MONDAY, MAY 13
VENTURING INTO THE RAIN
More rain, pouring, dumping rain. And wind. Still, we would not be deterred. After a full day inside (aside from a quick, wet run to the grocery store) we had to get outside. To be in a new city, a new country and not to explore…torture..impossible.
We walked along the harbor to the Old Town, stopping under awnings along the way. Our jeans were soaked through. Water filled our shoes. We were cold, and though neither of us complained, we knew we were both miserable.
Palm trees and large yachts line the stone boardwalk. The city rises on the hill, terracotta-shingled roofs, light-colored stone buildings, the bright colors of Mediterranean flowers that grow on balconies and in walkways and fill the air with their thick, sweet fragrance…even in torrential rains. No one was on the boardwalk, except a few other straggly tourists, under umbrellas or in clear plastic ponchos, their oversized backpacks showing through like strange human camel humps. Locals either have cars or just know better than to walk the streets in this weather.
Our airbnb host apologized for the unusual weather in a Whatsapp message. Evidently it is quite unusual for this time of year.
Enticed by the narrow streets and the small stone homes built directly into the rocky hills, we left the oceanside and turned up the hill, reminded of the narrow streets in Venice. But here, the houses perch on steep inclines, many in disrepair. Most of the stones in the houses are larger and rougher than those used in Venice.
THE PROMENADE
The wide, rectangular square in front of the Church of St. Francis reminded us of the “black magic” square in Piazza Solferino in Torino. It was surrounded by complexes of grand apartment with restaurants below and gallery like corridors. Restaurant chairs were turned seats downward, or propped upside down on tables to keep the rain off. Bored waiters watched the rain from under pale-colored awnings.
The promenade, where we had been the night we arrived, widens near the front of the Diocletian Palace’s Golden Gate. The side-by-side, covered, outdoor restaurants that look out at the pedestrian boulevard and docks were mostly empty.
MARJAN HILL STAIRS
Before reaching the Golden Gate, we turned into a stone stairway that cuts through the old town center, the Marjan Hill Stairs. Water poured down these 100 or more white stone steps like it was pouring down a waterfall. On top of the hill, is a park and restaurant, Vidilica with a spectacular view.
Here, too, is a gated Jewish Cemetery, established in 1573. The city’s soul began infecting us…the eeriness of the recent wars, the web of battles and rivalries that haunt its past, the presence of that past.
The wars feel too recent not to linger. On our descent, we turned into a dead end passage. It wasn’t a passage designed for tourists, just city residents. The stone walls were covered in graffiti, the path was narrow and smelled slightly of urine, stones had fallen out of some walls, some stairs, without railings like most, lead nowhere. I saw two older people peering out from behind laced curtains as we walked by. We passed only a few people, mostly older, and tired and sick looking.
By the time we went inside the Palace walls, we were freezing. We ate at a traditional Croatian restaurant. I had a slab of steak, boiled potatoes and a cold vegetable dish heavy with eggplant.
WHEN THE RAIN LIFTS
NOT THE MARJAN HILLS, THE COAST
Downhearted and cold, we waited, in our Airbnb, for the rain to stop. Out again, we thought we would walk to the Marjan Hill, but we couldn’t find the trail. What we did find, though, was paradise…clear, light crystal blue and light jade water, white stone beaches, groves of olive trees, mountains and nearby island revealing themselves as the clouds lifted.
