We were just beginning to find our way around Dubrovnik - "jewel of the Adriatic" - when it was time to move on. For most of a week we had explored its maze of narrow streets, poked into dark, mysterious alleyways leading to tiny cafes, admired ancient sculptures tucked into shadowy alcoves in the medieval architecture, and watched folk dancers perform on outdoor patios overlooking the ocean. But there was still so much more to see and we were reluctant to leave.
"Don't worry," Tonia reassured us, "there are lots more things to see between here and Zagreb."
And she was right. Tonia, our multi-lingual Serbian/Canadian friend who had been our companion, guide, and translator since we landed in Belgrade, was leaving us here. From Dubrovnik to Zagreb, armed with a handful of phrases, a rented Toyota, and Betty's high school German, we were on our own.
Tucked into the extreme south-eastern corner of Croatia, the ancient walled city of Dubrovnik was the starting point for our week-long drive up the Dalmatian Coast, across the Dinaric Alps, and inland through the rich farmland surrounding Zagreb, the country's capital and largest city. The Adriatic coast north of Dubrovnik is rugged even by B.C. standards. The narrow road winds across steep, rocky slopes high above the ocean. On our right, the bare craggy slopes of the Dinaric Mountains and on our left, the Dalmatian Islands surrounded by the incredibly blue water of the Adriatic. We took our time, savouring the views until near sunset before heading down to the coast in search of a B&B near Split.
Finding a place to spend the night was a challenge. The Dalmatian coast around Split is a hot destination for German tourists and every B&B was posted with a "Kein Zimmer frei" sign. German is definitely the second language in this part of Croatia. Finally, with the help of a young German woman who spoke some English, Betty got directions to a little place about a half hour's drive up in the hills. It was well after dark when we rolled into Hilda's Place, had some bread, cheese and a beer for dinner, and turned in for the night. At breakfast the next morning we chatted with Hilda about Split's remarkable history.
Back in the third century BC, Rome fought a series of wars with the original inhabitants of the area and by the beginning of the Christian era much of Dalmatia was firmly under Roman control. Emperor Diocletian (AD 245-313) was so taken with the area that he ordered his subjects to build him a retirement palace there. His near-godly status was such that his subjects fell to their knees in his presence and nothing was spared in the construction of his final retreat. Built of lustrous white limestone, accented by marble imported from Italy and Greece, and decorated with sculpture from Egypt, Diocletian's palace is indeed fit for a God. Today, almost 2,000 years after it was built, the palace and the ancient buildings within its defensive wall are still occupied and Split, the city that grew up around it, is now the second largest in Croatia.
The massive walls, two metres thick and 25 metres high, that surround Diocletian's palace seperate modern Split from a living remnant of ancient Rome. We entered through the Zlatna Vrata (Golden Gate) and walked to the Peristyle, a large central square in front of the imperial quarters. The space now has a small outdoor café but 2,000 years ago this is where Emperor Diocletian would have addressed the masses grovelling before him.
We ordered a coffee, sat on an ancient stone seat worn smooth by thousands of bums before us, and tried to imagine life as it was in a Roman Garrison during the early years of Christianity. Later we prowled through the vast labyrinth of underground halls where outlawed Christians were confined and tortured, admired the headless sphinx in front of Jupiter's Temple, and climbed the incredibly steep stairs winding up the 60 metre bell tower for a bird's eye view of the 220 ancient buildings that are home to 3,000 people who still live within the palace walls. It was late in the afternoon by the time we tore ourselves away from the palace and got back on the road.
The terrain north of Split is more subdued than the steep, barren slopes to the south. The hills, laced with a maze of rock walls and a scattering of small, tile-roofed farmsteads are clearly prime grazing land for the region's thousands of sheep and goats. Many of the herds are tended by women who wile away the hours spinning raw wool into yarn. An elderly woman near the road was pleased to give Betty a demonstration. Using one hand to twirl the hand-spindle and the other to feed in wool from her lap she produced a length of yarn, wound it onto the spindle, and gave us a big smile. It was a simple display of dexterity that took only a few seconds to perform but years of practice to perfect.
Before leaving the coast we took a detour into Kraka National Park for a look at the campsite and swimming hole. The area set aside for tenting can only be described as a canvas ghetto. Tents of every size and shape packed together so closely that their ropes formed an impassable web of intertwined nylon between narrow access paths to their doors. In Europe I guess this passes for camping. But the swimming hole was worth a stop.
The Kraka River, fresh out of the Dinaric Mountains, tumbles down a spectacular array of waterfalls into a serenely calm natural pool where people come from all over Europe to swim. But, like most of Dalmatia, German is the language of choice and the tourists bring their traditions with them. Bare-breasted frauleins , like a gaggle of beached mermaids, sun themselves on the shore while their meticulously bronzed escorts play Frisbee on the lawn. Despite the crowd, the cool, clear water is clean and we can't resist taking a refreshing dip before continuing our drive.
We stopped in the medieval city Zadar just long enough for a snack, a stroll through its cobbled streets, and a last look at the Adriatic before turning inland toward Zagreb. The road climbs steeply into the mountains, leaving behind the orchards and green pastures of the coast and winding across a barren landscape of karst. Like a sculptor gone mad, thousands of years of wind and rain have carved the limestone of the Dinaric Alps into bizarre shapes and left it riddled with caves and sinkholes. It has also produced some stunningly beautiful lakes.
Plitvice Lakes National Park wasn't on our agenda but we fell in love with the place and opted to spend our last two days there rather than in Zagreb. The park's 16 lakes, linked by a series of hiking trails and wooden bridges, are strung out like a string of emeralds more than eight miles long. Between the lakes, spectacular waterfalls cascade into cool, misty plunge-pools surrounded by pillars of karst-sculptured limestone. Small caves and grottos beckon to be explored and before we knew it our time had run out.
In our dash to the airport we got only fleeting glimpses of the rolling farmland surrounding Zagreb - neatly tended gardens and fields separated by patches of deciduous forest, families of peasant farmers piled into horse-drawn carts, women with baskets of produce on their heads - a rural landscape right out of the middle ages. There is a sense of timelessness about Croatia. From its ancient fortresses and wilderness parks to its modern cities and peasant farmsteads the present blends seamlessly into the past.
