Ante drove us up the coast. And what a coast it is. The road is a winding switchback nightmare-beauty, clinging to the sides of cliffs, with a dizzying endless drop on one side, down to the sea. You look out the window and all you see is SEA. This is why I don’t think I could drive in Croatia. I have to get into a Zen mode just to drive over the George Washington Bridge.
One of the best parts of this kind of tour is it involves just hanging out, one on one with the tour guide. You get better information that way, but you also just get to know another human being. My favorite part. I love talking to people. For instance, Ante loves Freddie Mercury, calls him “Freddie” (as I do), and isn’t really into the fact that “Queen” still tours but with another singer. “Queen without Freddie?” says Ante. “No.” So, you know. This is one of the perks. You discuss Fiddler on the Roof, you discuss the Walls of Dubrovnik, you discuss different kinds of Croatian wine, you talk about Freddie. I can’t imagine our trip at all without Ante (and Davor, later).
Before getting to Ston, a small town on the coast, the northern end of the Dubrovnik Republic, Ante pulled off the road to a little family-run oyster farm. I was so excited we were doing this, since my brother-in-law is an oyster salesman, works for an oyster company, and also gets side gigs shucking oysters for parties, weddings, food fests, whatever. He calls it “shucking a few” – but “a few” means thousands. It’s a skill, shucking 1,000 oysters in 5 hours, or whatever. Not everyone can do it. Oysters are a big part of my family’s life. Pat always brings them whenever we get together. He knows everything about them. I was thinking about Pat our whole time there. This was a quiet little outfit, perched on the side of a river. Again, not a tourist spot. There were no signs leading us there. If you know what oyster farms look like – then even just driving through the area, you’d know what was being done.
Unmistakable oyster farm “look,” all up and down this stretch of the sea, and its little bays and inlets. (There’s a reason why the Dubrovnik Republic centuries ago chose to put their northern border ABOVE this stretch. They needed the oyster farms.) You climb down a couple stone steps, past a little stone shrine with a statue of Jesus in it, and there you are. There’s a little floating dock, there’s a woman there, who reaches down into the sea and pulls out the crate filled with oysters. She “shucks a few,” while you’re standing there, and you slurp them down. They taste literally like you’re gulping down salty sea water. Eating about 8 oysters at 10 a.m. was quite a novelty experience.
We were the only ones there. It was a quiet morning. Beautiful.
Then onto Ston! As we approached, we could see the wall, rising almost vertically up the cliff, all the way to the very top. The thought of building that thing … The mind boggles. At the top (not open to the public), waves a Croatian flag. This was where the Dubrovnik Republic held their border against Venetian (and maybe Ottoman? Not sure) incursion.
The other thing going on in Ston, besides the wall and oyster farms, is salt harvesting. This goes back to antiquity. I read about the history of salt in the fascinating book Salt: A World History
It was still relatively early. Nobody was around. Ston is a quiet small village, probably overrun at the height of summer by tourists. But now … zzzzz. It was beautiful. Ante dropped us off at the entrance to the wall, which climbed up above our heads to a parapet perched on the side of the mountain, before dropping down again. A lookout. It looked daunting.
First of all, because of our shared height-fear. But also because … wow, that’s a lot of stairs. But at least we had matching hats now. We started up. It was endless. Occasionally I’d stop and glance out, and see the landscape unfurling below, I’d get that vertigo and turn almost grimly back to the task at hand. Step after step. By the time we reached the top, we were drenched in sweat.
That’s me down there.
Once we got to that little fort-like structure, we paused to catch our breath and enjoy the view. There’s those salt pans!
Aren’t they amazing? Ante said to us, “Those salt pans have been there for thousands of years.” Gives me chills.
Then we headed back down. You look at all these things, the crenellated walls, the lookouts, the “decks,” the pure fortress-like structure climbing up a vertical cliff, and you think, “Good luck eradicating war.” Or that’s what I think anyway. Human beings have been suspicious of one another and warring one another since the jump. I’m not saying that’s a good or a bad thing. I’m just saying that it IS.
Ante took us to lunch in Ston after we staggered down from our wall climb. He knew the place to go. He told us what to order. He was not wrong. It was one of the most delicious meals I’ve ever had. Black risotto. “You can’t get this anywhere else,” Ante said to me. “This is this family’s specialty.” (I ordered black risotto later in the trip and it was okay, but NOT LIKE THAT FIRST ONE. I told Ante about it and he said, “No, no, no, you buy it anywhere else, it’s fake.” Yes. I hear what you’re saying. Cats slinked around underfoot. We sat outside. It was just perfect.
Then, for even more decadence, Ante drove us into wine country. I suppose all of the coastline is wine country. He gave us a history lesson, as well as an agricultural lesson. The vines grow out of the rocks. The only thing Croatia really exports is wine. Even the “house reds” or whatever in Croatia are superb. We went to a family-owned winery, again perched on the side of a cliff. Rachel and I toured the wine cellar, this dark cold cellar with stone walls, and the guy explained to us about the barrels, how long things have to age, and why. Then we tasted the wines. There were a couple wine-types there. We had already had wine with our lunch. We drank more. It was like 2 p.m. What the hell has happened to us. The last wine we tasted was, hands down, the best wine I’ve ever had. I’m not a connoisseur but even I can tell “Oh. Okay. This wine is on ANOTHER LEVEL.” Ante watched us tasting the wine, waiting for our reactions. I looked at him after I took a sip of the last glass, and he saw the look on my face and nodded. “That is my favorite too.”
It was early afternoon. But maybe because of our rigorous (understatement) hike, plus the huge lunch we had had (Ante told us: “We do big lunch, small dinner.” That’s for damn sure.) … we didn’t get drunk. It was just a nice buzzy glow. I don’t really drink anymore. Last year I think I had two glasses of wine, all together. It’s just not a part of my life. But when in Rome … or Dalmatia … That wine was out of this world.
We then went to go pick up the ferry, which was taking us out to Korčula Island (the birthplace of Marco Polo, if you must know.) There’s just something about the way the wooded cliffs rise up out of the water, the sea dotted with big green islands, and the color of the water itself – so so blue, but also green – translucent at times – shifting hues … I mean, come on:
… all of that combined is so stunning, so specific to this place, its magic and appeal. I love ferries. Listen, I grew up in Rhode Island where the Block Island ferry was a part of our lives. I live in the New York area, with ferries criss-crossing the Hudson. There’s something about a ferry. We took many ferry rides while we were in Croatia – I think five? Each one had its own feel. But there’s nothing like your first.
Korčula is this little gem, perched out on an outcropping of land. A self-contained place, with – of course – forts and lookouts placed strategically, a marina, and a warren of stone streets and alleys, plus a stone walkway all around the town, in a circle, lined with restaurants, where you can sit on a stool hovering above the sea. It’s to die for. Marco Polo is everywhere. Marco Polo shops, murals, restaurants, the whole nine yards. You can walk around the periphery of Korčula in about 20 minutes. Ante did that with us, and then we went into the maze of streets and alleys. At the end of each alley, you can glimpse the sea. It was heaven. And all along the walkway, there are little steps down into the water. So you can eat dinner, and then just step into the sea for a quick swim if you want. There’s no filter on that first picture. That’s literally the color(s) of the water there.
Our hotel was across the little bay. You could basically swim across to the town. There was a salt water infinity pool, as well as a little stone beach, with treacherous mossy “steps” into the water. After our awkward entries/exits into the water, we bobbed around in the salty translucent buoyancy for what felt like forever, with the cliffs rising up on the mainland, and Korčula perched there, peacefully, across the bay. I mean, there was literally nothing. wrong.
After our swim, we walked into the town for dinner. It takes about 10 minutes. We strolled around and found a restaurant. Slowly, it became dark, and we spent some time wandering around the town, watching it transform, watching the coastline and the mainland disappear, except for the lights …
A string of lights through the darkness. On our walk back, we tried to re-trace our steps. We got horribly lost. Everything was dark. We didn’t recognize where we were. We found ourselves on a pitch-black road, and had zero idea where we were, and even what direction we were going in. We were trying to GPS our way back to the hotel (hilarity), and kept making jokes about how this is how such stories always end: “and the two American women were never seen again after leaving the restaurant.” Rachel used her flashlight app so we could at least see the damn road. We eventually made our way back and I still have no idea how we got so lost. It’s like one pathway from the hotel to the town.
Here’s the view of Korčula from our balcony.
It’s a magical place. Ante told us that Croatians and Italians argue about who “owns” Marco Polo. Croatians claim him because Korčula is in Croatia. Italians claim him because Marco Polo lived in Korčula when it was part of the Venetian empire. I have a feeling this is a fight neither side can win.
