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| Dubrovnik |
The Adriatic coastline of southern Croatia is truly sublime. Karst
limestone cliffs, topped with green deciduous forest, lapped by gin clear
waters which turn a translucent shade of turquoise in the bright summer
sunshine make for an idyllic landscape. The old Venetian-style architecture of
its towns, characterised by pale-cream coloured classic Renaissance stone
buildings, topped with terracotta roof tiles perfectly complements the natural
beauty. To my mind, there is no urban and natural landscape more perfectly
allied for its climate than that of the Mediterranean. If I lived here my eyes
would never tire of looking on such scenes. If Illyria is the setting for the
dream-world of star-crossed lovers in Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night, then, without any shade of doubt, this coastline is
music to my enamoured eyes.
In the summer of 2016, I travelled south by boat down the Dalmatian
coast from Split, by way of the various little islands dotted along its course,
to the walled city of Dubrovnik. Making a small detour inland, crossing the
border into Bosnia-Herzegovina, to visit the town of Mostar. I’ve travelled to
Greece and Italy before, but despite its ancient connections to both Greece and
Rome, and its later links to the former City State of Venice, Croatia is very
much its own distinct cultural entity. As a region bridging the divide between
Mitteleuropa, the rest of the European continent, and the Orthodox and Islamic
regions to the East, the Slavic lands of the Balkans have weathered the
cultural and political tides which have swept back and forth over it for
centuries. Such changes have frequently been dramatic, the recent civil war
when the Federation of Yugoslavia collapsed in the early 1990s is still a fresh
living memory for everyone living here. To the tourists of today, such horrors
seem unimaginable in this idyllic holiday paradise. Unlike most other parts of
Europe, when the locals here speak of “the War” they aren’t referring to the
events of 1939-1945.
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| Split |
Split is an ancient city. Its centre sits right on the seafront. A huge
palace built by the Roman Emperor Diocletian in 295 AD as his retirement home.
It took ten years to build, measuring roughly 200 by 240 metres, with
protective walls which were 2 metres thick and at least 25 metres tall, substantially
fortified on its land facing sides. The Emperor, a native Illyrian, even in his
retirement maintained an opulent court here with luxurious apartments located
in the south, and a formidable military garrison in the north. After his death
the palace was occupied by a succession of regional warlords, and it has
essentially been inhabited to varying extents ever since. It has slowly been
transformed over time into the labyrinthine warren of shops, dwellings and
churches that it is today. Exploring such a site of continuous nested
domesticity genuinely boggles the mind, but in order to get a real sense of
what it would have been like in Diocletian’s time, and to better judge its vast
size as a single edifice it is best to descend into the huge vaults of it cellars,
several of which are still under archaeological investigation.
Diocletian’s mausoleum, where his body lay entombed for at least 170
years, is located not far from his personal waterfront apartments, although now
– rather ironically, given his harsh persecution of early Christians – it has
become the city’s Cathedral. Given the longevity of his palace, despite all the
changes which the centuries have wrought upon it, his spirit still definitely
presides over the place. As Roman Emperor, Diocletian is unusual in that he
seems to have risen through the ranks from a fairly lowly status, and instead
of jealously holding onto power until his demise in his later years he sought
to divide the empire into four regions, each administered separately, so that
he could retire to his homeland. Ultimately though, this new style of power-sharing
governance faltered after his death, and, after a period of disarray, the
empire was eventually reunited under a new political and military strongman,
Constantine the Great.
Diocletian’s influence, however, invisibly persists into our present,
pervading throughout the architecture of Western Europe thanks to the
interventions of an eighteenth-century Scottish architect. Robert Adam arrived
in Split in 1757 with a team of draughtsmen, who despite the hostility they
encountered from the Venetian civic authorities of the time, managed to survey
and record much of the palace’s original details. The published results of this
work, in the form of a folio of engravings, had a marked effect upon
Neoclassical architects, such that many of the buildings of Georgian era
England and other parts of Europe owe much of their architectural grace and
symmetry to the old Roman Emperor’s retirement home.
Split is also the perfect base for several day trip destinations. We
took the bus out of town and spent a day wandering around the old town of
Trogir, a little further up the coast. Founded by the Ancient Greeks in the
third century BC on a small island, it forms a picturesque little town with
seventeenth century town gates, a cathedral, various churches and a fifteenth
century fortress which is well worth visiting for its stunning views of the
town and the sea.
A day spent on the sea, island hopping around this stretch of coast is a
wonderful experience. The main reason for hitting the waves is to see some of
the wonderful coves and sea caves thereabouts, particularly those on the islands
of Vis and Bisevo, many of which are only accessible by boat. Bisevo is perhaps
the best known because of its ‘Blue Cave,’ a magical grotto reminiscent of its
more famous Italian counterpart on Capri. We joined a high-speed, high-powered rib
boat tour which departed from Split fairly early in the morning. This meant the
group we travelled with was fairly small, and as the boat and its skipper’s job
was mainly to get us from A to B, we all felt fairly independent still – generally
dispersing at each stopping point to do our own thing, smiling and saying ‘hello’
to our fellow passengers when our paths crossed at the various halts along the
way. After a long James Bond-like high-speed dash across a sea which seemed to undulate
like liquid glass, with leaping dolphins spotted on the far horizon to one side
of us, our boat made the Blue Cave is first priority stop of the day, mainly
because it’s perhaps the furthest point from Split, but also to get into Bisevo
before the daytime crowds descend. That said though, it was still fairly busy
when we made our first landfall here. We managed to negotiate the somewhat
confused queuing procedures and transfer onto one of the older wooden boats
which then motor a short way around the headland to the Blue Cave. The boat
captain then lines the boat up and makes it very clear that we all need to be
prepared to duck very low, those who don’t quite catch this instruction soon instinctively
understand what was meant when he suddenly powers the boat forward, heading
straight towards the sheer cliff-face at an alarmingly rapid rate, but the boat
slips very neatly through the low narrow and almost invisible cavity into the
rock wall.
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| Entrance to the Blue Cave, Bisevo |
Suddenly, after the bright sunlight, we find ourselves lost and blind in
pitch blackness. The boat captain immediately cuts the motor, and we seem to
glide silently into the darkness. A short file of similar boats drift ahead of
us. Our eyes begin to adjust to the dimness, but then rounding the corner we
enter the most remarkable effect of natural sunlight which I think I have ever
seen. Somehow the sun seems to be shining intensely in a clear blue summer sky,
but very strangely the horizon has been inverted. The sun and sky are now
beneath us, overhead it is still night-time, and our faces are bathed in a
strange, soothing yet other-worldly aquamarine sheen of light. Magical is exactly
the right word to describe it. This blue shine seems to dance all around us. The
passengers of each boat are hushed and awed by the effect. Looking down over the
side of the wooden boat as we drift, I can see the rippled white sand of the
bottom far below and the sunlight streaming in from another opening in the
cliff, set far below the waterline. After an all too short a stretch of time our
boat has rounded the interior of the cave and we are now drifting gently back
towards the tunnel-like entrance. We duck once more and the boat powers us out.
The Captain turns the prow and the water surges around the boat as we head back
towards the jetty, round the headland once again, where we disembark and wait for
a brief moment as our speed boat motors back in to pick us up. All heads are accounted
for and we are soon flying over the waves once again, this time heading for a
point on the far side of the island of Vis, where we slow down to enter another
cave, this time much larger and lit by a golden shaft of sunlight from a hole
in the cave’s roof overhead, the reflection from the water bathes the interior in
a soothing green light. The depth beneath us balanced perfectly by the height
overhead. These moments of drifting through silence and space, darkness and
light, with the gentle sounds of water lapping contrast starkly with the long high-powered
dashes we make over the open sea with the bright, blinding sunshine scorching
and beating down from above.
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| Vis |
Our lunch orders have been phoned ahead and so we stop on another
island, low levelled and covered in scrub vegetation and tall trees, like some secret
pirate hideaway. We are welcomed into an open-air restaurant overlooking the small
secluded bay, taking our places at a long communal table under the welcome shade
of reed mats. No sooner have we sat down than the friendly waiters and
waitresses are setting plates of food and bottles of wine before us. Everyone
is fiercely hungry now after all that fresh and salty sea air. Lunch is over in
no time. Everyone fans out across the island for an hour or so of relaxation, exploring
the hidden paths, finding a spot to take a quick dip in the sea before the time
when we are due to rendezvous back at the boat quay. As we wait, I watch a cook
from the restaurant who appears close by. He crouches down over a rock at the
water’s edge and expertly guts a large fish. Throwing its gizzards to one side the
fish’s guts barely hit the water before a gull with large outstretched wings hops
down and necks the entrails down whole.
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| Our boat and skipper |
Our last port of call before the boat returns to Split is the lovely
town of Hvar. Here our skipper drops us off at the quayside where some very
expensive looking motor yachts are moored along the Riva. We wander into the
town to explore the churches and the winding streets of the Groda – the Old Town. Climbing
up Matije Ivanića and the steep hillside path through a forest filled with enormous agave plants to a fort with spectacular views overlooking the town. The Fortica, or Citadel
was built during the Venetian era in 1550 using the know-how of a group of
Spanish engineers, hence the fort is still known to the locals as ‘Španjola.’ – If only I had a short length of fuse
and some gunpowder, I think mischievously. I wouldn’t even need to aim one of
the many rusty old cannons poking out of the battlements to take out one of those
rich millionaire’s yachts moored in the harbour far below!
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| View of the harbour at Hvar Town from the Fortica |
The boat ride back to Split is one last madcap dash across the water. Our
boat seeming to chase, level with, and then overtaking other fast boats
similarly filled with tourists commuting back to Split. We catch them up, only
to fall behind as they then overtake us, and us in turn overtake them again in
a brief and cheerful dance across the waves as each boat skipper amiably hails
the other. The sun is starting to lower into the late afternoon sky, it’s been
a long but immensely enjoyable and exhilarating day on the open sea. When we
disembark for the last time back at the Riva in Split, we bid farewell to our
skipper and fellow passengers – the spell of our time together has now been
broken. We wander off in search of a restaurant to relax in, our smiling faces
taut with sea salt and sunshine, our bones still humming with the lingering thrum
of turbo-charged horsepower, the resonance of a day spent surfing the sea in
comfort. A glass or two of Plavac Skaramuča
warms us into the evening as we eat outside, attended by two sleek cats, each
patiently purring for scraps from our meal.
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| Night view just along the coast from Split |
A few days later and we are back at the harbour front, but this time in
the early hours. We checked out of our hotel before the restaurant had opened
for breakfast, but the lovely couple at the reception desk insist we go in and
raid the breakfast buffet for our onward journey, they won’t hear of us leaving
on empty stomachs! – So now we stand, second or third in the queue, eating
croissants and pastries, as we wait to board the ferry to Dubrovnik. The large
catamaran, which looks like a futuristic spaceship from Jerry Anderson’s Thunderbirds,
guns its powerful engines and moves gently out of the harbour. Heading out into
the open water, it rises up as it gains speed and soon we are cutting back
across a familiar stretch of water to Hvar. Each time the ferry stops at one of
the islands on its course down the coast we stretch our legs and catch some sun
on the afterdeck.
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| Time to Split - 'Thunderbirds' style ... |
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| "Marco Polo's House", Korcula |
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| Korcula |
One port of call intrigues me more than the others – Korčula. In a couple of day’s time, we returned
here to explore the place properly. It is a lovely little walled medieval town
which fills a small leaf-shaped peninsula. And like a leaf, it has a main
street running down its centre with smaller side streets branching off, but these
vein-like throughfares are curved and set at angles, specifically designed to
avoid channelling the coastal winds down the lanes and alleys, hence it forms a
neatly compact and enchanting, homely sort of settlement. Immensely picturesque,
it is said by some to have been the birthplace of the much fabled
thirteenth-century explorer, Marco Polo. Although our local guide was somewhat
sceptical about this ‘invented tradition’ (see more here). It’s a lovely place
to lunch at one of the restaurants looking out to sea, after which a pleasant
hour or two swiftly disappears while exploring the backstreets and the churches
and cathedral. It must be lovely in the evening too, but unless you elect to
stay-over, getting there and back overland from Dubrovnik is quite a long
journey with many places to see en route, such as the oyster beds at
Mali Ston and the vast salt pans at Ston, which have been worked continuously since
at least Roman times.
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| The Ancient Salt Pans at Ston |
Dubrovnik is perhaps one of the most beautiful cities in Europe. My guidebook
says it was “first settled in the early seventh century by Graeco-Roman
refugees from the nearby city of Epidauros (now Cavtat), which was sacked by
the Slavs.” Originally an island the old town became a peninsula long ago when
the narrow channel between the island and the mainland became silted up or was
filled in. Then known as Ragusa, the town became the seat of the Ragusan
Republic – effectively an independent city state, but paying tribute to the
Ottoman Empire. The city went on to establish trading colonies stretching from
the Adriatic to the Black Sea, it grew prosperous and began to expand its
territory as a result, enjoying a ‘golden age’ during the fifteenth and
sixteenth centuries. It was during this time that much of the city’s imposing
walls, with fortress and defensive bastions, and its principal urban features –
its safely enclosed buildings, smooth stone paved streets, its churches and harbour,
were built. But the city’s fortunes began to decline after an earthquake did
considerable damage to the place in 1667. Feuding amongst the city’s ruling
elite eroded the city’s standing even further, and the city state itself was
eventually dissolved by Napoleon when the French occupied the city in 1808. The
city and its surrounding regions were then heavily contested and fought over by
the British, Russians, and Montenegrins, until it was eventually given to the
Austrians at the Congress of Vienna in 1815.
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| Dubrovnik |
As my guidebook, The Rough Guide to Croatia, attests: “The
symbolic importance of Dubrovnik long outlived the republic itself. For
nineteenth-century Croats the city was a Croatian Athens, a shining example of
what could be achieved – politically and culturally – by the Slav peoples. It
was also increasingly a magnet for foreign travellers, who wrote about the city
in glowing terms.” Indeed, it remains a popular tourist destination today.
I found it rather beguiling to overhear so many tourists marvelling and
enthusing over the place as the location for the recent and immensely popular
fantasy TV drama, The Game of Thrones. Listening to them expounding and ‘geeking
out’, wide-eyed with unabashed awe, over the place like some sort of trans-dimensional
time-travelling tourists was distinctly odd, as they were clearly seeing this
as a very real but completely different place to me, someone who has never seen
a single episode of the TV show!
The genuine history of the place though certainly should not be
overlooked, not least because in addition to its very long and venerable past
it has also been the site of some major and important events in recent history.
Not least when the medieval walled city successfully withstood another siege as
recently as 1991-1992, when the Yugoslav People’s Army attacked but were later
repelled by a Croatian offensive which descended from the north during the
civil war which ensued after the break up of Yugoslavia and the collapse of the
Communist Eastern Bloc.
Much of the city has been repaired since that time, but walking the two-kilometre
circuit of the city’s walls, which are as high as 25 metres in some places, it
is possible to see some of the areas and buildings which are still sadly left
empty and in ruins. Walking the city walls is by far the best way to get a
sense of the old city, and the views out to sea are spectacular. It’s best to
allow yourself plenty of time and walk the circuit at a leisurely pace, and if
you are in need of a rest or refreshment there are cafes along the route. The
old walled town itself is well worth exploring thoroughly too. There are so
many interesting little local craft shops as well as restaurants and cafes
hidden away in the labyrinthine backstreets that it is a wonderful place to get
lost in.
Having travelled the Croatian coast from Split to Dubrovnik, visiting so
many interesting places and small towns in between – as well as making a brief
excursion to see and experience the cultural contrasts of Mostar in Bosnia-Hercegovina
(which will be the subject of next month’s blog post), I felt we’d got a real
taste of Croatia. It’s possible and very tempting to travel on from Dubrovnik further
down the coast into the neighbouring republic of Montenegro, but we were out of
time and so this will have to wait for another trip at some point in the future.
Reluctantly we had to leave, but flying out of Dubrovnik airport gave us
wonderful views from the aeroplane of all the places we’d visited as we flew
back up along the coast. Looking down, working out the geography of where we’d
been, and reflecting upon which places we’d liked the most, and which little
towns we might like to return to one day to explore further, was a nice way to end
an enchanting journey through beautiful landscapes, and a delicious melting pot
of Mediterranean cuisines, in picturesque places steeped in history and truly gorgeous
scenes of natural beauty – Croatia is a real gem of a country.
