Upstairs, Downstairs (Hvar Island and Krka National Park)

No need to be ironic (well, at least not yet ...) about Hvar Town, on Hvar Island. And just for the record -- Dina and Gene, please take note -- Croatia is an absolute must-visit place. 

The island was stunning and worth the two-hour ferry ride on Saturday morning -- and the slightly unmapped nature of the place. We got a little lost finding our apartment. But luckily our GPS helped us out (see top of screen).

Hvar town is probably the most beautiful of all we've visited. Here are some shots from very near our apartment, which was shockingly close to both the center and the beach.

Old Town has the usual delightfully Dalmatian narrow cobblestone streets full of nooks and crannies.

The beach in Hvar looks out on a seriously schön set of islands. If you go to the beach in Croatia, here's a tip: it's worth paying for the chairs.

Hvar Island is the sunniest spot in a sunny nation, so needless to say a storm started to roll in after we'd been on the beach awhile. It didn't rain (it rained for all of one minute on the ferry over, our only rain of the entire trip), but the wind emptied out the beaches.

After the beach, it was time to party with everyone else on the island. High-end travel magazines and The New York Times describe Hvar Town as about the trendiest place on earth, full of not only royalty and generally fabulous people -- the super rich who read real books and practice serial start-up philanthropy -- but also Japanese teens testing new fashion ideas on the streets. Yachts Hvar has in abundance.

But hmmm, maybe high-end magazine writers aren't as good at defining trendy as I thought. Between the early twenty-somethings with turned up collars and the pulsing Euro-bars, Hvar Town reminded me of a Georgetown University frat at Beach Week in Myrtle circa 1986. And really, given the number of rich people here, we expected some serious food. A wonderful local bottle of white aside, however, the restaurants were pretty standard (and not as expensive as feared, in part because the backpackers balance out the yachters. Let's call it the Upstairs Downstairs effect). Perhaps the lack of interesting food reflects the cost of shipping ingredients to the island, but more likely it reflects the facts that a) people come here to party, not eat (up early the next morning for a ferry, the party below us in Old Town was still going strong) and b) Europe generally speaking, outside of some pockets, just doesn't have the food culture American does. My Tübingen office-mate Suzannah jokes that America has no cuisine, but what we do have is hundreds of years of a melting pot and chefs willing to try ingredients and combinations from all over the world. What European nations have, he oversimplifies to make a point, are national dishes and a tradition of eating local before it was cool. And man that was a bad beer selection for a high-end beach. Really -- the two worst Croatian macrobrews, plus Corona and Heineken? I'll take middle-class Punat and my Pilsner Urquell vom Fass.

The next day (God bless you European coffee culture while waiting for the ferry) the sabbatical/Humboldt express rolled north away from Split to Skradin, a surprising pretty town near Krka National Park. The hike into the best part of the park -- it's dramatic series of waterfalls -- is pretty long and rugged, so before we took the boat from Skradin into the park, to be safe, we rented a hydration backpack and bought some extra bars. I was actually impressed how many other people hiked to the falls. 

Ok I was kidding about the hike. This being Europe, the first thing one sees upon entering the Park is a beer garden.

And the park doesn't really offer a hike; it's a walk amidst throngs on a boardwalk. I wish more Americans would appreciate the fact that one of the best things about our country is the sheer acreage of our natural areas and their (ever-less) uncrowded-ness. Do you proponents of unceasing population growth toward a half billion Americans reading this blog really want the same in our national parks? But Malthusian moments aside, Krka National Park did not disappoint. We took a lot of pictures.

We missed the last boat to the 16th-century monastery on an island in one of the Park's lakes, so we went back to town, got the car, and then set out for another section of falls, stopping briefly when the road got close to the monastery island.

We soon discovered why most people take the boat. Er, you know the roads are bad when even the locals -- the receptionist was from a neighboring town -- tells you how dangerous they are. Look, narrow European roads can be quaint, but one-lane-wide roads through tiny towns with view-blocking high walls on either sides and multiple twists and turns are not fun, especially when there's a bus headed straight down the road at you at one point. A bus that REFUSES TO STOP as you (J) are backing up. Christ. Between these roads and the suicidal, pass-on-the-highway-with-two-feet-to-spare driving culture, I'm about ready for I-70.

I'm also ready for American-style, we-fear-lawsuits signage. When we pulled into the entrance for the second hike, the park employee told us that the hike was about 20 minutes, which was perfect for the end of day. And the hike started out very pleasantly.

What the employee didn't tell us that the staircase leading off from the trail at one point -- with a signboard describing the falls at its base, a signboard that surely seemed to suggest "this way for an extra good view of the falls -- actually turned out to be a 624-stair climb. Can you imagine an American park not mentioning 624 stairs? The carnage would be unreal. If I had wanted a workout, I would have opted for a sporty vacation in Utah, not Croatia. Anyway, we walked up the stairs for the view.

And then we walked down the stairs and made our way to the falls.

We took a different route home, which took us through a cool landscape of vineyards.

Back in Skradin we had one of the best meals of the trip, though the fish cooks right by our table were all business. 

 J got these enormous mussels called Noah's Arks (photo credit: secretdalmatia.wordpress)

As we enjoyed some homemade grappa, these made us think of Ricky Gervais on Noah's Ark -- one of the funniest comedy bits ever.

Waterpipe Maker Made Mistake – You Must Pay (Cres Island, Krk Island, and Split)

On Wednesday morning the water in our hotel on Cres Island stopped working. It turns out the whole area had a major pipe problem. No big deal, and we enjoyed lunch on the water in our great (and therefore nameless) little beach town. When we got back to the hotel, there was still no water, so, trying not to be the ugly Americans, we enjoyed some time on the beach. The water was perfectly clear and the ideal temperature to cool us off.

When we’d had enough, and my first Tuborg of the trip (yes Rob, I know it’s basically the same as Carlsberg, but it’s another sentimental favorite from Denmark), we returned to the hotel to find STILL no water. It was now 6 pm, and we had not had water for about 7 hours. You would think they might provide some bottles for guests to hold us over, but, instead, they directed us to the small market in town to BUY water. Who needs water after only 7 hours? At this point we began a search for another hotel in the vicinity. We had planned to visit the island of Losinj for dinner, but now entertained actually just moving there for good. Booked. I guess the locals know about the water problems on Cres. We found a place on Krk Island, our next day’s destination, but just as we booked online (their last room), our hotel called to say that the water would be on in 30 minutes. A mad dash to cancel our new booking ensued. Luckily, though they were unwilling to provide water, our hotel was willing to make a call on our behalf to cancel the new room, even if the receptionist started to look at us like we were the Ugly Americans. A wonderful dinner in town of mussels and fresh fish overlooking the quiet beach momentarily restored our faith in Cres Island. 

The next morning J showered and no sooner was she out than the water was off again. This meant no juice or coffee at breakfast (and by the way, just for the record, Croatian hotel coffee machines suck, providing that awful no man’s land of coffee between espresso and real drip). Once again, they offered to let us PAY for water if we wanted it at breakfast. So generous. After this bout of Croatian hospitality, we decided to pack up quickly and get out. Unbelievably they offered us 5% off the bill for our troubles – only after we asked (and mentioned the words “put this on Trip Advisor”). 

All of this reminded me of a story from Prague circa 1993 that I’ve always planned to tell when I give a Ted Talk on the history of capitalism: one day in Prague, Adam and I ordered a delivery pizza. We were college students, and so we opted for the less expensive cheese option. When the delivery guy got to our dorm, he informed us, in the exact words I remember, “Pizza maker made mistake and made pepperoni pizza. You must pay for pepperoni.” Fast forward 20 years, and apparently customer service in central/eastern Europe is little changed. It’s not just the idea of paying high European prices for a bottle of water at breakfast when the restaurant can provide no other liquids that bug me – it’s the sheer lack of any sort of understanding of basic psychology. Any experimental economist would tell you that spending $1 on free lemonade for guests deprived of water more than pays for itself in good will and bonhomie (and recoups far more revenue than a few bottles of water sold at breakfast). Maybe the EU jumped the gun a bit on Croatia (it joined July 1), but I guess the corruption laws were a higher priority than ensuring American-style customer service standards.

We drove to the ferry on the east side of Cres (this route had fewer harrowing cliffs than the day before’s western route) and took it to the island of Krk, which represented a change of plans; we had originally planned on a night in Zadar, but we decided that another walk through a city during a heatwave was not worth it. We needed more beach time, and luckily the town of Punat was happy to oblige on short notice.

Remember when I wrote here that Europeans have a liberal interpretation of “beach”?

But a few minutes’ walk past the cement paid off. Indeed, at Punat's Aqua Park we happily rented our very own chairs and Kon-Tiki hut.

Croatia has disappointed on the beer front so far, so the Pilsner Urquell on tap here (real glass, on the beach ...) was restorative. It’s still damn good for a macrobrew, and in lieu of returning to Ale Civilization, it did nicely.

J has been saying since Lake Bled that my trunks are too 1990s (I said they’re perfect for Croatia …). We had some time on our hands, so we decided to go shopping for a new suit. I have a lot of trouble making decisions, as most people reading this know, but with the help of our new friends on the beach, I was able to narrow the choice down to two: yellow and striped. 

Too bad, it turned out, these guys had already bought the last ones. We spent the bathing suit money instead on a nice dinner of fresh calamari and branzino (which, remarkably, is what they call a Class TWO fish here, rather than Class One … I could write much more on the whole Croatian system of labeling fish Class 1, 2, and 3 on menus, which has to be a holdover from the communist pricing/measurement system. In 1993 you could still see menus that promised exactly 300 grams of french fries and 250 grams of salad on the side …)

Friday morning we began the longest drive of our trip: to Split. We had heard great things, and, in fact, the amazing Roman ruins and buildings that make up the Old Town are a case of justified hype. The Roman Emperor Diocletian built his retirement palace at this port and it is still mostly standing and in use. The pictures say it all.

Out hotel was in a classic tiny old street close to the harbor, and the owner’s son kindly offered -- for 10 Euros -- to park our car overnight and then bring it to us at 7 in the morning so we could catch the first ferry to Hvar Island. We tried to eat at a restaurant highly recommended by Sam’s brother, but it was full (once again demonstrating Croatian customer service, the place had failed to answer our emails). We had to make do with delicious lamb and fish stew nearby. Split has a lot of tourists, but with good reason – it’s pretty damn classically European terrific at night.

J has suggested a timetable for the events of the next morning.

6:15: wake up (D listens to Orioles blow the lead in the 9th against the Giants, though they did win in the 10th)

6:45: D and J happily exit room and await car’s arrival in small alley outside villa

7:05: first look at watch

7:14: J sits down. D starts to get angry

7:16: D finds Croatian-American willing to call Villa. Almost assuredly he wakes up owner’s son. Woman on phone seems very confused but says she will send someone.

7:30: Nothing

7:35: D finds a Croatian in the street who calls the villa and cannot get through (I know dialing in Europe is screwy, but she was a local). Concern grows.

7:43: first (half?)joking mention that the guy who gave us the room key and took our car is not in fact the owner’s son but is rather a professional car thief involved in an intricate scam with our villa

7:49: guy shows up flustered, claiming it’s been “a hell of a morning” because our new rental car with 500 hundred miles on it would not start. He says that luckily, however, his villa provides such good customer service that he called a friend who came and jumped it for us. And he won’t charge us for the parking (though he would like cash in Euros for the room).

7:49 and 30 seconds: J bursts out laughing at obvious lies. D gives the guy the benefit of a doubt because he said, “And I never lie.”

7:55: Car miraculously starts on the first try en route to ferry area

8:14: D and J arrive at the cluster*&^% scene at the harbor and buy a ferry ticket, only to learn that our friend had failed to print the correct ferry schedule for a Saturday. We actually still might have made an 8:30 (even with an hour delay), but the ferry had left at 8:00, and so we waited with the hordes of backpackers and Yacht Week participants (I think our incomes were decidedly in the middle of this crowd) until the 11:00.You can tell Hvar is Croatia's most glamorous destination.

Party like it's 1993 (Ljubljana and Istria)

On Sunday, after pulling our two 50lb suitcases 200m down a grassy hill to the bus stop, we took a very pleasant if local and slow bus from Bled to Ljubljana, the capital of Slovenia. Almost immediately we crossed its famous three bridges and headed to its lovely old town -- empty not so much because the place is a bit off the beaten track (which it is) but because even the few people not away on holiday would have to be crazy to be outside at 2 p.m. when the temperature was over 100 degrees. We had Gujzina, the fantastic restaurant we shamelessly learned about in the New York Times, completely to ourselves. The traditional Prekmurje bograc stew was excellent. I can't blog from Europe for months and not include a picture in the alma mater shirt.

This is all I'll say about Ljubljana: go. My friend Matt says it lacks a soul, and I agree to a certain degree, but it you combine the cafes of Rome, the buildings of Vienna, the delicious but less known white wines of Virginia, the beer of the Czech Republic, the foodie culture of Brooklyn (after 7 months searching, it took me all of three businesses to find one that sells Sierra Nevada), and the walk-ability of Tubingen, then subtract out all of the tourists of most European capitols, you're left with Ljubljana. But go when the air is not coming directly from Africa.

 

 

True, even the New York Times-recommended wine bar was a little cheesy, as if it were frozen in time in the mid-1990s. Some of the decor was shockingly close to what I remember from Prague in 1993 (think red chairs, too bright, overly large ads with scantily clad women, lots of basketball on outside televisions). Still, the city was magical after dark, when the temperature plummeted to the mid-80s.

Even better, the city offers free shoes to tourists. 

 The next morning we learned an important lesson. Istria (the western peninsula of Croatia)

may be fairly uncrowded, but there is a ton of traffic on the Slovenian side driving across the border. 

Our first stop was Poreč, where we learned another lesson. Drop-dead gorgeous towns on the coast with sixth-century basilicas with original mosaics and historic old towns have a surprising amount of tourists in them. Ah, so THAT's why everyone complains about Germans overwhelming beaches in Europe. 

From there we turned inland, driving through olive trees and small vineyards and old stone walls, the ruins of what we are not sure. The hotel and the medieval, basically Italian town (Croatia was ruled by Venice for centuries) where we spent the night are simply too cool to name on the interweb. Shoot me an email if you want to learn more ... it's sad that it took communism and war to freeze this town in time -- and it's incredible Hollywood hasn't come in -- but there it is. 

World Cup anyone?

The dinner setting was magazine-worthy. 

Sam, I highly recommend the local prosciutto and sausage. By far the best moment of the meal was when the Germans behind us ordered the roast pork -- when they could have had my dorade or J's homemade ravioli with the local Istrian ox meat. Classic. Our meal with three glasses of wine, the aforementioned dishes, an ambitious if odd truffle ice cream and coffee was $50. Get there now before Gourmet puts this place on the wine touring map. 

Tuesday, after a quick detour to our first rocky Croatian beach, we checked out the Roman Amphitheater ruins in Pula (complete with a good collection of Roman ship-friendly pots). Otherwise, too hot and too many vacationing Europeans.

For lunch we we found the 1993-priced (sub-$1 espresso finally!) and 1993-decorated Q Lime Cafe. Of course, perhaps I should write 1995, sadly, as that's when the war ended. J says the country's aesthetic has been frozen since the war ended.

Our last stop in Istria was Labin, amazing medieval town #2. 

The rest of the day was marked by yours truly pretending to not be in a state of sheer terror driving being driven along ocean cliffs via narrow, windy mountain roads with decidedly uninspired barriers.

And that was before we got to the ferry to Cres Island. A stressful drive and a long wait for the car ferry to load seemed the perfect moment for a flavorless adjunct European lager in a can. Thankfully, they sold Ožujsko pilsner zum mit nehmen in the harbor.

Once on Cres, the anxiety turned into a full-blown panic attack. I've always been afraid of heights, and I've especially always hated driving along cliff roads -- ask Sean about a drive through Lassen National Park -- but the condition is definitely getting worse with age (great question for a study...). The road on Cres from Porozina to Cres Town is two lanes in reality only -- not width -- and it's on a sheer cliff-bed. I would have taken a picture, but I didn't want to risk death. I assure you that this picture is not representative ... this is one of the few places with a middle line. And this is by far the best barrier. Most of the barriers seemed to be those Roman rock ruins. Keep in mind J was driving.

 The pay-off was the view from dinner.