The Split Survival Guide

One of my main reasons for visiting Croatia was to see the Dalmatian Coast, i.e. the southern part of Croatia, a thin strip of mainland and more than one thousand islands that sprinkle the Adriatic Sea (not unlike the spots of a dalmatian dog, which were first bred here). Even though Croatia's coastline is more than 500 miles long, Dalmatia is no wider than 30 miles and sometimes as narrow as a mile or two--which basically means that, when it came to getting ports, every other eastern Balkan state got shafted after Yugoslavia fell in the early 1990's.

  
Originally, I had really wanted to visit the southern-most city in Croatia, named Dubrovnik. There are no train rails, however, that go that far south--and the bus coverage is too spotty to be able to plan ahead. Before seeing Croatia, I assumed the lack of transportational infrastructure that far south had to be because of its status as an emerging developing economy. That was before I saw the coast for myself, which basically consists of steep, sheer rock mountains. I wouldn't want to build a train track through that, either.

Note: that tiny thread-like object in the center of the picture is not a snake. It's the road.

So, I finally settled on visiting Split (on the mainland) and Bol (on the island of Brac, a 1.5 hour's ferry ride from the coast). My first impressions getting off the train in split were: a.) HOT; and b.) BRIGHT. And that was at 7AM. It's a good thing I did not know in advance that temps in this part of Europe linger for most of the day (and evening) right around 40 degrees Celsius (that's 104 for my Fahrenheit folks)--and let's not even get into the humidity measurements. The hotness and brightness were multiplied in Split due to their fondness for paving absolutely everything in polished, white marble: roads, sidewalks, buildings, parks, household pets... It all goes back to Emperor Diocletian, who in the third century made Split the site of his retirement palace. I'm guessing he had a really could 401K, because the palace was absolutely huge--so huge that much of Split lays within the boundaries of its ruins. When you walk around, you have all these layers of architecture--from 3rd century stone arches with rogue grasses growing through the cracks in the mortar, to modern low-level sky scrapers and mysterious little alleys and promenades and churches, and all with a generous helping of cafes sprinkled everywhere.

 Other than the millennia old late-Roman imperial palace, Split is pretty much your average harbor town. The key is not to let the garish sunlight, stifling heat, pore-suffocating humidity, or overwhelming stench of boats and seawater get to you. You have to come up with a survival plan. Mine was

I found Figa at about 10:30 AM, purely by accident, wandering in from some narrow, arched alleyway or other during my disorienting hike through the city. I felt a magnet pulling me in through the shadowy, open doorway--the Croatians are like flies, attracted to light in everyway. Their cafes, restaurants, shops and everything else is done in no less than direct sunlight at all times. So when you find the rare instance of an indoor restaurant--one that is practically carved into what seemed to me 600 or 700 year old, roughly hewn brick--you linger. And linger. Over coffee. Over breakfast--a crepe stuffed with rucola and freshly cooked salmon. Over another coffee. And maybe some water after that. And then maybe you ask the waiter if you can charge all your portable electronic appliances. And then maybe he is generous enough to spend 10 minutes searching his office for a plug adaptor for you, all the while teasing you that you are just like his girlfriend--you carry around that big, heavy purse that has everything in it but the things you really need. Yes, you explain, but you have two varieties of wet wipes. And vitamins. Surely those are necessities, too. And you just keep lingering, because you don't want to go back out into the heat. But, at some point, the lingering must end. And you must find another way to survive the humid, fish-smell-soaked heat.

 Water come to mind.

 

This is the closest thing to a watering hole I've ever seen. The people of Split flock to this synthetic waterfall in the middle of the city square and unshamedly dunk their hands, feet, faces and children into the water--which is clean enough to fill up one's water bottle with.

  

Yes I photo-stalked this little girl. She was standing by that fountain for ages and did everything I felt like doing--just lounging by water and practicing some form of ancient aqua-boredom calisthentic thing. Cute!

After locating water--which is easier said than done in a HARBOR TOWN SURROUNDED BY THE SEA for heaven's sake--I felt I had more energy to explore the things that Split is famous for: one of the biggest and oldest fruit/vegetable market in Europe, for example, or discover even more architectural wonders. I managed to survive--and get to experience walking a piece in the life of another place and culture, something that I consider to be invaluable no matter what the cost (or degrees celsius). By the time I caught my ferry to Bol/ Brac, I had started to get a glimpse of the beauty and "different-ness" I'd heard about in regards to Dalmatia. I hope you can agree!

Setting the table in a 1,700-year-old dining room?

 At first I thought the boy was just trying to show off for the gaggle of cute girls standing 'round the fountain.

 To my horror and surprise, he and his dad and his little sister put the fish in a plastic shopping bag filled with water and took it home... to eat?

 One of Empreror Diocletian's windows.... Overlooking the harbor.

 This is with the white balance and brightness settings on The Fiancee's camera turned way down low! Needless to say, it is not easy to take good pictures in Split! Too much darn light!

By the time it was time to take the ferry to Bol, I was interested to see what lay next on my journey.