The dour old woman was straight out of central casting, Mediterranean division: short and stocky, wearing a shapeless black dress and shawl, her gray hair in a bun. As I followed her up the stairs of her narrow stone house outside Dubrovnik’s Old Town, I wondered just what kind of room she was renting me. At $50 a night, I couldn’t be too picky. Then she threw open the bedroom shutters.
Outside the window was a Southern European trifecta: blue sea, red tile roofs, towering cliffs.
Gasp-worthy? Absolutely. But along Croatia’s Adriatic coast, it’s the standard-issue view.
Minutes later I joined the mix of locals and tourists at the massive Pile Gate, one of two entrances to Stari Grad, or Old Town.
The marble-paved streets seemed to glow from within in the late-afternoon sun. That amazing light, the chamber music spilling out of church doorways, the cafes and ancient monuments sharing space beneath 800-year-old city walls … Cue another gasp.
Another day in Croatia, another sharp intake of breath. And this was just Dubrovnik. In addition to the legendary “pearl of the Adriatic,” the Dalmatian coast – the lower half of the coastline, a 225-mile stretch from the city of Zadar to Dubrovnik – boasts some of the most beautiful beaches in Europe, more than 1,000 rustic islands with their own traditions and culture, and one of the largest and best-preserved Roman ruins in the world.
But is it safe? Although its war of independence from the former Yugoslavia ended more than a decade ago, many people still envision a ravaged land where, they imagine, visitors sleep in drab Soviet-style hotels and wander streets lined with bombed-out buildings.
Truth is, this crescent-shaped, West Virginia-size country of 4 1/2 million people feels like Italy or Greece, only fresher and less trammeled. And because it’s not on the euro, the dollar goes further – although that will change, as Croatia is expected to join the European Union in 2009.
This is usually the point in the story where you read, “Go soon, before it gets discovered.” But Europeans are already returning to Croatia in droves, and many cruise ships have added Dubrovnik to their Mediterranean itineraries. It can feel claustrophobic, especially in summer. Better to go in September, when the weather’s perfect, everything’s still open, the streets are less mobbed … and the gasp quotient remains high.
Rising from the ashes
The rooftops of Dubrovnik tell the tale. Walking around the impeccably preserved Old Town, you’d never know it had been heavily bombarded just over a decade ago, so thorough have restoration efforts been. But walk the ramparts of the mile-long city wall, gaze down at the city, and there’s the evidence: the vivid orange roofs that dominate the skyline. The bright new tiles – 70 percent of the town’s roofs – are jarring, in sharp contrast to the few faded prewar tiles that remain.
“No one believed they would bomb Dubrovnik,” Curic said as we made our way past the shops and monuments of Stradun, the main pedestrian thoroughfare. A delicate-featured woman with cropped brown hair, she spoke of the prewar days when she and her classmates were force-fed the hated Cyrillic alphabet, and her parents hid books advocating Croatian nationalism behind the front rows of their shelves. “You couldn’t say you were a Croat,” she said.
When the war started, she said, many Croatians moved to Dubrovnik because they believed the city’s UNESCO World Heritage Site status made it immune to attacks.
Instead, the Yugoslav army systematically bombed the city’s treasured monuments for a year after Croatia declared independence.
Now, Dubrovnik appears on many European “hot” lists, and on the fall weekend I visited, had the crowds to prove it. That’s because four cruise ships had just docked, Curic explained, swelling the city’s normal population of 55,000 by an additional 10,000.
At that point, all 10,000 of them seemed to be gathered in Luza Square, sipping cappuccinos and eyeing each other in sidewalk cafes.
The people-watching, to be sure, was sublime: a black-robed monk with rope belt and sandals, striding along with plastic shopping bags; kids careering around on tricycles; old ladies in black dresses and short black socks, carrying their shopping home in straw baskets; tan teenage girls in various degrees of undress. The low midriff thing is alive and well in Eastern Europe.
The city is packed with Gothic, Renaissance and baroque churches, monasteries and museums, but I was most moved by a simpler building: the 15th-century Jewish Synagogue, the oldest Sephardic and the second-oldest synagogue in Europe (after Prague’s). You can climb the narrow stairs and view the baroque sanctuary, with its high-backed benches and women’s gallery hidden behind wooden grilles. Among the artifacts on display are chilling decrees ordering Jewish Croatians to wear yellow armbands during World War II.
Later, ducking into the 15th-century Dominican Monastery, I browsed works by members of the Dubrovnik Painting School (who knew?) in the attached art museum.
The monastery is an architectural delight, with massive pillars surrounding an interior courtyard planted with orange trees. Bonus: Between the pillars, you can see the holes that Napoleon carved to hold his horses’ food and water (he invaded Dubrovnik in 1806). And then it was on to more reminders of war in the Memorial Room at Sponga Palace, where a heartbreaking exhibit of photographs pays tribute to the young men who died defending the city.
That night, at a waterfront restaurant and local hangout called Lokanda Peskarija, I snagged a table overlooking the harbor.
Lights sparkled on the water and up in the hills as I tucked into a plate of grilled shrimp, feeding the leftovers to the cats making the rounds. It was easy, for a little while, to forget about war.
It seemed impossible that Korcula would be crowded. The tiny island about 3 1/2 hours by ferry from Dubrovnik is known for its laid-back Mediterranean lifestyle, and I was expecting peace and quiet. Turned out to be the same old story … a cruise ship had just docked.
Korcula peace and quiet
There isn’t much to do on Korcula, and that, of course, is the great appeal. The main town, also called Korcula, is cunningly laid out, with one long central street (to catch the breeze) and side streets radiating from it like the bones of a fish.
It was raining when I arrived, and I negotiated with a young woman for a room off the main square. She was the polar opposite of my Dubrovnik landlady: flaming red hair, green capris, breezy smile. The room, on the fourth floor of her old stone house on the coast road, had another killer view, complete with fishing boats and the odd yacht. I was now officially spoiled for any future B&B in any country, ever.
I gave up on lunch – every restaurant was packed – and went for a walk, dodging the dozens of skinny feral cats that slink around town.
Korcula, a walled city with steep cobbled streets, feels like Venice – the Venetians ruled it for four centuries – and even has its own St. Mark’s Square. Each narrow alley is more enticing than the last, with doors opening onto private courtyards with vine-draped, wrought-iron stairways.
By now it was sunny again, and I walked down to the pebbly beach to dip my toes in the Adriatic. The streets were packed with guidebook-toting photographers who tended to stop abruptly in their tracks, causing mini-traffic jams while they zoomed in on the carved moldings and ornate grillwork.
That night, after cocktails under the stars at the weirdest bar I’ve ever been to (a 14th-century Venetian tower with a long, skinny ladder that you have to climb to reach the rooftop tables), I settled in at one of the outdoor restaurants overlooking the bay. Ah, which fresh fish would it be tonight? A black cat prowling the sea wall watched the negotiations as the waiter coached me on the menu: “St. Pietro” was eel, orado was sea bream. And I was also ordering the blitva, he informed me. “That’s our special kind of spinach, but it’s 200 times better. You will love.” I did.
The next morning I woke up to church bells and a cat fight, and by 7 a.m. I was settled in at a cafe near the town square, nibbling a marmalade croissant and watching the neighborhood come to life. A well-padded woman in powder-blue stretch pants pedaled up on a pink bike and popped into a supermarket. Two waitresses shouted “good morning” to each other from their respective cafes, and a couple of girls in regulation short tiered skirts, camisoles and flip-flops strolled down to the beach.
While the coastline is endless in these parts, sand is not. But that doesn’t stop the legions of determined sunbathers who spread their beach towels on concrete slabs or hard pebbled beaches. By the time I’d packed up a couple of hours later and was heading for the ferry dock, the well-oiled and frequently topless populace – no inhibitions here – was out in force.
The Split decision
When the Roman emperor Diocletian built his retirement villa in the fourth century, he settled on Split. The seaside town, about a four-hour ferry ride north of Korcula, occupies a prime spot between the sea and the mountains.
Compared with the medieval perfection of Dubrovnik and the rustic allure of Korcula, Split – Croatia’s second-largest city, after Zagreb – seems grittier and more real. Or maybe that was just the elaborate system of locks and deadbolts on the door of the Soviet-style apartment I rented for the night. But it was a great location just a few blocks from the center of town, and I headed immediately for the gorgeous, palm-lined seaside promenade, whose cafes and pubs draw a lively crowd day and night.
Split’s other great attraction is the enormous Diocletian’s Palace, a 7 1/2-acre villa that comprises some 220 buildings. It once housed soldiers, servants and family members – 9,000 people at one point. But far from being deserted today, its apartments and courtyards are occupied by shops, cafes and private residences.
My fish dinner circuit was coming to an end, and I ended up that last night at Sperun, a tiny locals’ hangout with a reputation for cooking fresh food simply and well. The manager recommended the whole roasted sea bream, brought out a bottle of the local Posip wine and pulled up a chair.
“We don’t do this just for money,” Sergio Cado said passionately.
“We try to prepare special food, original food – like fresh whole fish, and bouillabaisse. Things people will recognize as Dalmatian.” I was beginning to see what he meant.
GET THERE
There are no direct flights to Croatia from the United States. Croatia Travel Agency (croatiatravel.com) offers a flight with a connection; it also has air-hotel packages.
GET AROUND
Croatia Airlines (croatiaairlines.hr) flies from Zagreb to Dubrovnik for about $35 one way. Once you’re on the coast, you can take passenger ferries to Korcula, Hvar, Split and other Dalmatian islands and cities; schedules and fares (Dubrovnik to Korcula, three and a half hours, $20; Korcula to Split, four hours, $20) are posted at jadrolinija.hr.
STAY
The hotel infrastructure in Croatia hasn’t yet caught up with the increased tourism, with overpriced behemoths dominating the scene in most major cities. In Zagreb, a welcome exception is the two-star Hotel Ilica (102 Ilica, hotel-ilica.hr), with doubles for $118, including a continental breakfast.
The elegant Hotel Dubrovnik (1 Gajeva, 011-385-48- 63-555, hotel-dubrovnik.hr) has doubles starting at about $170 per night (including breakfast) in June.
In Dubrovnik, there’s just one affordable hotel within the city walls: the stylish Hotel Stari Grad (4 Od Sigurate, 011-385-20- 322-244, hotelstarigrad.com), in an elegant townhouse with just eight rooms (reserve early!) and a rooftop terrace overlooking the city. Doubles start at $190 in June, including breakfast.
Options just outside the Old Town include the Hilton Imperial Dubrovnik (2 Marijana Blazica, 011-385-20-320320, hilton.com, doubles from $340) and the Hotel Excelsior (12 Frana Supila, 011-385-20- 353-353, hotel-excelsior.hr; doubles from $229).
Or consider renting a room in a private house.
Residents carrying “Sobe” (“Rooms”) signs congregate at the docks at ferry arrival times, or you can arrange a rental through one of the travel agencies clustered around the docks. In Dubrovnik, Atlas Travel Agency (just outside Pile Gate, 011-385-20-44-22-22, atlas-croatia.com) booked me into a double room overlooking the Adriatic on a side street just minutes from the Old Town for $50 a night. In Korcula, a pleasant fourth-floor bayfront room on the main coast road was $46 a night. In Split, a spacious apartment with kitchen, dining room, bedroom and bath, a few minutes’ walk from the dock, was $60.
DINE
Fresh seafood, prepared Mediterranean-style with herbs, lemon and olive oil, is everywhere. In Dubrovnik, Lokanda Peskarija (Na Ponti, on the Old Town harbor) is popular with locals for its generous portions and low prices; a grilled shrimp dinner for one runs about $15. At Orhan (1 Tabakarije), on the harbor at the edge of the Old Town, servers wheel out a tray with the day’s catch; a dinner of octopus appetizer, grilled sea bass and wine was about $45.
In Korcula, the nautical-themed Marinero (13 Marka Andrijica) is a good bet for lunch, with excellent grilled octopus salad; lunch was about $15. Gajeta (11a Kraljeviceva), overlooking the water, offers everything from eel to sea bream; dinner ran about $25.
In Split, Sperun (3 Sperun) specializes in freshly prepared Dalmatian cuisine; a dinner of roasted whole fish and grilled vegetables runs about $25.
MORE INFORMATION
Croatia National Tourist Board, 800-829-4416, us.croatia.hr.
