May 26, 2002
Sweet Music In the Sun Of Croatia
By JOSIP NOVAKOVICH
THE Dalmatian coast of Croatia resembles a Dalmatian dog's back, the dots
representing islands -- nearly a thousand of them. The islands there have an
intoxicating and mysterious end-of-the-world quality.
According to a few scholars, this is where Odysseus was lost for years -- the
names of two islands, Krk and Korcula, may be cognates of Kirke (Circe), the
name of the enchantress who turned Odysseus' men into swine. At least the
consonants match. The story may or may not, but once you are there, you do
feel like getting lost in the beauty.
While the islands are provinces of a small country, there are surprising
moments of history on every one, especially Hvar. One of its towns, Stari
Grad, stems from a Greek polis, Pharos, founded in fourth century B.C. In the
16th century, the town of Hvar became the main outpost of the Venetian navy
in the eastern Adriatic and, as such, was prosperous.
Peasant and commoner revolts against the Venetian nobles were frequent on
Hvar, and one in 1510 might have been successful for a few years had it not
been debilitated by peasants having visions of the bleeding cross, which
resulted in mass self-flagellations that went on for weeks and allowed the
nobles to escape and to recoup.
The Turkish navy smashed Hvar in 1571, and just when it was nearly rebuilt
in 1579, lightning struck the town castle, which held huge stores of
gunpowder; the resulting explosion wiped most houses off the slope. Battles
were so common that the town theater -- one of the oldest extant indoor
theaters in Europe -- bears the inscription, ''Built in the Second Year of Peace,
1612.''
But Hvar has arisen many times, and it now displays an architectural unity: no
high-rises mar the lines the houses of gray and white stone make, and the old
marble cobbles glisten in the streets.
I went to Hvar as an accidental tourist last summer, accompanying my 8-yearold son, Joseph, who enrolled as a cello student in the splendid Uzmah
(Upbeat) music school in Hvar. My wife, Jeanette, and my daughter, Eva,
who was 4, joined us, ready to swim and play for a month. We bought a small
12-year-old car in Zagreb; there were many cheap cars offered in the
newspapers, and buying a used car seemed a better way to go since I would be
returning. For a shorter stay, renting would be easier.
We drove from Zagreb to Split through the rugged terrain of Dalmatian
Krajina, and from Split, we took a ferry to Hvar. Through tourist agencies and
acquaintances, we got leads on apartments for rent, and found one on the edge
of the town, near the waterfront: a two-room, two double-bed flat, with a
kitchenette, a decent-sized bathroom and a terrace with a view of several
small islands in the distance. A little park of cypress and pine trees separated
the apartment from the promenade along a bay.
Nearly every evening, we took walks along the shore to the town's central
piazza and the marina. We marveled at the intensity of the blues of the sky
and the sea and the greens of the cypresses.
Many people in Croatia claim that the farther south in the Adriatic you go, the
more beautiful the islands become. Hvar is one of the southernmost islands,
the fifth in size, about 42 miles long and 2 to 6 miles wide. The western part,
where the town of Hvar is situated, is one of the sunniest spots in Europe -- it
rains only about a dozen days a year, and in the month we were there, there
wasn't a single drop -- and for that reason, as well as for the relative purity of
the sea and the unity of style of the old Venetian architecture, the town is one
of the prime resorts in Croatia.
Only 4,000 people live there year round, and in Croatia they are famous for
their friendliness and joviality; sunshine apparently does improve one's
moods. Other than tourism, fishing and wine making, there is little economic
activity, and people move at a leisurely pace. With plenty of fresh produce in
the town market, the plentiful daily catch of fish and the habit of drinking red
wine with water (bevanda) and strolling, the people seem very healthy. In the
evening, groups of old men, and sometimes of old women, gather near the sea
and sing, in what is known as Dalmatinska Klapa, polyphonous songs about
the beauty of the sea, old loves, youth.
The cheerful atmosphere of this town of white stone and palms attracts many
sophisticated travelers. During our stay, Goran Ivanisevic, the Wimbledon
champion, docked in the town marina, and the Croatian and Slovenian
presidents relaxed in their summer homes.
Hvar grew crowded in mid-August, and my family and I looked for beauty in
other marvelous coastal towns, like Jelsa, Vrboska, Stari Grad, and in the
inland parts of the island. Some six miles from Hvar, we visited an old ghost
hamlet, Zarace, inlaid into a steep slope over the ever-changing shades of the
sea. The air was fragrant with herbs, pine and salty winds. We climbed the
stone paths; the stone houses seemed to be an extension of the piled rock
fences that prevented soil erosion.
The island's inhabitants say it used to be a lush forest and rich fields, but two
forces stripped much of it down to the rocky bone: goats, which overgrazed it,
and Venetians, who mercilessly logged it, and most of the eastern Adriatic, to
support their town suspended above the water. In Zarace, even the roofs are
made of stone tiles. Some are caved in, but one house looked nicely kept; its
doors were wide and open, and there were two tables outside, set with wine
glasses, under an arch of grapes, next to barrels and old dried wine-skins.
We found the host, Pero, the only resident of the hamlet, stoking the fire in
the open space of a former wine cellar, or konoba. His hearth, which served
mostly him and his friends, occasionally worked as a restaurant, provided you
gave him a call on his cellphone (which we did) several hours in advance for
fish, and a day ahead for lamb.
Pero brought us out his homemade red wine and mixed salad, made from his
garden's yield -- tomatoes, cucumbers, parsley. He told us the hamlet used to
be completely abandoned. An Englishman wanted to buy it to turn it into an
art colony, but several house owners refused to sell, even though they lived in
Hvar.
Pero thought other people might move in, but he was in no rush to welcome
them. I could see what he meant as we watched in quietude the last sun rays
lick the sea, then the island tips.
On another evening, we were charmed by Vrisnik, a hamlet on a hill that got
its name from aromatic heather. The whole place smelled of rosemary. At the
entrance to the town, we met a man who rode a white mule, sitting sideways.
An old woman was fixing the stone fence of her tomato patch. Streets
zigzagged down the slope through low arches. Many houses tilted, with
sagging doors, cracked wooden frames and unpainted windows; there was a
forsaken beauty.
The streets looked as they may have 200 years ago, except older, decrepit, on
the edge between ruins of history and glimmers of the future. Time has
stopped there, but another dawn is on the horizon, refracting through cold
beer on the tourists' tables.
At the bottom of the town, we found a restaurant, Konoba Vrisnik. The
owner, Andro Grgicevic, who was both cook and waiter, told us that he'd been
a chef at a hotel in Hvar, but when the war of independence from Yugoslavia
came in 1991, the hotel closed down. So he built an addition to his house,
with antique mill threads for beams, and made it a restaurant. The meal he
prepared for us was delicious: three pounds of garlicky bluefish, served with
his homemade wine.
Between these excursions, we relaxed at our temporary home. Our son, who
usually resented having to practice the cello an hour a day, wanted to practice
four by the end of our stay because Vladimir Perlin from Minsk, one of the
world's finest cello teachers for children, inspired him.
WE swam in the amazingly transparent azure waters, within a stone's throw of
our apartment. (There have been paradoxical benefits from the war: tourists
stayed away from the Adriatic for years, and the coastal factories closed
down, so while most of the northern Mediterranean became a tourist strip
mall, the Croatian Adriatic cleaned up and became all the more alluring.)
Joseph learned how to use flippers and to snorkel, and Eva lovingly carried
around a live starfish before letting it go back into the sea. From the beach,
past a few topless Italians, we watched the ferries go by.
Once a week we took a trip in a small boat, which left from the Hvar marina,
to the Pakleni Otoci archipelago, about a half-mile from Hvar; we stayed on
St. Clement, the biggest island in the Pakleni chain.
Juraj Toto Meneghello, an officer in Napoleon's army, retired there
(Napoleon, of course, ended up on an island as well), overwhelmed by the
beauty of the place, and his descendants still own much of the island. My kids
were wild about the Palmizana beach, which is sandy and shallow and lined
with caves where you can shun the sun and play hide-and-seek.
For dinner, we walked up a hill through a palm grove to the Meneghello Place
restaurant, which has an art gallery and on Sunday holds recitals by teachers
from the Upbeat music school. Bartok's ''Mosquito Dance,'' performed
spiritedly by two violinists -- Standly Dodds of the Berlin Philharmonic and
Asja Kouchner of the Bolshoi Theater Orchestra -- tickled my senses and
made me ravenous.
I ate a splendid sea bass, even the liver and the adrenal glands, which I
imagined gave me a special rush. While I rummaged through the organs and
rolled them and melted them over my tongue, I bowed my head in stealthy
pleasure, under the impression that the guests at the restaurant avoided
looking at my obscene hedonism.
Eva asked me whether I had found the soul of the fish and what it tasted like
and whether it had become a ghost in my throat. No, dear, we did not go quite
that far, I replied.
By ferry to a quiet month on the Adriatic
Passenger boats leave Split directly for Hvar several times a day; car ferries
also leave Split for Stari Grad, a town on the island, several times a day.
Tickets may be bought through a ferry agency, Jadrolinija, (385-21) 741-132,
fax (385-21) 741-036, or through travel agencies. Ferry service to Stari Grad
operates daily from Rijeka, in northern Croatia, and once a week from
Ancona, Italy.
The neighboring island of Brac has an airport, with daily flights from Zagreb
on Croatia Airlines, (385-1) 617-6845 or (385-1) 481-9633,
www.croatiaairlines.hr; round trip from $174 (ask about specials). There is
ferry and boat service from Brac to Hvar daily.
Many yachts dock at the Hvar town marina; reservations can be made through
Hvar travel agencies, and Atlas Travel Agency in Split, telephone and fax
(385-21) 741-422.
The Croatian Tourist Office in Hvar is at Trg Sv. Stjepana 1 (St. Stephen
Square), telephone and fax (385-21) 741-059.
Information about Hvar, including hotels and private accommodations, can be
obtained from the Croatian National Tourist Office, 350 Fifth Avenue, New
York, N.Y. 10118, (212) 279-8672, fax (212) 279-8674, www.croatia.hr, and
at www.hvar.hr.
Where to Eat
Chez Pero, Zarace, (385-91) 250-8093, offers genuine old-style cooking;
reservations must be made a day in advance. Dinner for my family with wine
cost about $40.
Konoba Vrisnik, Vrisnik, (385-21) 768-180 or (385-91) 522-9949, has an
authentic village atmosphere with home cooking and wonderful homemade
wines. Dinner for two with wine is about $15.
Meneghello Place, on St. Clement island, 15 minutes by boat from Hvar, is
near Palmizana Beach, (385-99) 478-311. Dinner for two with wine at this
excellent restaurant under palm trees canrun anywhere from $50 to $110.
40 and Up, an Internet cafe in Hvar, has good coffee, beer and wine.
Where to Stay
Reservations are highly recommedned for high season, mid-July to midAugust. For information on hotels in Dalmatia, see the Web sites at
www.dalmacija.net or www.suncanihvar.hr. (Note: businesses don't use street
addresses.)
Hotel Amfora, Hvar, (385-21) 741-202, fax (385-21) 742-014, has 373
modern rooms, a swimming pool, casino, exercise rooms and a good beach.
Doubles are $29 to $64.
The Palace, in the center of town, (385-21) 741-966, fax (385-21) 742-420, is
an elegant, air-conditioned and Internet-equipped 76-room hotel. Doubles are
$25 to $70.
Hotel Pharos, Hvar, (385-21) 741-028, fax (385-21) 742-014, is the least
elegant of these three, but comfortable. The 182 rooms have good views and
there is an outdoor pool. Doubles are $22 to $56.
For apartment accommodations, contact the tourist office in Hvar or such
tourist agencies as Pelegrini, (385-1) 742-250; Mengola, (385-1) 742-099; and
Atlas, (385-1) 741-911. Prices range from $20 to $40 a bed a night; 50
percent discount for children. We paid $43 for two adults and two children for
a small apartment near the beach.
Music School
The Upbeat-Hvar music camp offers two-week string, flute and vocal
instruction from July 5 through Aug. 30. Tuition is about $200; $150 under
age 12. Information is available at public.srce.hr/hdgp/upbeat or from the
director, Dobrila Berkovic-Magdalenic, (385-98) 203-917. JOSIP
NOVAKOVICH
Copyright 2004 The New York Times Company | Permissions | Privacy Policy
May 21, 2000
Adriatic Abundance
By DANIEL LEWIS
A FRESH breeze off the Adriatic sailed into my room, filling the curtains like
spinnakers, and I was instantly awake. If I rose before dawn, I could explore
the cobbled streets of Rovinj at first light and watch by the harbor while
sunrise caught the old town in high relief: the ancient stone houses, all mass
and texture, and the steep Venetian ones, all line and color, under the equal
protection of a copper St. Euphemia, poised on her bell tower 200 feet in the
sky.
That there was a serious gap in this mental picture didn't hit me until I actually
went outside. I had imagined, out of tourist's innocence or vanity, having this
town on Croatia's Istrian coast to myself. Instead, all of Rovinj (pronounced
roh-VEEN-yah) was awake in the half-light, ready to draw me into its own,
more purposeful version of the morning.
The town mascots, a family of wry little dogs, were going someplace with
their quick feet on. People dressed for work had begun talking the day into
focus outside three or four waterfront cafes.
At the bread shop, an old woman in black read a bulletin board that says
''death notices'' in Hrvatski and Italian; among these notici mortuari was the
beautiful name of Sonia Caterina Curvo, who was only 51.
Up the street, two kids in baggy jeans were transfixed by a movie poster: ''Star
Wars, Epizoda I,'' here at last.
St. Euphemia herself -- patroness, beacon, weather vane -- had apparently
been on duty all night, and at this hour still glowed in the spectral light of
flood lamps. In a darker quarter below, the fish market was open, and the
produce market next door was already doing a good business -- here, in one
block, were all the required ingredients for good Istrian cooking. Besides
fruits and vegetables, the stalls had local olives, fragrant green olive oils,
walnuts, dried fruits, wines, grappa, honey, cheeses.
But the big food news this third week of October was native truffles, black
and white, in outrageous abundance. We had lucked into the heart of the
truffle-hunting season. For the next couple of days, my wife and I could
hardly order a meal that didn't involve some dish full of fungi, sliced, diced
and, relatively speaking, underpriced.
Istria, the bit of Croatia that dangles like a heart pendant in the Adriatic Sea,
plays to a wide range of tastes. In the fall and spring, life runs more nearly
true to the old maritime-agricultural rhythms. These are good times to enjoy
the countryside and its food and excellent wines. If you're partial to stone and
mortar, there are some impressive Byzantine and Roman monuments, too,
including an amphitheater in Pula that's still very much in the business of
spectacles.
Istria, a five-hour trip by train and rental car from Venice by way of Trieste,
was an easy fit with our travels in northern Italy. It is about a six-hour drive
from Munich. Because of this general accessibility, Istria is the most-visited
part of Croatia.
It's also perhaps the least typical in its outlook. In the national elections of
1993, when Croatia's xenophobic Franjo Tudjman was at the height of
presidential power, his political party essentially had to concede Istria County
to the local opposition; the Istrian Democratic Assembly got 73 percent of the
vote.
Geographically, Istria was too far away to hear a shot fired in the brutal
disintegration of Yugoslavia. But its economy was affected and has yet to
recover. Big British travel packagers, who once supplied 20 percent of the
tourists, took their business elsewhere. Today, only 2 percent of foreign
visitors are British (even fewer are American).
Coming in from Italy, through a little piece of Slovenia, we got a robust
greeting as we drove into the Istrian hills: billboards for Super Bingo, and for
the seaside resorts of Umag and Porec, where tens of thousands of hotel rooms
and camping sites are strung along miles of shoreline. We weren't going there,
having already decided not to spend our three-night visit hopping from point
to point. Besides enjoying the sea, air and historic architecture in Rovinj,
which would be our base, all we had in mind was a day in Pula, Istria's
principal city and repository of its epic history, and part of a day in the
uplands around the medieval towns Groznjan and Motovun.
These hills of north and central Istria -- actually, foothills of the Julian Alps -recall what ''rustic'' looked like before the term became self-conscious. You
will get the inevitable photo op of the Mercedes blowing past the grape-laden
donkey cart.
Among the hill towns, Groznjan, especially, has enhanced its blunt charm and
long pastoral views with a cultural life that includes music camps, art galleries
and an international film academy. But there are many places where you can
still look across a valley that's been worked in the same cycles for a thousand
years, or buy a bottle of wine from the family that picked the grapes. Distance
from the noise and cultural flattening of mega-Europe is not the least of
Istria's off-season charms.
A good vantage point is the high town of Motovun, overlooking the Mirna
River valley: a steep walk up stone-paved streets, rewarded by a 360-degree
view from the ramparts. The town square includes the Renaissance St.
Stephen Church, with a tower you can climb for 5 kuna (roughly 60 cents); a
cafe; the tidy Hotel Kastel, and a delightful old movie house, Motovun's own
cinema paradiso, refitted for the inauguration of a mini film festival last
summer.
Pula, Istria's largest city, is near the southern tip of the peninsula -- only a 45-
minute drive from our Rovinj hotel, it turned out. Pula is a haven for Adriatic
yachtsmen, but more notably a ship-building center, and over all a businessminded place. It's well worth a day's visit seeing what the Romans built there
after their subjugation of the Illyrians -- the first in a series of occupations by
Byzantines, Slavs, Celts, Venetians, Austro-Hungarians, the French, Italians,
Germans and the Allies, among others, before Istria was awarded to
Yugoslavia in 1947.
We were tooling around the city in a five-speed Fiat, following the harbor,
when the thing we were looking for seemed to find us: Pula's amphitheater,
rising in a leafy, relatively quiet district of the old city.
Big, to be sure: it's supposed to be the third largest Roman amphitheater. More
impressive are its lofty design and sound condition.
The amphitheater was built of white limestone in the first century. Except that
its tiers of stone seats were later taken for use in other construction projects
(replaced with wooden benches), it may look nearly as good today as it did
2,000 years ago, when guys bashed heads to the cheers of 20,000 spectators.
Modern Istrians have kept the amphitheater working with film festivals,
operas and rock concerts. But for a part of this mild October afternoon, we
were alone there, scaring ourselves with thoughts of what it must have been
like to stand in the way of a people that could build such a thing wherever
they pleased.
From the amphitheater, it's a block or so to Ulica Sergijevaca, a busy,
pedestrian-only street that follows the ring layout of the original Roman city.
Several blocks along, on the northern rim, is the Triumphal Arch of Sergius,
whose unexpectedly intimate scale and integration into the daily flow of life
were a pleasant surprise. Michelangelo, among many others, came to study the
arch's famous classical proportions.
A footnote for Bloomsday-trivia types: the handsome old building a few feet
from the arch was once the Berlitz school where James Joyce taught English
after running away from Ireland with Nora Barnacle in 1904. While a plaque
on the building briefly notes its association with the ''great Irish author,'' the
story is worth a bit more than that.
During his stay in the town, then called Pola, Joyce wrote the so-called Pola
notebook, laying out the esthetic principles that his character Stephen Dedalus
later elaborates in ''A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.'' The down side
was that Pola, the main base of the Austro-Hungarian navy, was oppressive
and suspicious of foreigners. Joyce called it ''a naval Siberia,'' and before long
he was sent to Trieste, a more cosmopolitan outpost of the empire, where he
stayed until World War I.
No one traveling to Pula should pass up the chance to eat at Valsabbion,
located somewhat oddly in an upscale suburban yacht harbor a few miles
south of the central city. We considered our two meals at Valsabbion,
prepared with a spirit of invention and a respect for fresh local ingredients, to
be among the finest we've had anywhere.
From the fish menu alone, we sampled baked fresh sardines with cornmeal
crust, tiny oysters served with sea bass carpaccio, a whole giant prawn, sea
bream baked in salt, a delicate fish soup with vegetables, and baked squid.
Then there were two risottos, served in scooped-out ewes-milk cheeses from
the island of Pag; turkey breast with a sauce of wild berries and sour cherries;
and, of course, truffles, with roasted potatoes and beef carpaccio. The more
expensive of the meals came to less than $70 for both of us, including firstrate Istrian wines.
The food was fine at less exalted restaurants just a few hundred feet from our
harborside hotel, the Sol Inn Adriatic, which only strengthened our impression
of Rovinj as an ideal place to stay.
Besides being very picturesque, at least in the old-town section that juts out
into the sea, Rovinj has a comfortable way of balancing its own day-to-day
life with the needs of visitors. Stores are open late. Everyone speaks Italian,
and to judge by our experience, German and English as well. Rovinj also
seems particularly child-friendly -- it has an aquarium and boat trips to nearby
islands.
As for the Sol Inn, the sunny charm of the stucco exterior didn't quite prepare
us for the utilitarian renovation of the interior, and the lack of an elevator
might be a problem for guests on the third and fourth floors. But we would
happily stay there again.
Outside the old town, Rovinj, like some other parts of Istria, is growing. Big
two-story houses are going up. There are real estate ads on the Internet with
prices in dollars and marks, a trend likely to accelerate under the political
loosening that followed the death of President Tudjman last December.
''Luxury'' hotels from the Tito era of industrial tourism are being upgraded.
In short, there's a feeling in the air that Istria is about to be invaded for the
umpteenth time in 3,000 years -- this time, with any luck, by the kind of
people who just want to unwind with a few drinks, a few laughs or a few
truffles.
A jewel of a peninsula on the Adriatic
Lots of information on lodging, restaurants, festivals and landmarks is
available at www.istra.com (Istra is the native spelling of Istria). Searching
can be confined to a particular town by adding a slash and the name of the
town, as in www.istra.com /rovinj. These pages link to forms for making hotel
reservations, but be sure to get a confirmation.
There is a Croatian National Tourist Office at 350 Fifth Avenue, New York,
N.Y 10118; (800) 829-4416, fax (212) 279-8683.
Getting Around
Most sizable towns in Istria are reachable by public bus, but the practical
choice for any short-term visitor is a car. If renting a car in another country,
make sure the rental agency gives you a verifying document including the
agency's phone number since the authorities sometimes stop drivers, looking
for stolen cars.
Where to Stay and Eat
Rovinj has a sterile-looking luxury hotel, the Melia Eden, on Luja Adamovica,
(385-52) 800-400, fax (385-52) 811-349. Rates, including breakfast and
dinner, range from $52 to $63 a person in July and August, at the exchange
rate of 8.5 kuna to the dollar. In spring and fall, rates fall to about $40 a
person, and the hotel closes in February and much of November.
We preferred the more picturesque location of the less expensive Sol Inn
Adriatic, Piazza Maresciallo Tito 5, Rovinj, (385-52) 815-088, fax (385-52)
813-573, right on the harbor in the old town. We got a big room with a sea
view and a private bath for around $40 a night, sumptuous buffet breakfast
included; in summer, a double, with breakfast, is about $70. The hotel is
closed from early January to Easter.
There are several hearty restaurants (fish, pasta, lamb) a short walk from the
Adriatic. We sampled Amfora and the funkier Veli Joze, which makes fine
stews, and paid less than $30 for two, including wine or beer.
There's probably no compelling reason to stay overnight in Pula, but you
could do worse than the Hotel Riviera, a properly impressive Old World place
a few blocks from the Roman amphitheater at Splitska Ulika 1, (385-52) 211166, fax (385-52) 219-117. Doubles cost $35 to $56, including breakfast.
On a more intimate scale, in the neighboring suburb of Pjescana Uvala,
Valsabbion (which houses a superb restaurant of the same name) is a sunny
inn with several contemporary Mediterranean-style rooms, spa services, a
fitness center and a small rooftop pool at Pjescana Uvala IX/26, telephone and
fax (385-52) 218-033; www.valsabbion.com. Depending on the season,
doubles range from $36 to $106.
Things to Do
In Pula, the Roman amphitheater, on Falvjeska Ulica, (385-52) 219-028, is
open 8 a.m. to 9 p.m. in summer, to 4:30 in the off-season; admission, about
$2, $1 for children and seniors.
The nearby pedestrian street, Ulica Sergijevaca, is a trail of history, including
the Triumphal Arch of Sergius and the Temple of Augustus.
Also close by, on Ulica Carrarina, is the Archeological Museum, (385-52)
218-603, fax (385-52) 212-415, which has artifacts from all over Istria. It is
open 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. Monday to Friday (till 8 p.m. in summer) and 10 a.m. to
5 p.m. on weekends. Admission is $1.40 and 70 cents for children and seniors.
In Rovinj, the baroque Cathedral of St. Euphemia, has a commanding view of
the town and, inside, the sarcophagus of St. Euphemia, which according to
legend disappeared from Constantinople around 800 and miraculously washed
up on the Rovinj coast. DANIEL LEWIS
Copyright 2004 The New York Times Company | Permissions | Privacy Policy
May 21, 2000
Adriatic Abundance
By DANIEL LEWIS
A FRESH breeze off the Adriatic sailed into my room, filling the
curtains like spinnakers, and I was instantly awake. If I rose
before dawn, I could explore the cobbled streets of Rovinj at first
light and watch by the harbor while sunrise caught the old town
in high relief: the ancient stone houses, all mass and texture, and
the steep Venetian ones, all line and color, under the equal
protection of a copper St. Euphemia, poised on her bell tower 200
feet in the sky.
That there was a serious gap in this mental picture didn't hit me
until I actually went outside. I had imagined, out of tourist's
innocence or vanity, having this town on Croatia's Istrian coast to
myself. Instead, all of Rovinj (pronounced roh-VEEN-yah) was
awake in the half-light, ready to draw me into its own, more
purposeful version of the morning.
The town mascots, a family of wry little dogs, were going
someplace with their quick feet on. People dressed for work had
begun talking the day into focus outside three or four waterfront
cafes.
At the bread shop, an old woman in black read a bulletin board
that says ''death notices'' in Hrvatski and Italian; among these
notici mortuari was the beautiful name of Sonia Caterina Curvo,
who was only 51.
Up the street, two kids in baggy jeans were transfixed by a movie
poster: ''Star Wars, Epizoda I,'' here at last.
St. Euphemia herself -- patroness, beacon, weather vane -- had
apparently been on duty all night, and at this hour still glowed in
the spectral light of flood lamps. In a darker quarter below, the
fish market was open, and the produce market next door was
already doing a good business -- here, in one block, were all the
required ingredients for good Istrian cooking. Besides fruits and
vegetables, the stalls had local olives, fragrant green olive oils,
walnuts, dried fruits, wines, grappa, honey, cheeses.
But the big food news this third week of October was native
truffles, black and white, in outrageous abundance. We had
lucked into the heart of the truffle-hunting season. For the next
couple of days, my wife and I could hardly order a meal that
didn't involve some dish full of fungi, sliced, diced and, relatively
speaking, underpriced.
Istria, the bit of Croatia that dangles like a heart pendant in the
Adriatic Sea, plays to a wide range of tastes. In the fall and
spring, life runs more nearly true to the old maritime-agricultural
rhythms. These are good times to enjoy the countryside and its
food and excellent wines. If you're partial to stone and mortar,
there are some impressive Byzantine and Roman monuments,
too, including an amphitheater in Pula that's still very much in the
business of spectacles.
Istria, a five-hour trip by train and rental car from Venice by way
of Trieste, was an easy fit with our travels in northern Italy. It is
about a six-hour drive from Munich. Because of this general
accessibility, Istria is the most-visited part of Croatia.
It's also perhaps the least typical in its outlook. In the national
elections of 1993, when Croatia's xenophobic Franjo Tudjman
was at the height of presidential power, his political party
essentially had to concede Istria County to the local opposition;
the Istrian Democratic Assembly got 73 percent of the vote.
Geographically, Istria was too far away to hear a shot fired in the
brutal disintegration of Yugoslavia. But its economy was affected
and has yet to recover. Big British travel packagers, who once
supplied 20 percent of the tourists, took their business elsewhere.
Today, only 2 percent of foreign visitors are British (even fewer
are American).
Coming in from Italy, through a little piece of Slovenia, we got a
robust greeting as we drove into the Istrian hills: billboards for
Super Bingo, and for the seaside resorts of Umag and Porec,
where tens of thousands of hotel rooms and camping sites are
strung along miles of shoreline. We weren't going there, having
already decided not to spend our three-night visit hopping from
point to point. Besides enjoying the sea, air and historic
architecture in Rovinj, which would be our base, all we had in
mind was a day in Pula, Istria's principal city and repository of its
epic history, and part of a day in the uplands around the medieval
towns Groznjan and Motovun.
These hills of north and central Istria -- actually, foothills of the
Julian Alps -- recall what ''rustic'' looked like before the term
became self-conscious. You will get the inevitable photo op of
the Mercedes blowing past the grape-laden donkey cart.
Among the hill towns, Groznjan, especially, has enhanced its
blunt charm and long pastoral views with a cultural life that
includes music camps, art galleries and an international film
academy. But there are many places where you can still look
across a valley that's been worked in the same cycles for a
thousand years, or buy a bottle of wine from the family that
picked the grapes. Distance from the noise and cultural flattening
of mega-Europe is not the least of Istria's off-season charms.
A good vantage point is the high town of Motovun, overlooking
the Mirna River valley: a steep walk up stone-paved streets,
rewarded by a 360-degree view from the ramparts. The town
square includes the Renaissance St. Stephen Church, with a tower
you can climb for 5 kuna (roughly 60 cents); a cafe; the tidy
Hotel Kastel, and a delightful old movie house, Motovun's own
cinema paradiso, refitted for the inauguration of a mini film
festival last summer.
Pula, Istria's largest city, is near the southern tip of the peninsula
-- only a 45-minute drive from our Rovinj hotel, it turned out.
Pula is a haven for Adriatic yachtsmen, but more notably a shipbuilding center, and over all a business-minded place. It's well
worth a day's visit seeing what the Romans built there after their
subjugation of the Illyrians -- the first in a series of occupations
by Byzantines, Slavs, Celts, Venetians, Austro-Hungarians, the
French, Italians, Germans and the Allies, among others, before
Istria was awarded to Yugoslavia in 1947.
We were tooling around the city in a five-speed Fiat, following
the harbor, when the thing we were looking for seemed to find
us: Pula's amphitheater, rising in a leafy, relatively quiet district
of the old city.
Big, to be sure: it's supposed to be the third largest Roman
amphitheater. More impressive are its lofty design and sound
condition.
The amphitheater was built of white limestone in the first
century. Except that its tiers of stone seats were later taken for
use in other construction projects (replaced with wooden
benches), it may look nearly as good today as it did 2,000 years
ago, when guys bashed heads to the cheers of 20,000 spectators.
Modern Istrians have kept the amphitheater working with film
festivals, operas and rock concerts. But for a part of this mild
October afternoon, we were alone there, scaring ourselves with
thoughts of what it must have been like to stand in the way of a
people that could build such a thing wherever they pleased.
From the amphitheater, it's a block or so to Ulica Sergijevaca, a
busy, pedestrian-only street that follows the ring layout of the
original Roman city. Several blocks along, on the northern rim, is
the Triumphal Arch of Sergius, whose unexpectedly intimate
scale and integration into the daily flow of life were a pleasant
surprise. Michelangelo, among many others, came to study the
arch's famous classical proportions.
A footnote for Bloomsday-trivia types: the handsome old
building a few feet from the arch was once the Berlitz school
where James Joyce taught English after running away from
Ireland with Nora Barnacle in 1904. While a plaque on the
building briefly notes its association with the ''great Irish author,''
the story is worth a bit more than that.
During his stay in the town, then called Pola, Joyce wrote the socalled Pola notebook, laying out the esthetic principles that his
character Stephen Dedalus later elaborates in ''A Portrait of the
Artist as a Young Man.'' The down side was that Pola, the main
base of the Austro-Hungarian navy, was oppressive and
suspicious of foreigners. Joyce called it ''a naval Siberia,'' and
before long he was sent to Trieste, a more cosmopolitan outpost
of the empire, where he stayed until World War I.
No one traveling to Pula should pass up the chance to eat at
Valsabbion, located somewhat oddly in an upscale suburban
yacht harbor a few miles south of the central city. We considered
our two meals at Valsabbion, prepared with a spirit of invention
and a respect for fresh local ingredients, to be among the finest
we've had anywhere.
From the fish menu alone, we sampled baked fresh sardines with
cornmeal crust, tiny oysters served with sea bass carpaccio, a
whole giant prawn, sea bream baked in salt, a delicate fish soup
with vegetables, and baked squid. Then there were two risottos,
served in scooped-out ewes-milk cheeses from the island of Pag;
turkey breast with a sauce of wild berries and sour cherries; and,
of course, truffles, with roasted potatoes and beef carpaccio. The
more expensive of the meals came to less than $70 for both of us,
including first-rate Istrian wines.
The food was fine at less exalted restaurants just a few hundred
feet from our harborside hotel, the Sol Inn Adriatic, which only
strengthened our impression of Rovinj as an ideal place to stay.
Besides being very picturesque, at least in the old-town section
that juts out into the sea, Rovinj has a comfortable way of
balancing its own day-to-day life with the needs of visitors.
Stores are open late. Everyone speaks Italian, and to judge by our
experience, German and English as well. Rovinj also seems
particularly child-friendly -- it has an aquarium and boat trips to
nearby islands.
As for the Sol Inn, the sunny charm of the stucco exterior didn't
quite prepare us for the utilitarian renovation of the interior, and
the lack of an elevator might be a problem for guests on the third
and fourth floors. But we would happily stay there again.
Outside the old town, Rovinj, like some other parts of Istria, is
growing. Big two-story houses are going up. There are real estate
ads on the Internet with prices in dollars and marks, a trend likely
to accelerate under the political loosening that followed the death
of President Tudjman last December. ''Luxury'' hotels from the
Tito era of industrial tourism are being upgraded.
In short, there's a feeling in the air that Istria is about to be
invaded for the umpteenth time in 3,000 years -- this time, with
any luck, by the kind of people who just want to unwind with a
few drinks, a few laughs or a few truffles.
A jewel of a peninsula on the Adriatic
Lots of information on lodging, restaurants, festivals and
landmarks is available at www.istra.com (Istra is the native
spelling of Istria). Searching can be confined to a particular town
by adding a slash and the name of the town, as in www.istra.com
/rovinj. These pages link to forms for making hotel reservations,
but be sure to get a confirmation.
There is a Croatian National Tourist Office at 350 Fifth Avenue,
New York, N.Y 10118; (800) 829-4416, fax (212) 279-8683.
Getting Around
Most sizable towns in Istria are reachable by public bus, but the
practical choice for any short-term visitor is a car. If renting a car
in another country, make sure the rental agency gives you a
verifying document including the agency's phone number since
the authorities sometimes stop drivers, looking for stolen cars.
Where to Stay and Eat
Rovinj has a sterile-looking luxury hotel, the Melia Eden, on
Luja Adamovica, (385-52) 800-400, fax (385-52) 811-349. Rates,
including breakfast and dinner, range from $52 to $63 a person in
July and August, at the exchange rate of 8.5 kuna to the dollar. In
spring and fall, rates fall to about $40 a person, and the hotel
closes in February and much of November.
We preferred the more picturesque location of the less expensive
Sol Inn Adriatic, Piazza Maresciallo Tito 5, Rovinj, (385-52)
815-088, fax (385-52) 813-573, right on the harbor in the old
town. We got a big room with a sea view and a private bath for
around $40 a night, sumptuous buffet breakfast included; in
summer, a double, with breakfast, is about $70. The hotel is
closed from early January to Easter.
There are several hearty restaurants (fish, pasta, lamb) a short
walk from the Adriatic. We sampled Amfora and the funkier Veli
Joze, which makes fine stews, and paid less than $30 for two,
including wine or beer.
There's probably no compelling reason to stay overnight in Pula,
but you could do worse than the Hotel Riviera, a properly
impressive Old World place a few blocks from the Roman
amphitheater at Splitska Ulika 1, (385-52) 211-166, fax (385-52)
219-117. Doubles cost $35 to $56, including breakfast.
On a more intimate scale, in the neighboring suburb of Pjescana
Uvala, Valsabbion (which houses a superb restaurant of the same
name) is a sunny inn with several contemporary Mediterraneanstyle rooms, spa services, a fitness center and a small rooftop
pool at Pjescana Uvala IX/26, telephone and fax (385-52) 218033; www.valsabbion.com. Depending on the season, doubles
range from $36 to $106.
Things to Do
In Pula, the Roman amphitheater, on Falvjeska Ulica, (385-52)
219-028, is open 8 a.m. to 9 p.m. in summer, to 4:30 in the offseason; admission, about $2, $1 for children and seniors.
The nearby pedestrian street, Ulica Sergijevaca, is a trail of
history, including the Triumphal Arch of Sergius and the Temple
of Augustus.
Also close by, on Ulica Carrarina, is the Archeological Museum,
(385-52) 218-603, fax (385-52) 212-415, which has artifacts
from all over Istria. It is open 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. Monday to Friday
(till 8 p.m. in summer) and 10 a.m. to 5 p.m. on weekends.
Admission is $1.40 and 70 cents for children and seniors.
In Rovinj, the baroque Cathedral of St. Euphemia, has a
commanding view of the town and, inside, the sarcophagus of St.
Euphemia, which according to legend disappeared from
Constantinople around 800 and miraculously washed up on the
Rovinj coast. DANIEL LEWIS
Copyright 2004 The New York Times Company | Permissions | Privacy Policy
December 26, 1999
Frugal Traveler; A Rare American Tourist In Croatia
By DAISANN McLANE
THE Croatian immigration officer looked at my U.S. passport and frowned in
puzzlement. He leafed through page by page, holding it up to the light and scrutinizing
each visa stamp as if it were a rare butterfly.
In September on Brac, a mountainous rock island surrounded by Adriatic waters off the
coast near Split, in Croatia, I was the rarest of specimens: an American tourist. In 1998,
the Croatian tourism industry was just getting back on its feet after the end of the
Bosnian war in 1995. Then war broke out in Kosovo, and though there was no fighting
in Croatia, most foreign visitors gave the entire region a wide berth.
Hoteliers on Croatia's Dalmatian Coast looked elsewhere for business, which is how I
came to be standing on line at immigration in the Brac airport with around 40
Slovenians in T-shirts and shorts, tennis rackets at the ready. We'd all flown here on a
Croatian Airways charter from Ljubljana, on a package sold through Kompas Holidays,
one of the largest travel agencies in Slovenia.
Package tours aren't my cup of tea. I usually travel on a tighter budget and I prefer not
to be tied down in advance to a hotel I've never seen. But I'd lingered a bit too long in
Slovenia, my second stop on a three-week visit to three countries in the Adriatic region.
It suddenly hit me that I had only a week remaining before I had to be back in Venice
for my return flight home. Originally, I'd envisioned myself meandering by rail, bus
and ferry from Slovenia down the Croatian coast. But when I sat down with the
timetables to work out an itinerary, I could see that was not going to work, unless I
wanted to spend most of the next week on buses and boats instead of admiring
Dalmatia's lovely rugged beaches and well-preserved Roman ruins.
At Kompas Holidays, I inquired about round-trip air fare from the Slovenian capital of
Ljubljana to Split, the city on the Croatian coast that is well connected by ferry to many
interesting islands.
The agent quoted me a price of $190 for the round trip. Then she told me that Kompas
Holidays had a package tour that left every Saturday afternoon from May through
October. You fly directly to Brac Island, off the coast of Split, she said. The price
included air fare and hotel in the town of Bol, on Brac. ''Bol is near the best beach in
Croatia, Zlatni rat.'' ''Zlatni rat?'' I repeated dubiously. The agent pulled out a picture of
a small triangle of land, bordered in a soft pink beach surrounded by deep blue waters.
''It means Golden Cape, in Croatian. Very beautiful.''
The agent's manner didn't seem shady in the least, but still I was skeptical. How much
would this package cost? ''Air fare, single room at Hotel Bretanide, breakfast and
dinner, seven days and nights -- $218 total,'' she said. I refigured the conversion rate
from Slovenian tolar into dollars on my pocket calculator, because I wasn't sure I'd
heard her right -- $218 for an all-inclusive week? That was only $30 more than the air
ticket to nearby Split. There had to be a catch. The hotel? The brochure showed pastelcolored rooms with queen beds, turquoise swimming pools, white concrete buildings
with bougainvillea pouring over the balconies: the Bretanide looked inviting, like a
typical Caribbean-style beach hotel. There were ferries to neighboring islands, so I
wouldn't be stuck on Brac. I pondered. The worst-case scenario was that Brac would be
awful or that the hotel would be dirty or dreary. In that case, I could just move on after
a night or two, and still come out ahead on the air fare alone.
At the airport, the immigration man stamped my passport and waved me on. There was
a bus waiting outside to take us to the hotel, and I sat down next to the woman who'd
helped me explain to the official that yes, in spite of my passport, I really was with the
Slovene tourist group.
I'd noticed Anita on the plane; she and I were the only women traveling solo. A
producer of television commercials in Ljubljana, she had been as skeptical as I was
about the trip. ''I figured it would be touristy,'' she said, ''But I had a friend who went on
the tour last month, and who said it was beautiful.''
At the Hotel Bretanide, which was clean and even nicer-looking than the brochure, we
checked in and made a date for a drink. The hotel complex was a maze of three- and
four-story buildings connected by zigzag paths and landscaped with flowers and dwarf
island pines. Finally, I found my room and turned the key with trepidation, expecting to
be hit with a Socialist-era smell of disinfectant and musty concrete. But the room was
spacious and lovely, and smelled of the night island air, of pine needles, wild herbs and
salty sea. There was a queen-sized bed with a good mattress, sliding doors that opened
to a little balcony, a television with cable and a new bathroom with plenty of hot water.
It wasn't luxurious, but it was comfortable. I knew I would be happy here for a week.
Anita was surprised and pleased with her accommodations, too. We toasted our
success, in the hotel bar, over thimbles full of a Croatian schnapps called Travarica. It
tasted just like the soft Brac island air, with hints of sea and herbs and pine.
The island of Brac was larger than I thought, about 150 square miles. The interior is
mountainous, composed almost entirely of a hard, white rock that was used as
construction material for the Emperor Diocletian's Palace in Split, as well as for the
White House in the United States. Narrow, perilous roads twisted through these high,
steep mountains; the local buses went slowly and stopped at every little village along
the way.
Because renting a car was relatively expensive, about $50 a day, I didn't think I would
get to explore much of Brac beyond the vicinity of my hotel, which sat back of a rocky
cliff that descended sharply to the sea below. I curled up in a little cove by the ocean,
all by myself, occasionally jumping out to swim in the crisp, clear water. Mornings
were chilly, but by 10 A.M. the sun was hot -- perfect weather. The beach was wide,
and made up of finely crushed stone rather than sand.
On the second day of my stay, I walked about two-thirds of a mile from the tourist
beach area (Zlatni rat has several resorts besides the Bretanide) into Bol, a
Mediterranean-style fishing village with a busy harbor, a historic Dominican
monastery, souvenir shops, coffee bars and restaurants. I was looking for espresso -the hotel restaurant only served ersatz coffee at the breakfast buffet -- and I bumped
into Anita sitting at a sidewalk cafe, deep in conversation with a leathery-tanned,
white-haired Croatian man whom she introduced as Mr. Ivan.
Mr. Ivan spoke no English, but he waved his arms and spoke excitedly to me in
Croatian, as if the sheer force of his enthusiasm would penetrate the language barrier.
(Fortunately, Anita managed to keep up a translation.) Mr. Ivan had lots of questions:
Was I really an American? Had my fellow countrymen figured out that Croatia was
safe for tourists? The reason behind his inquiries became clear after he walked us up a
steep hill to show us his ''dream project''-- a three-story white edifice of Brac stone,
half-completed, with construction debris all around and nary a workman in sight: The
Hotel Ivan.
It should have been up and running by now, he told us, but then Kosovo happened, the
tourists disappeared, and his bank loan fell through. Mr. Ivan looked glum. He took us
inside the structure to one room that had been completed and was outfitted with a
refrigerator and a mattress on the floor: Home of Ivan. Although it was only 9 a.m., he
pulled a bottle of Travarica out of the fridge, and insisted we toast. How could we
refuse? After one round, he turned expansive and invited us on a personal tour of ''his''
Brac.
Anita and I looked at each other, and she nodded to indicate she thought it was O.K.
And so we all piled into his old Peugeot and headed up the winding road that led into
the mountains from Bol. Up and up we went, passing farmers tending sheep and goats,
thickets of twisted pine and a vast rock quarry. Mr. Ivan pointed out local sights, like
Bobovisce, a beautiful village clinging precariously to a mountainside. Finally, we
arrived at the top of the highest mountain of all, Vidova gora. There was a little cafebar on the mountaintop, and Mr. Ivan ordered a round of beers.
We weren't the only ones on the mountaintop that morning. About 50 yards away was a
crew preparing to film a man who was about to hang-glide off the mountain. It was a
movie crew of Croatians and Californians, shooting a Hollywood feature film starring a
Croatian screen hearthrob, Goran Visnjic. Not all Americans, it seemed, had been
scared away from Croatia by the fighting in Kosovo. Anita translated what was going
on for Mr. Ivan and when she said the word ''Americans,'' he broke into a wide smile.
My ''Ivan Tour'' made me restless to explore nearby islands. The next morning I went
down to Bol harbor to see where I could go by sea. For $10, I hopped on a 35-foot
wooden excursion boat, the Frane, and went to Hvar, the next island over.
Rain was pouring as I disembarked at historic Hvar Town, with many stone buildings
from the 14th through 16th centuries and heavily influenced by the Venetians. I made a
quick tour of the central square with its impressive stone church, then ducked up a side
alley into a restaurant called Macondo. There I had a simple dish of pasta with seafood
sauce that turned out to be one of the best meals of my trip. (The hotel food at the
Bretanide was the one hitch in my package deal, adequate but cafeteria-bland.)
The rain let up a bit after lunch, so I climbed up the many stairs to the fort that
overlooks the town and harbor. At 3 p.m., I returned to the Frane, satisfied by a good
day of sightseeing.
I still had four more days on my package, time enough to hop the ferry from Bol to
Split, on the Croatian mainland. It cost about $7, left at 7 a.m., took about an hour and
a half and returned in the late afternoon. A spectacular sunrise was my reward for
getting up to catch the boat, a high-speed catamaran.
We arrived in Split harbor just as the waterfront cafes were beginning to bustle. Sitting
with a cappuccino, watching the sleek white ferries of the Croatian Jadrolinija line sail
to and fro, I decided to stay the night in Split -- my package tour was so cheap, I could
surely afford to.
It didn't take me long to find the Hotel Bellevue, a somewhat faded 19th-century
building. The bed had starched, pressed white sheets, and the room had a wall of
French windows overlooking the plaza: at $53 a night, it was exactly what you dream
of finding in a European city.
With the local tourist board's excellent guidebook in hand -- $8 but worth it -- I
explored Split's twisty, charming streets. Expecting that the famed ruins of Diocletian's
Palace, built in the late third and early fourth centuries, would be a sort of museum or
monument, I was delighted to find them a backdrop for city life. Split natives casually
drank coffee and jabbered on cell phones by the former Roman emperor's mausoleum.
The building is now a Catholic cathedral; for $1.40 I bought a ticket that let me climb
to the top of its elaborately arched bell tower, where a spectacular view of red-tiled
rooftops and cool blue harbor awaited me. I came down and enjoyed the street scene of
young people dressed in sleek black fashions. I did not see a single, solitary tourist.
I looked hard for something -- a bad mood, an edge of violence or trouble -- that might
caution against a visit to the Croatian coast. My antenna picked up nothing -- indeed, as
beach resorts go, Zlatni rat was one of the lowest-key places I've ever visited. Even the
souvenir vendors didn't hustle in laid-back Bol.
For now, Brac is the secret bargain-basement escape of Slovene tourists, and I counted
myself lucky to be among them. But I doubt it will be long before Croatia returns to the
travel agent's A list. And the next time I go to Bol, I expect to stay at the Hotel Ivan.
The bottom line in Bol, Hvar and Split
The total cost of my week in Croatia, including round trip air fare from Ljubljana to
Brac Island, hotels, meals, ferries, buses and activities, was $392. That averages out to
$56 a day, but if you leave out a portion for the air fare (I don't usually count it when
making my per diem calculations) the daily costs were far less, closer to $35.
The Package
Kompas Holidays, Ljubljanska, 4, 4260 Bled, (386-64) 741 515, fax (386-64) 741 518,
one of the largest travel agents in Slovenia, sold me a package for $218 including air,
hotel, meals and airport transfers.
I was ''in the right place at the right time'' to get this last-minute deal, an agent there
said. It was late in the season (the charters run from May to October), and there were
only a few seats left on the plane.
The package entitled me to a single room, plus breakfast and dinner, at the 247-room
Hotel Bretanide, a pleasant, large, concrete resort hotel with swimming pool within
walking distance of Bol town and Zlatni rat beach. It is open from May to midOctober. My room would have cost $44 a night in September, had I booked it myself.
Reservations for the local hotels can be made through Zlatni rat Marketing, (385-21)
635 210, fax (385-21) 635 150.
There are several travel agents in Bol town who can get discounted rates on hotels, and
who can arrange accommodation in apartments or private houses. One, Bol Tours,
Vladimira Nazora 18, (385-21) 635 693, fax (385-21) 635 695, quoted me a rate of $28
a day at the Bretanide. An apartment in town can cost even less, with the price
depending on location, size, and season (June through August are the peak months in
Brac).
Other Hotels
I stayed overnight in Split at the charming Hotel Bellevue, Josipa Jalacica 2, 21000,
Split, (385-21) 585-701, fax (385-21) 362-383. My room had a wall of French
windows that overlooked a beautiful square. The single, without breakfast, cost $53.
Eating
I had most of my meals at the Bretanide; dinner for the hundreds of guests was served
cafeteria-style, and on most evenings I was able to assemble a reasonable, if
unexciting, meal of meat cutlets or fish, boiled vegetables and salad.
In Hvar, I had an excellent lunch at Macondo, a small cafe that spills out onto a
cobblestone sidewalk on a side street in Hvar town. My three-course meal (appetizer of
hummus, main course of spaghetti in tomato and olive sauce, cake for dessert) cost $17
with wine. Macondo, generally open May to October, has no address, since the streets
in tiny Hvar town are unnamed. But there is a sign in the main church square that
points out the side street where it is.
Many of Bol's restaurants had already closed for the season when I was there in late
September. But Konobo Gust, a lively cafe on the first road back from the waterfront
promenade, was packed with locals and visitors. The portions of salad, seafood risotto,
and two different kinds of locally caught fish, were enormous; a meal for two, with a
liter of local wine, cost $43.
Split has many pizzerias; the pizza I devoured at Galija, Tonciceva 12, had a thin crust
and was covered with salty tuna and olives. Lunch, with wine, was $4.50.
Sightseeing
Entry to the small but interesting City Museum of Split, Papaliceva 1, (385-21) 341
240, which is housed
in a Renaissance-era mansion, is $1.40.
In order to walk to the top of the bell tower of the Cathedral of Split (Diocletian's
mausoleum), one must buy a ticket for $1.40.
Local Transportation
Boats are the way to move among the Dalmatian islands. A high-speed catamaran ferry
leaves Bol at 7 a.m., bound for Split, and returns in the late afternoon. The ferry is run
by a company called Dalmacijaturist, and more information is available at Bol Tours;
round trip, $7.
Jadrolinija runs ferries between Split and the town of Supetar, on Brac. There are
several daily; $2 one way. DAISANN McLANE
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