first visitors from the US, my family! Okay maybe they were actually doing their own vacation to Rovinj and Slovenia that we happen to be crashing, but potato potato (that doesn’t work too well in written form).

After a fourteen hour bus ride to cover a distance one could drive in four we arrive. There’s not much fan fare on our end, long bus rides can cause squabbles and the Asian Mediterranean fusion dinner did not help. After a long walk from the station we arrive at the airbnb. It’s a nice townhouse in a quiet neighborhood and we’re ready to sleep.

I sleep in while the rest get up early and go to the market, masochists. About midday we have more arrivals. My dad’s godsons from California arrive Dusan and Aleksa (yes in Serbian Aleksa is a boy name). Somehow their plane has arrived with only 3 suitcases for a full flight of people; so I lend Aleksa my spare bathing suit and off we go to the beach.

After the beach awaits a thrill. At this point I’ve not driven a car in over a month, so when we pick up our rental car it’s a bit nerve wracking at first to know I’ll be operating a nearly brand new Peugeot with only a few thousand miles on it. Nor does it help that quite a few features differ from my 2011 Honda Pilot. Nonetheless, I carefully navigate my way back to home base where Kathleen and I whip up two big pots of pasta carbonara, it’s a hit (according to my mom, my sister might disagree).

The next day and we venture to the beach again. Being creatures of habit my family has a favorite stretch of coast. A set of rocky coves in the park with a small reggae bar nearby. The water is a perfect turquoise blue, pine trees shade right up to the waters edge, and there’s no urchins to be afraid of. But do watch out for the nudists or don’t who really cares. So we swim, drink and tan. After swimming, drinking and tanning we pack up to go dining. A seafood dinner set in what locals claim to be a fjord. Curious as Kotor claims to be the only fjord on the Adriatic as per my earlier post. The main attraction of dinner is a massive sea bass that is first brought to the table raw to whet our appetites. Over 2 kilos of some of the freshest fish I’ve ever had made simply on the grill, delicious. Full and sunburnt we get home and knock out.

Wisely I opt out of the beach the next morning, the sunburn doesn’t need more fuel. I stay in and study which turns out actually pretty enjoyable as a change of pace. That afternoon though it’s back to the sun. We walk into Rovinj’s historic old town with colorful houses packed like sardines in tins. It’s an interesting parallel to the sprawling fish cannery nearby, one of the few vestiges of non tourism related business remaining.

There we catch a ferry to St Katerina Island. It’s a resort island with a hotel, some beaches, and a cliff diving spot my sister and her friends love. I opt out of the cliff diving but my dad pays the price of taking the plunge. It’s not so much the leap as the exit where jagged rocks and waves make retreating a painful affair. Kathleen and I choose instead to take a loop of the island admiring the pine forests, nesting gulls, and views of the hilltop Church of St Eufemija with is red titled roof and bell tower standing tall over the town below. Not wanting to miss all the action though we jump in on a match of volleyball with family friends we met on the island. Kathleen’s vastly improved from her performance after the wedding, maybe she practices her sets while I sleep.

Inspired from the views below we return to town and ascend the church’s hill in time for sunset. The best of our trip so far. The sun casts a beautiful orange glow on the town while the sea shimmers, silver and gold. I snap a picture for my mom who’s cooking dinner, she thinks it’s great but my sister hates it, I’m not sure why.

Seeing we only scratched the surface of the town the night before we come back in the morning. The market is open so Kathleen buys some peaches, knowing full well I’m allergic to them. We explore the old towns cobblestone alley ways with linens hung out to dry between brightly painted homes. Feeling the joy around her Kathleen warmly greets a man passing by the in the Croatian language. Immediately I start cracking up as she had not noticed that this benevolent soul she just greeted was in fact walking around with a shirt sporting a swastika on its front. I point it out to her and she is mortified.

Back home we quickly change and join my parents for a day fitting of the bourgeois. One vineyard Kabola is famous for its ancient practices, wine fermented in clay pots buried in the soil. The other Kozlović is an ultra modern affair, preferring stainless steel vats as they preserve the freshness and don’t meddle with the flavor. To soak it all up is an incredible restaurant with a rather unappetizing name, Stari Podrum or old basement. We eat two versions of local soup, followed by beef fillet and garganelli each garnished with local black truffles.

Despite the already abundant and opulent activities the day is not over. Driving another hour south of Rovinj we reach Pula perhaps the most historically significant city on the Istrian peninsula. As a matter of fact we have come to admire that history in one of the largest and best preserved Roman coliseums remaining. By coincidence there also happens to be a Duran Duran concert inside that night. We peer in from outside the gates pomdering what a strange history this place has had, from gladiator death matches to pop rock concerts.

The last day we get up and go to, you guessed it the beach with reggae bar. This has really begun to feel like Groundhog Day to me but everyone else seems to be loving it. Maybe I’m the only one who realizes the loop we’re stuck in. At least today we get a slight variation of events when Kathleen and I are left alone at the beach for several hours. Making the most of the situation we do as the locals (really mostly Germans) do and find a secluded cove for a skinny dip. There’s only a few other couples in sight also tanning nude so we say to hell with it and strip down. While enjoying diving down to the depths unencumbered, at one point I estimate even to 30 feet, another couple has come to our cove.  This duo for some odd reason decide to string their hammock not three feet from our set up, who does that! After some awkward greetings exchanged we do our best to avoid glancing at one another’s derriere.

That evening we join my parent’s friends yet again this time for dinner. Kathleen and I decide for surf and turf Istrian style, she gets goulash and I get prawns. At the end of the meal Milan, my dad’s friend, points out how generous it was of me to crack and peel all the prawns so Kathleens hand stayed clean. Thank goodness someone realizes all that I do.

We make one last Croatian pit stop on our way out, Grožnjan. An inland hilltop town that a few years ago was abandoned and now commands the same prices as its costal sister towns. So what gives? Well in the interim it became an artist colony. Artists were given properties for nominal prices, as long as they set up shops and spent the tourist seasons there selling their wares. It seems to have worked as the centers’ pedestrian roads are lined with jewelers, painters, sculptors and the likes. During a pit stop a few days prior what had started as an attempt to buy a porcelain fish, ended with a shopkeep offering Kathleen and my mom bespoke jewlery he made in front of us at no extra charge. We’ve returned though as Kathleen’s eye had been drawn to another necklace a mesh and glass beaded braid. Unfortunately the shop had closed the prior visit so we came back to collect her bounty.