Croatia: the coast with the most...steps

We've been in Croatia now for almost three weeks, but get the feeling we'd need to be here a lot, lot longer to really understand what makes the country - and the people - tick. This is a country with so many layers of history: a conveyor belt of countries and empires over time have stamped their influence on the place. It's incredibly beautiful and we can see why so many people are talking about it as a holiday destination. Oh, and the 34-degree weather has been a lovely reprieve from the cold and rain of Denmark.

We have stayed at three villas in the southern Dalmatia region of Croatia (to be precise: Cavtat, near Dubrovnik; Viganj, near a place called Orebic on the Peljesac Peninsula; and a village called Dracevica on the island of Brac, a stone's throw across the water from a city called Split). It's been great having spent time in three very different locales, namely in the heart of the old part of a gorgeous town; perched up high in a sparsely populated peninsula; and smack bang in a village so old and traditional we saw a flock of sheep complete with bell being led through the town and thought for a moment that we'd travelled back in time a few centuries; the other frequent bell of course being the church bells that chime out religiously on the hour and half-hour all hours of the day and night. Anyway, the variety has been wonderful.

Spare a thought for us as we prepare to leave Croatia tomorrow, our day starting at 4.00am to catch a car ferry to the mainland, then a long drive south to Dubrovnik for our flight back to London.

We were hoping for a sense of history in Croatia, and we got it. Our last house of three is in a village that must be a thousand years old -- it feels straight out of a scene from 'Manon de Sources' with us seemingly the only inhabitants for miles (or at least the only ones making any noise). We arrived in the late afternoon on a Sunday (mistake number 1), expecting to meet the contact who would show us to our place. The village is so old and small, it doesn't seem to have street names or house numbers! Unfortunately, our phone was dead (mistake number 2), and our contact was MIA. We'd put the kids through a five-stage travel day, 8-9 hours of winding roads to rival the best of Tivoli Gardens' rides for turning your stomach inside out, plus two car ferry trips. Needless to say they, and we, were well and truly over it.  

After 30 minutes of spirit-crushing silence in the freakishly quiet local square (the thick, stone walls quell any sounds from within, and would make an excellent venue for a Ruth Rendell murder mystery), we started to consider a dreaded plan B, more travel to a nearby town to secure new accommodation. And then Zana, our local contact, arrived and ushered us to our house. As Hadley would say, "Phewish!".

The rustic charms of Croatia are everywhere: ancient, thick stone walls; narrow streets with intricate iron gateways; carved frescoes atop centuries-old churches; sunbaked terracotta roofs; and parched olive groves. Every town has a square and a church, integral parts of each community. There are Roman ruins, and the incredible walled old towns of Dubrovnik and Korcula (to name just two that we happened to visit).

But, while this sense of history is awe inspiring, there's a fine line between the pleasure of a rustic retreat versus the challenges of ancient dwellings with a toddler. We felt this pretty keenly at our second place, a house perched high up on a hillside overlooking the town of Viganj and the strait between the Peljesac Peninsula and the island of Korcula. The views were to die for, but that was after surviving a torturously narrow, snaking driveway up the hill, and then climbing a lot of steep, jagged steps. Having said that, we got to stay in a 300-year old house that was originally owned by sea captains; their houses were apparently situated up on the hill so that their family could glimpse pirates entering the cove, or so the locals told us.

Viganj was a great spot from which to access to a wide range of pebble and sand beaches, and nearby towns. The swimming was excellent, especially off small pontoons where we would take running leaps into the sea. The water was as clear and unspoilt as the Hong Kong skyline in June, and brimming with fish. We donned snorkels and masks and happily lazed on lilos and even took a small catamaran out for a blast (with Rupert, the salty seadog, at the helm) off one of the points, which was overflowing with windsurfers and kite surfers of every age and description.

We were pretty impressed with the number of agile Dalmatians climbing aboard their windsurfers. It seemed that everywhere you looked a 60+-year old grey nomad would be deftly stepping onto their board and letting the wind lift them off for some exercise. I remember trying to learn to windsurf years ago and it's tough, tiring work. These guys made it look effortless. As for the people engaging in kite-surfing and all manner of hybrid wind/water sports, their mastery of the elements was truly inspirational.

We had hoped to take in a few of the wineries in the area, as the peninsula is one of Croatia's premier wine growing regions, but a single visit to a family winery reputed to be 400 years old was underwhelming enough to put an end to that idea. We journeyed to the winery but found a total lack of signage or any other confirmation that we were in the right place. It seemed more like a rambling French chateau than a winery, and we didn't have a clue which door to enter.

We eventually found the tasting room and tried some wines, but with children bored and acting up and nowhere for them to play, we didn't linger. It didn't feel like our custom would be missed. We felt a bit surprised by the seeming lack of effort to promote the particular wine brand or welcome visitors, but that's been the overall theme here -- they do things differently to what we're used to, and everything in its own time. Let's just say the experience didn't rival the Margaret River in Western Australia as our preferred wine growing region to visit.

Having said that, the wine is very drinkable, as is the beer, and both taste even better in the heat and after a day of kid wrangling. On the food front, given the Italian influence, pizzerias are everywhere. While we've savoured the local meat (a spicy sausage called cevapcici being a particular hit with the kids), cheese, fish and pastries from the supermarkets, when dining out we've fallen into a predictable (i.e. kid friendly) pattern of pizza, usually followed by a stroll and ice cream.

They have a type of restaurant here called the konoba, which only uses the freshest, most local, organically grown produce and seafood preferably caught hours earlier. We happened upon a konoba in a gorgeous spot one early evening, but sadly it was approaching the witching hour with kids moaning about being starving (between them they'd probably consumed a tub of ice-cream that day, but who's arguing). When we tried to press the owner for some details about how long the food might take, he took umbrage and started raving about how a konoba was "more than just the food, it's a movement, a way of thinking", ... And "if time was important to us, we should go elsewhere". The adults were all imagining cocktails by the sea watching the sunset while we awaited our delicious food to arrive, but instead we had to pick ourselves up, do the long drive home (heading into the setting sun, groan) with the moan-ometer approaching fever pitch, and make spaghetti bolognaise for dinner.  Sigh.

Eating al fresco has often been an exercise in frustration, sadly, with wasps buzzing around and dive bombing the food. We've felt empathy for people who visit Australia and have their experience marred by flies and other insects, and not a little nervous at the prospect of returning to Australia and 'buzzy creatures' being the norm.  

The topography of the country has made it a challenge for us with the children. The mountainous "spine" along the coast and along the Peljesac Peninsula makes for great elevated views but also means lots of steps for Marguerite to negotiate. Our first place, nestled in the old part of the town of Cavtat, had a big staircase inside and steps outside to get to the back gate and steps down to the waterfront. The second place, as mentioned earlier, also had lots of steps, this time significantly less child friendly ones, with sharp edges and polished stone. Our third and final villa, which we went to after the Sydenhams went back to London, had only four steps inside the house, and they were broad and non-slippery.

We had been accompanying Margie up and down countless steps/stairs for weeks and this last place seemed like we might just be able to relax a tad, thinking she was in safe territory. But of course, Murphy's Law struck on Tuesday with Margie taking a spill on said steps and gashing her forehead. Maybe it will be fodder for some good story in future when she explains to people how she got the scar on her forehead. (We're taking her to a follow-up doctor's visit tomorrow - wouldn't it be cool if the scar was a Harry Potteresque lightning bolt?!) Lucky for us, the local ambulance/emergency clinic was open early and full of experienced-looking people. I found myself hoping that they had had lots of experience in the field, and would do a neat job with the stitches.  Unlike Hong Kong, no one mentioned a referral to a plastic surgeon.

The steep, rocky terrain has also made for a hair-raising driving experience. Once again, Nikki has been the chauffeur given her greater ease with manual cars. Our hire car was particularly lacking in responsiveness, turning circle, ease of gear changing and torque, so Nikki did brilliantly negotiating the endlessly narrow winding roads and hills in a people mover that seems to have the engine capacity of a Morris Minor. Given both Nikki and Olivia's propensity to suffer from travel sickness, the going was tough even when the distances we travelled were fairly modest. The contrast with Denmark continues, which after all is what we wanted.

That said, without the dramatic coastline we wouldn't have enjoyed some truly stunning views (err...that is Derek has enjoyed them given Nikki's eyes have been focussed on the pencil-thin roads and the kids have been either asleep, on their gaming devices or too car sick to notice), mainly gorgeous bays with sparkling emerald water but also villages perched on hillsides in picture-perfect clusters of old stone houses with the ubiquitous church and town square.

On one occasion, our two families spied an incredible strip of sparkling water and beach at the foot of a vertiginous hillside. We decided to stop off there to let the children cool off in the water and to give us a chance for a coffee and a stretch of the legs. Sadly for us, this idyllic stop-off proved to be a stressful and painful experience when Olivia managed to get a half-dozen sea urchin 'splinters' embedded in her palm. Nikki performed some roadside surgery, using a needle to try to coax the spiny tips out of Olivia's hand. Olivia was howling, partly with pain but also we think from the sight of the needle coupled with her misplaced conviction that she would die from poisoning. Through her wails she let us know in no uncertain terms that she was never going back into the sea water in Croatia. Luckily, this vow only lasted 24 hours as she rediscovered the joy of being in the water but at the time it's fair to say Olivia hated Croatia with a passion.

It will be interesting to see if Croatia really takes off as a tourist destination. Little things have given us the impression that Croatia is struggling to keep up with its rise in popularity, such as supermarkets in tourist areas being laughably crowded and bursting at the seams. And, as odd as it sounds, the people themselves haven't exactly inspired a desire for a return visit: many of the locals we've come across have lacked warmth, or been indifferent or almost hostile. It's hard to imagine their neighbors across the Adriatic being so indifferent or plain blunt, but it's hard to say.  Maybe the country's history makes for a complex people who take time to get to know. I get the sense this might be a good place to settle for a while rather than visit for a short time.

Speaking of the locals, we had a couple of brushes with the police which certainly livened things up and gave us a bit of a window into day-to-day life here.

The first incident occurred when we were with the Sydenhams at our place in Viganj. An imposing shadow was cast across the entrance to our house as we were preparing to head out for a swim.  A man stood there as if we should somehow know who he was and why he was there.  We were thinking maybe he was somehow connected to the house, but when he said "police inspection", in a deep, gravelly, "don't mess with me" voice, we started to feel uneasy. He then explained that he and his sidekick police officer whose firearm was noticeably on display, had a search warrant to inspect the premises. It was all sounding very fishy and we were glad we were lawyered-up to the gills (Rupert and Eileen are both in that field). The whole process dragged on as phone calls were made to our local villa manager and the owner in the UK to establish what requisite licenses had been secured or not.

We found out later that many aspects of life in Croatia are regulated like this, and if a policeman wants to pay you a visit they will ask for a vast array of permits and probably not rest till they have sprung you for some bureaucratic oversight. The visits are conducted on a door-to-door basis as the country's database either doesn't exist or isn't up to the task of managing the billing and licensing requirements of its citizens.

The second brush with the police occurred when we witnessed what can only be described as a cat fight between two Croatian women at a swimming spot. It threatened to be nasty at one stage, when the bigger of the two pushed the other off the pontoon and into the water. There was also pushing and shoving and a stone thrown. Fortunately, no blood was spilled (especially not ours!), but as witnesses, the policeman visited us later that day to get our version of the events. These women were neighbours - we wondered what on earth had caused the levels of animosity to reach this point.

Our last days in Dracevic have been quiet and restful (as restful as it can be hovering over a toddler all day as she negotiates garden steps, walls, bee-infested paths and so on), with us enjoying our own pool and complete anonymity. We return to London at the end of the week, and while we'll miss the beautiful sunshine, blue skies and dramatic landscape, I think we're all looking forward to getting back to more familiar surroundings.  

Sorry for the long entry -- lack of Internet access and too many fun nights with the Sydenhams have made it hard to keep the blog up-to-date. Congratulations and thanks if you've read this far!

Derek, Nikki and the gang