Tag Archives: hvar

Hvar You Doing? — Hvar Island, Croatia

When people first get to Split they immediately book a boat to an island. Or so it seems, judging by the excursion kiosks stretching along the Riva into the horizon. Not a reflection on Split, I hoped.

Hvar (pronounced fast like “HowAre you doing?) was our choice for an island hop. It won out based on ferry schedules despite its reputation as a party island.

There should be more synonyms for narrow, crooked, picturesque, cobblestone streets. Hvar added in hills, more churches and multiple monasteries. And met what must be a federally mandated ratio of restaurants and gelato places to Hawaiian shirt-loving tourists.

Being a scientific family, we marched to the tourist info office for a list of sights, which I proceeded to check off with a pen once we had wrestled the map from the attendant. The tourist office was a small room a sole person standing behind a desk. No brochures, only a pad of those placemat mats. The attendant seemed annoyed that we were there and exasperated that we asked any questions at all. Sightseeing seemed to be for show, in any case, as only one of the eight attractions we came across was open to the public. We peered faithfully into the windows of locked churches and monasteries; glanced up at the fortress a Grouse Grind away; and pondered the bizarre coupling of the theatre/armoury before moving on. It was more of an excuse to wander the streets eating ice cream which was fine by me.

Very meta, we caught a water taxi from Hvar Island to another island for a day trip within a day trip. We by-passed the nude beach in our quest for a sandy one. Croatians cleverly make use of any terrain for a beach: cement jetties, sea walls, rocky outcrops where they precariously perch plastic loungers, cliff tops and small strips of sand just big enough for a half a dozen people to lie side by side like sardines. We chose sardine beach but perched ourselves on nearby rocks instead. The cove was ringed by stone retaining walls and trees and filled with turquoise water that sparked when the sun shone on it. Cold, though. It took a friendly Italian tourist hooking my arm to haul me out bodily, likely tired of watching me mince my way around the sharp rocks in my bid to come out. It wasn’t a less painful way to emerge, just quicker.

We finished the day eating local Croatian cuisine (i.e. Italian, more on that later) and hopped back on the ferry to Split back home. Just as the party people arrived.