Three Pearls of Croatia
by Terje Raa
 My favorite part of Croatia forms a triangle, blue as
the Adriatic and with corners made up of three pearls: Split, Hvar and
Dubrovnik.
It’s an oddly shaped triangle, in which Split marks the
upper corner and Hvar Town lies vertically below, quite nearby. The long
sides point southeastwards, along the Dalmatian coast, all the way to
Dubrovnik. My triangle is simply a sealocked copy of this wedge-shaped part
of the country.
Whether arriving by air or sea, Split is a popular
gateway. Its splendors must wait, though, for I’m already approaching the
island of Hvar in a catamaran due to drop me after one hour at the hippest
holiday resort of Croatia, Hvar Town. This paradise comes in two versions;
low season offering quiet medieval charms, for example in September, and a
high season party zone abounding with yacht-borne celebrities.
  Carpe Diem, a famous cocktail bar close to the
catamaran’s docking place, has become a trade mark of Hvar Town. Around
here, I might run into some celebrities at night, when they appear in the
bar, on the quarterdeck of their luxurious yachts or under the palms of the
Riva promenade. Hotel Slavija, Carpe Diem’s neighbor and contrast, attracts
a different crowd; mainly middle-aged couples taking an after-dinner dance
to retro pop tunes by the Legino Band.
Strains of opera pour out of the Venetian Loggia one
morning, part of Hotel Palace. Opera has certainly sounded on many occasions
from the stage opposite, Hvar Theater, established in 1612 on the first
floor of the Arsenal. The Loggia and the Arsenal mark the lower end of the
spectacular St. Stephen Square, whose upper end is adorned with the
Cathedral’s trefoil facade. Promenades on either side of the bay lead to
small pebble beaches, whereas the most frequented beaches, some of them for
naturists only, are found on the Pakleni Islets in front of town.
The Southern Pearl
 The old ship Liburnija is going to do the lower side of
my triangle, a line so long that she needs eight hours and allows herself a
short stop on the island of Korcula. At the end of the line, the walled-in
city of Dubrovnik is nowhere to be seen, until a local bus lets me off at
the Pile Gate where St. Blaise, the city’s patron saint, welcomes me from
his niche above the entrance. We already met; before the war in the early
1990s, the effects of which are depicted in great detail on a white poster
next to Pile.
Circling the defensive walls - 2 kilometers long, up to
25 meters high and 6 meters thick - is a challenge, both physically and
mentally. Thousands of new red tiles tell their own story, really striking
if you see them from the highest section, the northern land side. With the
Adriatic shining on two sides, it’s like having history served on a silver
platter, a history including 450 years of independence as a city republic,
beginning in 1358.
  Ragusa, as Dubrovnik was named until 1918, was an
aristocratic republic headed by a Rector, who was replaced every month,
while the noblemen of the Grand Council and the Senate held the real power.
The republic based its wealth on trade and a dominant merchant fleet. As to
safety, the defensive walls had of course a deterrent effect, but more
crucial were perhaps all the skilful diplomats promoting the republic’s
interests through a network of consulates. A devastating earthquake in 1667
left only the city walls intact. The majority of the Renaissance and Gothic
buildings were in ruins and mostly rebuilt in the more modest Baroque style.
In 1808, Napoleon disbanded the republic.
Placa, the merely 300 meters long main street,
traverses the entire city from Pile in the west to Luza Square in the east,
the latter surrounded by the Sponza Palace, St. Blaise Church and the
Rector’s Palace. Countless cultural events take place on Luza Square,
especially during the Dubrovnik Festival in July and August, but even
September is lively. Last night, a midnight concert of classical music
attracted a large crowd, and this morning, the square was invaded by folk
dancers from Korcula, giving everybody a fright when pretending to attack
each other with their swords.
A Roman Emperor
 An intercity bus does its best to draw the last line of
my triangle, the upper long side, although the coastal road to Split is
anything but a straight line. The views, however, compensate for that.
During four and a half hours, the scenery keeps me awake by alternating
between uphill and downhill, sharp bends, peaceful bays with islands
opposite, and verdant greenery, particularly in the Neretva Delta.
The bus drops me near Diocletian’s Palace, like
Dubrovnik a World Heritage site. Diocletian, Roman Emperor, built the vast
palace for his own retirement 1700 years ago, a structure measuring 215 by
180 meters, centuries later developing into a medieval town and today the
busy core of Split, even containing a hotel, the old Hotel Slavija. Along
the southern palace wall, a magnificent palm-clad promenade, Riva, stretches
away westwards.
  Should Diocletian reappear, and the idea is not
far-fetched, for the man considered himself an almighty half-god, then he
would probably start his tour on the Riva, enter the palace through the
Bronze Gate and take a close look in his cellars, in which he used to lock
up Christians who refused to worship him as their deity. He could continue
to the central square, the colonnaded Peristyle, where his seldom
appearances took place.
In his own mausoleum at Peristyle, today the Cathedral
of Split, the Emperor might reveal what happened to his deceased body. It
actually disappeared at some point in history. And a careful ascent to the
bell tower’s top could show him what became of Split: a modern city of
200,000 inhabitants, thus confirming that he chose the perfect location; on
a lovely bay backed by bluish mountains. In case he leaves through the
western gate, Iron Gate, Diocletian would certainly be tempted to a coffee
break on the most beloved square in Split, Narodni Trg.
 To see my triangle, at least part of it, in a
perspective, I proceed to the far end of the harbor, out where the ACI
Marina lies at the foot of a little park, Sustipan, from a distance looking
like a green plateau. This abandoned cemetery, the epitome of peace and
beauty, apparently sharpens my senses. While admiring Split through a forest
of masts, I sense the nearness of Hvar, and images of faraway Dubrovnik seem
to emerge from the gentle waves of the Adriatic.
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