Croatia: Split snapshots

Rachel and I wandered around through Diocletian’s Palace. We bought gelato and sat on a little stoop, underneath a random Roman free-standing pillar. As you do. Then we bought some Split trinkets for family members. We had no schedule. We had hours of free time. We ended up going to an outdoor bar, shadowed by the Roman wall of the palace, and ordering big steins of frosty beer. So we had gelato and then beer, because we were on vacation.

Like Anne Shirley said in Anne of Green Gables, this place has “scope for imagination.”

Ante told us where to go to dinner, an old family place, traditional Croatian meal. It was outside the walls of the Palace, and he showed us on the map. We napped, showered, dressed, and set out.

Ante did not steer us wrong. It was a beautiful night, we had a delicious meal, wine. The waiter was solicitous, and told us what wines to drink. “No. You cannot have Chardonnay in Croatia.” We laughed about that for the rest of the trip. Croatian wines, people. I drank more in Croatia than I’ve drank in the last 5 years put together. Not to excess, but with every meal. We’d be like, “Oh look at that, it’s 11 a.m. and people are having wine.” But they do it right: Ante told us: “We have big lunch, small dinner.” I mean, that’s the way to go. We had zero processed food while we were there. It was fish, sausages, meat, salads, pasta. Bread and olive oil. Eggplant. Wine. I’m trying to implement this now that I’m home. We laughed so hard at dinner about our elevator confusion back in Dubrovnik that we were CRYING. We had been so jetlagged back then the humor of our joint confusion hadn’t really sunk in – but it hit us like a ton of bricks once we discussed some days later. Tears streamed down our faces.

Afterwards, we walked along Split’s gorgeous storied waterfront. The Palace loomed to our left, the water stretched out to the right, reflective, dark and beautiful. A lighthouse beam out on one of the points. It was basically a party down on the waterfront. People hanging out, a live band playing (they were doing covers of Banarama songs … a Shania Twain song … we were like, “Wait, what year is this?” Time is so fluid in Split, even the live band participated in it.) We had said a couple days earlier, “Let’s smoke a cigarette in Split.”

We bought a pack of cigarettes in a ceremonious fashion, plus a lighter, and we sat on the sea wall and smoked our cigarettes. It was merely a reminder of why I don’t smoke. We discussed afterwards, because, again, we were gigantic nerds. “How was your cigarette?” “I kind of have a headache.” “Yeah, me too.” “But that was fun though.” “Oh, totally.”

O’Malley cousins. On the loose.

We walked back to our hotel, going through the Palace, now emptied out of crowds. It was dark and quiet, people sitting and having wine at the little bars, but most of the shops closed. It was absolute and pure magic. Without the crowds, the Palace reveals itself in a different way. History looms in the foreground. It is easier to forget it was 2018. You feel the millennia in those walls.

We then created yet another Comedy of Errors trying to find what was labeled as the “rooftop terrace” in our hotel. We found ourselves huddled on what appeared to be a tiny roof, with an exhaust fan taking up one entire wall, and the terrace provided no view of the city or harbor, just the walls of buildings around us.

“Is this it?”
“Wait, hold the door open.”
“If we get locked out here …”
“Do you have your cell phone?”
“Yeah, but how would we call the front desk from our cell phones if we get locked out here.”
“They said there was a view?”
“But, like, there’s no view …”
“Is that door going to close shut if you let go of it?”
“I’m afraid.”
Rachel huddled down and tried to prop open the door with her tube of sunscreen … all as we staggered around surrounded by exhaust fans and walls of other buildings. Huh. Rooftop terrace. Okay. We were on a roof and it was indeed a terrace but …

We finally admitted defeat and went to bed.