This was the day the weather changed. It changed very quickly and very dramatically. It was a sunny summer morning when we set out to check out Salona, Trogir, and Šibenik – all north of Split. By the time we got to Šibenik, it was cold enough for coats and hats (none of which we brought). The weather changed as we drove from Trogir to Šibenik. We could see the storm approaching from the distance, the sky a bruised dark color, everything blotted out from the rain. Then we hit what felt like a wall of wind. Rain poured down. The car skittered over the road – we were in some real back roads areas – and I saw with my own eyes out the car window a tree crack in half and fall over.
But before that, all was sunny and summery. As we traveled out of Split, we passed through the suburbs, and then an industrial area, and we joined up with the biggest road we’d been on yet. On our way out, Ante pointed stuff out to us out the window. There were clouds in the sky, so the effects of cloud shadows and sunshine on the mountainous outskirts was stunning. As we passed by Salona – birthplace of Emperor Diocletian, just FYI – which is why he decided to “retire” in this area – Ante said, “There’s the Roman aqueduct … it still works.”
Three words: It still works.
The Romans, man.
They had many issues, were barbaric in many ways. But their engineering feats boggle the mind.
As we emerged from the more crowded areas, we could see the wall of mountains surrounding all of Split, and you really got the perspective of Split geographically – why Split was so important: protected by a wall of mountains on one side (which also, conversely, left it vulnerable to attack) and the sea on the other (ditto). In an indented ridge in the mountains, an enormous fortress – practically a city – came into view. Like a mirage. It was even more impressive than the fortress in Hvar.
“Ante, what is THAT.”
It is the fortress of Kils (Game of Thrones fans, take note – apparently it was used for some scenes in the series). It was built in medieval times by the Dalmatians, and was known as the “key to Dalmatia.” If you wanted to conquer the area, you had to take THAT monstrosity. Medieval Croatian kings lived there. It was a bulwark against repeat Ottoman invasions. (“Turk” was said in the same biting tone as the word “Serbs.”) We didn’t go up there but apparently ever since Game of Thrones aired, more and more tourists have been asking to visit the site. It’s really something to see. I mean, you look at it and all you see is State Power. Impressive, formidable, smart. The mountains rise up on either side. The ridge is like a small doorway, an entrypoint. But you need a “key” to get through, and that “key” is the fortress. Do not pass Go. You’ll have to come through us.
Trogir was another place I’ve wanted to see ever since I read Rebecca West’s book. It’s a small town on a small island, with two bridges leading in and out – one connects to the mainland and one connects to a nearby island. These are not big bridges. You can walk across them in one minute.
Protected by UNESCO, Trogir is a small gem, and representative of so much of what we saw in Croatia: over the centuries, the millennia, these places were settled by people, conquered by other people, conquered again, conquered again … and each phase left its mark architecturally. So you’re looking at striations of time, it’s visible in the place (Diocletian’s Palace being the most obvious example). Trogir goes back to the Greeks, in the centuries before Christ. Then came the Romans. As a Dalmatian city-state, they were ruled by the Venetians.
Like Dubrovnik, Trogir is a walled city. Even though it’s very small, it feels like it’s practically all churches. Steeples, clock towers, cathedrals, monasteries … all crammed inside these walls. There are also open-air markets, palaces, and a stunning loggia. And, of course, people actually live there. The squares are small, the “roads” narrow (no cars in the walled city). There are gates to get in and out. As you walk through Trogir, you are literally in a narrow corridor most of the time. You can barely see ahead of you 10 feet. It’s a true maze. We weren’t there long enough to get the lay of the land. By the time we left Split, I knew my way around the Palace, and knew which way I was going to get to the hotel, or to the sea … Trogir I was completely confused.
Right within the gates is the stunning Trogir Cathedral. It took five or six centuries to build, and so you can see different styles in the architecture as the years passed. The bell tower came last, I think, so you can see how it’s a more Gothic style.
It was a madhouse out front, but I did want to go look at the main portal. Dating from the 12th century, the door and whole gateway area is covered in elaborate carvings. If you know your Bible, you can figure out much of it. The carvings show stories from the life of Christ, but also stories from the Old Testament. It’s so crowded up there it’s almost like a Bruegel.
I mean, it’s a masterpiece.
We walked through Trogir, and I almost instantly lost my bearings. Which way was back? No idea. Can I go see the cathedral door again? No idea where it is. Which way is east? No clue. Ante took us through, pointing out the palaces, the Benedictine monastery, and the loggia … which I’ll get to in a second. You can see the Venetian influence in a lot of the architecture, elaborate, ornate, lots of pointy arches. Beautiful.
I loved the white-painted shutters here, closed. Someone’s bedroom hallway or something like that.
You walk through the city (it takes about 15 minutes) and you emerge from the other gate onto a long stone promenade, dotted with palm trees, ending in a gigantic blocky 15th-century fortress. Those Venetians, man. They were NOT KIDDING AROUND. I guess you don’t get to be an empire like that without knowing you need to pepper every single important place with something that looks like this.
An unbreakable WALL of windowless stone. Good times.
It was still hot and summery. Rachel and I wandered around in our “matching hats,” with no real plan of attack, just soaking up the beauty. We walked back through Trogir.
Now about the loggia. These are open structures with roofs, and incredible acoustics. Town meetings, community meetings were held in these places, group speakers, whatever. There was one in Diocletian’s Palace, and one time Rachel and I were walking by there, and it was filled with people, playing guitars, laughing, kissing, talking – it was like Washington Square Park, except it was a place that’s been there since before Christ. The loggia in Trogir is an absolute stunner. You get to it by ascending about 10 marble steps. There are these wild carvings on the wall. There were so many people crowded in there it had a kind of frenetic feeling – even more so than in Dubrovnik. Ten times worse. The time to come would be at 10, 11 at night! Try out those acoustics!
Here’s one of the carvings on the wall.
One of the treats was listening to an a capella group singing a couple of traditional Dalmatian songs. They set themselves up in the loggia, and do performances four times an hour or something like that. It was amazing. Unfortunately, this woman was gliding around in the front row with her phone on a selfie stick – and she planted herself in front of the singing group – with her BACK to them – filming herSELF with THEM in the background. They’re PERFORMING and this is what she is doing. It was so rude and disrespectful – not only to US – because her behavior meant any pictures we might want to take of them would include HER smiling vapid face – but also to THEM. You’re not even LISTENING to them perform. You are filming YOURSELF, with them in the background. Fascinating footage, lady. I’m sure your family back home will love it.
Honestly, I try not to complain about people. I spend the majority of my time in New York City. I have lots of practice cutting tourists slack. But this was some next-level bullshit.
Ante told us this whole area empties out in the winter months. All the islands, Korčula, Vis, Hvar, Trogir … the whole Dalmatian coast becomes a ghost town. Listen, I love people, and I was a tourist myself … but it would be nice to visit off-season! Our drive out of Trogir took us up the mountain. The switch-backs were insane. You could see the road snaking along the side of a cliff wall, and of course the roads were super narrow, and everyone drove at 60, 70 miles an hour. There was one car chugging along at 30 miles an hour, and everyone passed it (“That would be me if I were driving in Croatia,” I said, and Ante started laughing) … We climbed up and up, so high our ears started popping. Then Ante pulled over onto a little embankment. No guardrail. Nothing. And there we were, looking down on where we just were.
In that photo, it looks like Trogir is just part of the mainland, but it’s not. That little bridge I posted a picture of above connects the two. So really all you can see from that far above is a crowded cluster of red roofs and steeples.
Rachel: “Is it required that everyone have a red roof here?”
We were going over a mountain to then come back down to visit Šibenik, another seaside town. This is when the weather started to change. We were so high up we could see for miles in the distance. Ante pointed and said, “See? That’s rain.” The horizon covered in grey. We were still in the clear, but the sun had vanished, clouds lowering down, dark grey lines, creating amazing effects. Our entire time there it had been sunny, barely a cloud in the sky. We were really out in the wilds, small isolated villages, vast empty spaces and wind farms. Lots and lots of wind farms. Standing stark against the bruised stormy backdrop.
