Croatia is split into the north and the south by the lovely city of Split….clever weren’t they, those city naming folk…..and it was here that we headed to after leaving the island of Pag.  We tracked down the coast expecting more of the same gorgeous Adriatic views, but were slightly disappointed to find lower end tourist apartments on offer for the first hour or so, with old men hawking their rooms on the roadside with cardboard signs.

As an aside, we’ve seen all sorts of interesting road-side offerings along the way.  We’ve bought fruit, veg, cheese, honey, nuts, olive oil and hooch from road side stalls in almost every country, and in some parts of Spain and again here in some parts of Italy ladies are selling their ‘wares’ from plastic patio chairs placed in remote spots beside the highways (guess an empty chair means a successful sale J)…though we haven’t sampled that particular fresh produce.  The retired folk in Croatia seem to trawl the roadside bins for plastic to recycle, and we’ve seen all sorts of shady dealings from the backs of vans on the sides of the road.  Beach and traffic light sellers have been offering everything from socks, tissues, frozen water, hats, umbrellas (sometimes umbrella hats combined) and of course a window wash, ours of which they can only reach half way up….

The coastline improved as we headed past Tisno where the big festivals are held and on to Primošten with its gorgeous island old town.  We attempted to stay the night in Trogir, but received our first ‘sorry we are full’ for the trip.  Never mind…we headed on to Stobreč on the other side of Split only to receive our second ‘sorry we are full’.  Oh no…we headed slightly further south and settled in Omis in a campsite owned rather bizarrely by a knicker manufacturer – though no knickers other than mine were in evidence.

The next day we caught the bus into Split and were suitably wowed by the mix of Roman ruins, the beautiful harbour setting and the general buzz of a city enjoying its journey to prosperity.  Nothing really prepares you for living history no matter how many times you encounter it…and Split is no exception.  The old town is set within the walls of Diocletian’s Palace – built in 305AD for his retirement – and the impressive walls, central square and many of the narrow alleys and buildings are not only still very much in existence, but are very much alive and buzzing with shops and restaurants.  Split not only inhabits this wonder, but fully loves and owns it, voluntarily paying a percentage of their wage for its upkeep, and living very much inside its protective walls.  Much of the tourist tat has been kept outside the walls in market stalls and despite the abundance of restaurants, there was enough evidence of real life (washing hung out to dry in tiny stone courtyards etc) to make this an enchanting site to encounter.

We duly visited the cathedral (Cathedral of Saint Domnius) which interestingly is one of the oldest consecrated Christian structures.  We were surprised not only by the size (it’s really rather small), but also by the need for a little more care….there was an electrical cable drilled into the marble alter, people clambering over the choir seating and sneaky folk ducking in the out door to avoid buying a ticket.  We then climbed the bell tower – oh my – the empty tower with a narrow metal staircase tracking the outside walls had all our bits tingling but did offer a fabulous view over the jumble of roofs (always a favourite photo opportunity) and the sparkling harbour with its busy port life.   Among other treasures, including a sign advising you pictorially not to pee in the flowerbeds, wandering the small alleys brought us to the tiny church of St Martin – a pocket sized 6^th century Croatian church tucked into the city walls.  Serene and special – delivered in a match-box by a single nun.  All in all, a great day spent half in Roman times and half in the present…

Rafting had been on our list to do in Slovenia but the weather got in the way so we decided to give the Cetina River a go.  The Cetina is a 100km ribbon of clear water descending just under 400m  through a steep gorge and is the only river you can raft in Croatia.  After a hair-raising trip up the gorge (pleased we were in a mini-van, rather than our van), we joined our rafting group and headed downstream.  We were with the main man, Stefan, and he let William be a full on part of the paddling team (which the kids on the other boats didn’t get to do), and thanks to some great ‘forwards’, ‘backs’ and ‘get downs’ by us all, we made it safely down.  We stopped along the way and all conquered our fears to leap into the river from high off the rocks.  We have photos on CD but no way to transfer them to the blog at the moment so you will all have to wait to see the action shots.

From Omis we drove back to Split to catch a ferry out to the island of Brač.  Popular with holiday makers from Split, but not as party orientated as neighbouring Hvar, Brač has a heady mix of terracotta coloured fishing villages, traditional olive groves (where the women of past generations have created a patchwork of stone piles across the island) and the lovely Zlatni Rat which was where we stayed and played for a couple of days.  A 600m spit of golden shingle which extends out into the turquoise water, this is a popular and therefore rather busy beach.  After seeing out a storm over lunch in the nearby town of Bol while our towels received a good wash on the loungers we had hired for the day, one final play on the aquapark saw William sustain a sprained ankle.  This gave us a perfect excuse to put our bikes in a taxi and avoid the uphill slog back to camp (not for Deane though as the taxi could only take two bikes).  Some TLC and some strapping fixed the ankle within a few days and Will was back on the go.

To end with, here’s a good bit of pub quiz trivia….the white stone of the White House (yep – the one in the United States of America) comes from this very island (Brač in case you have a memory like ours and have forgotten already).  We just had to collect a bit to add to our now four strong pile that holds down our tarp in camp – a piece from Sierra Nevada, a shingle from the Seville streets, a bubbly lump from Pag and the famous white stone of Brač.  Glad we are not flying home!