LET'S WANDER INTO CROATIA'S PAST

      DO YOU remember when you were a child and your parents would plan a day trip to your favorite place?  They’d pack up the car, pile you and your siblings in the back seat and off you’d go to that place where childhood memories were made. It was very special, and you always looked forward to the next visit. 

     That’s how I feel about the little medieval town of Omis, and the ancient city of Split.  They are two, very different, but unforgettable places that I always look forward to returning to---good and comfortable habits that are hard to break. I love repeating what we did the time before and the time before that, when we revisit them.  If I’m away for any length of time, I look forward to making more memories upon my return.

~OMIS (OH-ME-SH)~

     OMIS is a little medieval town with the remains of a fifteenth century fortress perched high on the hill above it.  A large slice between the imposing mountain ranges allows the Cetina River to flow through the town on its leisurely journey to the Adriatic.  

    

     If you’re lucky enough to be in a car and not a tour bus (perish the thought) when you first enter the bridge that crosses over the Cetina River, and you see the little row boats tied to the shore, and that imposing range of mountains that has you wondering what catastrophe caused such impossible shapes, curves and horizontal shelves to the rocks, you will have to stop.  

If that’s not enough, then the allure of the weathered patina on the outside of the old buildings with their shuttered windows, iron-railed balconies and red tiled roofs, will then have you begging your driver to make an immediate left over the bridge to find the first available parking place so that you can satisfy your curiosity as to what’s behind those colorful and aged facades.     

     If you pass over the bridge at night and see the soft, warm glow of the illuminated tower of the fortress, you’ll want to slip into the dimly lit old town and find a spot at one of the romantic outdoor cafes and sip on a glass of wine.  Whatever time of day you happen upon this lovely town, Omis’s charm and ambience will have you thinking about a return trip before you even leave.




CETINA RIVER CANYON

 

     There are two routes by which we travel to Omis: One is on the Makarska Riviera’s coast road, where, upon arrival at the town’s center, you will see a harbor of large boats tightly moored together along a curve in the road, and the sea hugging the roadway; this is the shortest route from Baska Voda.  The other route is to drive behind the mountain range and follow the Cetina River through a deep canyon and then ascend a narrow mountain road, winding your way around the many hairpin turns. This is one of our favorite drives because it allows us to view the arid and rugged interior and little towns that cling to the steep hillsides. Life is simple there, and no one is ever in a hurry.              

    

     If we leave early enough on a Tuesday morning we can stop on the way at the charming little village with its double-sided street market. If we’re so inclined, we can buy a portion of roasted pig from the butcher with the white coat, who, by noon has sold the entire delectable lot. Or, if we want to roast our own, we can go behind a gate into the manure-scented stockyard and choose one of the plump, pink pigs contentedly sleeping---buddy-style—in a barred trailer.  

For a more immediate use, we can take home a lively chicken whose squawking ceases the minute it’s stuffed into a burlap bag. John’s favorite is to try his hand at bartering (Croatian’s are not big on bartering) for half a wheel of Croatia’s prize-winning, two-year-aged, Paski cheese, or to hit the tools table and find another interesting pocket knife for his collection. 

     If we each take a side of the street to visit the vendors, and the old men with the flirtatious smiles standing at the vegetable truck have their way, they’ll tug on my arm and offer a free tangerine in exchange for some time with the strange lady in their midst. Even begging ignorance to the language does not discourage them!

    

XXX

     I need no excuse to visit Omis, just a willing driver and a clear day.  Today is the perfect day with the canyon road our choice of routes, and the fresh bread, meat and cheese waiting for our car picnic

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     On our way, we stop along the Cetina River to indulge my passion of weed-picking by cutting some of the blooming marsh grasses with their feathery plumes for later use. When we pass through the tunnel that cuts through the mountain into Omis, we make another stop, craning our necks to view the two rock climbers taking on the challenge of the sheer, vertical, rock face at the edge of town.  Their gymnastics are stunning!

     Omis is familiar, but with its vast network of walkways we can still wander the old town and always find an undiscovered sight. Today we have found an ancient flight of stairs that leads us to a stunning view of the fortress’s imposing tower.  From there, we stroll along the upper residential section with its old stone houses huddled together, showing off their potted plants and shuttered windows open to the warmth of the day.  

Below, in the absence of tourists, a striped cat takes advantage of an outdoor café’s padded chair, napping in the afternoon sun.  Down each passageway connecting the old town to the new there is always a surprise. In a small courtyard barely large enough for the three tables and bar stools that occupy it, the thick, woody vine of an ancient and twisted grapevine refuses to give up its space, pushing its arm across the patio floor then abruptly forming an elbow and straightening its arm for a flight to light.  The sun is perfectly positioned overhead, lighting the usually sun-deprived, narrow walkway that slices its way though the old town, illuminating the buildings facades for some great picture taking.  But best of all, and indeed a rarity, we have the town virtually to ourselves.

    

      Exiting the old town, we walk beneath the canopy of trees that arch their branches across the road, passing the colorful fruit and vegetable stands, the Cetina River with its idling row boats and... a bus load of chattering tourists being herded to the village.  One man, I'm happy to say, has sense enough to break away from the group and is already shooting pictures of those facades I mentioned earlier.  John and I exchange a grateful smile!  

     I think that it’s worthy to mention that many of the timbers used to build the city of Venice were taken from the hills behind Omis, and not, I might add, to the liking of the Croatians. Would that, in part, explain why their houses are built of stone instead of wood?  Shame on my ancestors!

~SPLIT~

IN THE YEAR 305AD, the Roman Emperor, Diocletian, built his opulent retirement palace in the city of Split---do the math, that’s one-thousand-seven-hundred-six years ago.  Does that not put into prospective this city’s rich history?  The massive palace and surrounding area encompassed eight acres and once housed a population of eight to ten thousand people.  This speaks to its enormity and explains why it has earned the distinction of being a UNESCO World Heritage Sight.  To this day, one gets a real sense of its original grandeur, both outside its walls and within the old section’s labyrinth of corridors.

     The old city of Split is a present-day, pulsating city on the Adriatic, with a harbor of huge ships that connect Europe and the rest of the world to its port.

      Every day there is a fresh fish market on a main walkway into the old town.  When I say fresh, I mean straight off of the boat fresh. Long after the tables are emptied of the catch and the market has closed each morning, the pungent aroma of fish still lingers in the air. 

     There are elegant shops, fabulous restaurants, open-air flower and vegetable markets, theaters and museums. Outside the walls are stalls of shops for the budget-conscious shoppers---we refer to them as “Chinese Wal-Marts owing to the diversity of their wares.  There, the air is always thick with the scent of lavender, which is sold in little sachets and placed conveniently outside the stalls to lure you inside.   

      Shop.  Eat.  Drink.  Best of all, lose yourself to the charm and atmosphere of an old Roman city. Walk the slabs of stone that are polished to a brilliant shine from centuries of footsteps and wonder how many sandal-clad Roman feet walked the same path. Explore the corridors.  Look into the hidden courtyards. Find a tiny cubicle and treat yourself to a candlelit meal. Rub the well-worn and shiny bronze toe of Gregory, bishop of Nin for good luck.

Walk the smallest street ....which is probably only 18 feet long. Gaze upon the remaining pillars and arches of the palace and marvel at their beauty.

     I could spend months inside its walls seeing and doing all I’ve mentioned and still not see it all. That’s why I just give myself over to the city and let it carry me where it will.   

    

    

    

     On our last visit, John and I  wandered through the maze of corridors until one opened out into a square with a clock tower, lit in part by a setting sun, and Venetian-influenced architecture; all of this so reminded me of the beautiful piazzas of Tuscany and Umbria, Italy...yes, I thought about her…my grandmother, Giovanna.

It was the perfect setting for this couple who would soon be saying goodbye to each other.  And so was the little café where we sat, soaking up the ambience and listening to a background of lush violin music coming from a group of violinists playing on the steps of the theater next door. We could not have bought a better atmosphere at any price!

     

    

     Later at our favorite “hole in the wall” restaurant we treated ourselves to a repeat of the best pizza I’ve ever wrapped my lips around. How good is the pizza?  It’s so good that we’re willing to sit through forty five minutes of a growling fan, and cold drafts coming in from the partially opened door that entering patrons fail to close behind them. It’s so good that I can’t stop to take the time to shoot a picture of it.  Yes, it’s that good!  The taste has not altered one iota and we’ve been indulging ourselves for seven years. We are gluttons and almost always order the large version.  When it arrives we are so anxious to dive in that I usually burn the roof of my mouth with the first bite…the agony and the ecstasy!  

     Fellow travelers, it is a steaming blanket of Gouda cheese smothering a fresh, sweet, tomato sauce with just a hint of herbs; the sauce compliments but does not dominate the flavor.  All this and I haven’t even gotten to the crust yet.  I’ve got to stop writing. I’m drooling on the keyboard just thinking about it…. ……………………................ Oh yes, that open hearth, baked crust, lightly brushed with olive oil that's a tad bit burned on the edges, and could easily be eaten on its own.  Hungry yet?

     As much as we Americans embrace the pizza, we could sure take some lessons from this owner.      

     The best way to wind up any day or evening in Split is to walk the wide promenade along the harbor; and in order to help work off a few of the two-thousand calories from our pizza overdose (the pan nearly covered the table) that is exactly what we did. 

     It was especially romantic that night looking at the lit walls of the palace and the outdoor restaurants bathed in a warm glow, feeling the gentle breeze  of the Adriatic caress my skin,

and looking across the harbor at the streaks of reflected light dancing seductively on the Adriatic.

     That was the last evening John and I had together in Split. 

     I am flooded with memories.     

      What wonderful treasures the ancients left behind to stimulate the mind and spirit of modern man.