Hvar Island, day one and two: Sea Hvar We've Come

Hearing that Croatian islands were even better than the mainland, we booked ferry tickets to Hvar. Arriving at the dock in Split, it seemed that a window washer had taken it upon himself to direct traffic into the waiting lines for the ferry and after he smeared our well-insected windscreen for a bit, we grudgingly forked over five kuna. The dull and arid wait was injected with some intrigue when we saw the Deutsche man in front of us produce a pocket knife and then proceed to slash his own tires! But what had actually happened was that he liked to swish about his knife and also liked to check his tire pressure, but did not mix the two together. 

After napping the whole way through the ferry ride, we found the apartment we had booked but discovered that there had been a terrible misunderstanding. The apartment owner informed us that booking.com had double-booked the apartment for that night, and took great lengths to ensure that we found replacement accomodation (we were invited to use their wifi while they plied us with much homemade wine). It was so nice! And thanks to their efforts, we stayed in town of Vrboska on the northern coast. 

Though 'Villa Welcome' was a hotel and not an apartment, the manager gave us lots of advice on what to see and do in Vrboska. She told us to ask if we needed anything at all, and she would see us the next day to tell us all about the rest of the island. My love for the friendly peoples of Croatia knows no bounds! She informed us that on that night there would be singing in boats. We didn't really know what she meant, but upon wandering down the hill we discovered that there was singing! In boats! It was kind of like an acapella group, but with instruments as well. Watching them drift slowly past, their voices carrying over the river water was oddly charming. 

So that was nice. And then! And then we stumbled across one of the greatest Croatian things (and there are so many): grilled chicken breast. The grilled pork we ate at a roadside grill was delicious, but this chicken from Bonaca was the best chicken I have ever eaten. It was so tender and herby and smoky awesome. Though it was a popular place, the waiters took the time to answer our questions and tell us that wild boar was not in season. 

Exploring Vrboska in the morning light brought sweet pastries to our lips and barking dogs to our ears. One dog in question startled some children who were running a seashell selling operation from their doorstep. The town itself was comprised of white stone and terracotta rooves, and though not as pretty as some more well-known destinations, I'm glad I visited and would return. 

Walking back up to the hotel (where we were very kindly allowed to keep our car after checking out) we fawned over the resident kitten, who tolerated us. As we were about to drive away, the hotel manager appeared and gave us valuable insights into several other locations on Hvar, including where to park for free. She also gave us little sachets of lavender - the sort that you put into drawers to coax your clothes into smelling nice. This was excellent, and we would soon find that many souvenir stalls on the island sold these. We got ours for free, suckers! The generous hotel lady wished us good luck and we set off to put her advice to good use. 

Also on the north coast was Jelsa, which has grown rapidly in the tourist department due to its beautiful little streets and churches. 

There's now a seaplane that flies direct to Split, which we got to see take off! Well, we heard it. While preparing to become airborne, it cruised along the harbour and disappeared behind a hill. Fish picnics were a big deal too, and they seemed awful. One of the boats, which claimed to be the original fish picnic, was surrounded by an enormous flock of seagulls that were cawing and circling as though wanting to cause physical harm to the loudspeakers that were booming out "photo photo" intermittently amongst cheerful music. What I gather from watching this bobbing hell is that tourists crowd onto a boat - where they cannot escape - for hours to eat seafoods and photograph the water in which the seafoods were hauled from. Not exactly my idea of a good time. 

Luckily the seasideyness of Jelsa meant that Fabienne could find a snorkel on the cheap for viewing all those amazingly clear waters in the area. 

If you ignore that floating fishnic nightmare, the town was quite pleasant. As a testament to how nice Croatians are, there was a statue dedicated to the asses of yesteryear. It read: "'Our Donkey' A historical membr [sic] of the mediterranean island family which we lived with, which helped us produce food and has made us into what we are today." Awww! How sweet is that!

Climbing the tower that connects the church to the fortress, we were provided with good views over the town. 

As it was such a magnificently warm and sunny day, we set out for the beach. To cool ourselves a little (and mainly to employ a toilet), we first took a break at a café. The waiter misheard my order of 'bitter lemon', which is a common Schwepes flavour in the country, and brought me a Karlovačko beer radler in lemon flavour. As it didn't really taste like beer, it went okay. 

After intensive research for our beach destination, Fabienne suggested a place called Gromin Dolac, which turned out to be down a long gravel road with no parking spaces at the end. 

Once we did squeeze Denis just far enough out of the way of incoming cars (not that there were any), we trekked down a steep dirt path to a deserted cove. It was heaven. We picnicked, we lazed about, we swam and swam. 

I made Yannick take pictures of me on a rock, thus fulfilling my dream of becoming a mermaid princess, and we all took turns sharing the newly acquired snorkel. There were schools of silvery fish! And the water was unbelievably clear. It was so pristine that dark sea urchins clung to the rocks further out, a telltale sign that the water is clean. It was the best day ever. 

Around four in the afternoon several locals arrived, and as the temperature started to cool we made our way back to the car. Our apartment for that night was in a town called Zavala, and in true Croatian fashion none of the streets or numbers made sense so we asked at the town's only restaurant. Once found, the apartment owner's children drove remote control cars alarmingly close to our ankles, but we settled in and rinsed the sea salt from our hair. 

Returning to the only restaurant, we reserved a table for later on and as the sun sunk below the horizon we strolled along the waterfront. 

The small restaurant Davor was packed full, and as a result we had to wait a little while for our food. Our waiter reminded us of a Dylan Moran type figure, with floppy dark hair who threw himself down onto a nearby seat before taking our orders, proclaiming that he needed to take a beer and cigarette break in 45 seconds or less. We liked him immediately. When he heard we were from New Zealand, he wordlessly pulled a pounamu from under his collar and showed us. The story goes that many years ago a friend of his needed to go to a wedding in New Zealand but didn't have the funds. He paid for her on the condition that she would repay him later. When she returned from the wedding, she gave him the greenstone. Then she paid him back the money a year later!

Though the gnocchi wasn't the perfect melt-in-your-mouth texture it should be, the flavour made up for it, and we finished with a couple of decadent desserts. We said it several times that day, and I still attest "this is the life". 

Today's post was almost called: Call me a cynic, but I'm a fishnic critic