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| Diocletian's Palace (c) Day Trips from Split |
Monday morning ushers in another year of life. I don’t allow myself time to mope about ageing. I've done enough of that in advance.
I have an early-ish bus to catch to Trogir and onwards to Split for another attempt at a tour. I put on an encouraging sermon as I get prepared in one of my go-to birthday outfits. (It pays off. Later, whilst on the Split Old City tour, a young woman will make a detour to compliment me.) Public transport being what it is between my remote accommodation and Split, the safest option is to arrive almost an hour and a half in advance. Even taking all those precautions, it’s still not easy finding the tour guide. After some trial and error, I end up joining the right group purely by fluke.
It’s an intimate wander around parts of Diocletian’s Palace that are now more familiar to me from my earlier visit, except with more context on this occasion. As it’s such a small group, there’s more time for questions and digressions. Our tour guide, Yulia explains how Diocletian rose through the ranks of the Roman army despite not himself being an ethnic Roman. He was credited with bringing stability to an ailing empire by dividing it and delegating substantial power to a co-emperor, Maximian. Yulia broaches Diocletian’s murderous rampage against Christians, misrepresenting the latter somewhat. They nevertheless have their revenge. When the Christians eventually take over Split, they invest a lot of energy into destroying the vestiges of paganism. Yulia also explains the influence of the French on the architecture of the Riva promenade, which might explain why Split in part resembles Nice and the surrounding region.
The discussion inevitably turns to the legacy of war, as well as the precarious economic situation. Yulia speaks of young professionals like herself, obtaining degrees that they are highly unlikely to use in a country heavily dependent on tourism and the service industry. She’s frustrated with the Croatian government for not diversifying the economy and investing more in its youth. Salaries are low and the tax relatively high. For SME’s this can be an insurmountable challenge. Staff salaries are therefore often paid partially in cash. This wreaks havoc come retirement. Yulia informs us that some older folk rummage for plastic bottles to recycle, for which they receive a modest top up to their meagre state pension. Taxes are at least channelled into universal healthcare (albeit inadequate, says Yulia), free education up to tertiary level and decent maternity leave.
The proliferation of short term rentals, and landlords taking advantage of the influx of Ukrainian refugees, have led to as much as a tripling of monthly rent, according to Yulia. However, unlike some other Western European states (the UK being one of the worst examples), there isn’t an accommodation crisis. Many Croatians own their homes outright. This could partly explain why I almost never see any rough sleepers or begging. It’s simultaneously refreshing and depressing that this should be an exception to my experience living in and travelling around Europe.
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| (c) Croatia Travel |
Not far from the restaurant is the Marjan Forest Park (pictured above left), where one can enjoy impressive views of Split city and the riviera from above. Passing by the forest is a closer, not to mention free, alternative to climbing the Bell Tower in the Old City.
Still. It’s an uphill walk in 35 degree celsius heat. To make things more difficult I’m weighed down by my laptop, bottles of water, snacks and toiletries I’ve picked up from Müller drugstore. I reach as far as one of the deserted monasteries in the vicinity. I’m too hot and tight on time to continue. On the way back down, I meet a family, also from South-East London and originally from the same part of Ghana as my maternal grandfather. I chat most with the daughter; in her late teens, young enough to be my child and undecided about her future. I tell her that if I could advise my 17-year old self, I would say be intentional but keep an open mind. And don't be motivated by fear. Then again, I don’t know if a 17-year old me would have absorbed what an older version of myself had to say. A funny thought experiment.
It’s back to Trogir for (an underwhelming) dinner and luxurious ice cream, before hopping the mid-evening bus in hopes of an early night. I must be up and out even earlier if I’m to catch my pre-booked boat tour to Krka Waterfalls.
Despite setting myself a bed time, my sleep remains light and insufficient. I’m too worried about oversleeping and the guests on my floor are needlessly noisy. The following morning, I just about make it to the bus stop on time. It means I’ll arrive at the travel agent 40 minutes early. (That’s the way it is round here, I’ve come to understand. The bus service is so limited that the choice is between being pointlessly early or missing the event altogether. )
I assumed I’d booked myself on a boat tour to the Krka waterfalls. I’m mistaken. Most of the trip is by coach; packed out and not an especially friendly bunch. I’m sat next to the same sullen blonde on the outbound and return. Apparently a solo traveller herself, her body language is so closed off I’d have to go out of my way to engage her. It might be the Christian thing to do but perhaps I’m not that righteous. I feel so often invisibilised as a Black woman, often by other non-Black women, that it seems incumbent on them to make the effort.
As is usually the case with these all-day road trips, the tour guide, although polite enough, is in a constant hurry. I help a French couple with some interpretation duties, mildly annoyed with myself over some less-than-ideal vocab choices. After all these years, my spoken French can still be temperamental. The couple seems to follow, nevertheless.
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| (c) me |
At some point, I have a post-birthday conversation with my mother. I make the mistake of referring to some of the bizarre reactions I’ve experienced. ‘See? What did I tell you about travelling around the old Eastern Bloc on your own as a black woman?’ Pre-1989, mum would have had far fewer qualms. She had an uncle who spent time in Hungary. Since the fall of the Iron Curtain, she believes, whatever prejudices kept at bay under communism have been unleashed. I try to reassure her that nothing serious has befallen me. A part of me still regrets opening up. Mum will only worry.
My group reconvenes again for a brief and leisurely boat ride to nearby beach town, Skradin. On returning to Trogir, I’ll find out from the tour guide that two of our party have been left behind at Krka National Park.
Crossing the bridge back to Trogir Old Town, a young-ish man walking in the opposite direction looks at me with what could only be described as alarm. As if I’m a trick of his imagination. In spite of the sheer awkwardness, rather than look away I nod a greeting - as I am wont to do on this trip. There’s a delayed reaction before he comes to. From the corner of my eye, I see him hastily return the nod.
There’s more opportunity to practise my French whilst killing time at Trogir bus stop. I strike up a conversation with a Parisian of French-Caribbean heritage, for no other reason than the relief of seeing another brown face round these parts. I’m also sat next to a family of French-Canadians. By now, I’m sufficiently warmed-up to have more fluid, grammatically-correct conversations.
Later that evening, after dinner, I take a twilight stroll around the marina. Once again, I internally rejoice to be in such splendid surroundings. Before catching the last taxi boat, I head towards the bridge near where I first bumped into Joe and Zara, as if to conjure them up just by being in that locale. To my delight, they happen to be crossing the bridge at the time I take a pause to soak in the scenery. I’m so excited to see them again, asking questions that I forgot the previous time. Like how they both came to live in Ireland and when Joe had last visited the Caribbean to see his mum (not since he left as a pre-teen well over a decade ago). They fill me in on a day of shopping in Split. They strongly recommend that I pass by the beautiful beach town of Baška Voda on a future visit to Croatia.
I gabble to Joe about all the unequivocally peculiar reactions I’ve received since our first encounter, as well as my mother’s I-told-you-so trepidation. It’s a lot worse in Bosnia-Herzegovina, says Zara. They use the N-word. My heart sinks. Sarajevo was on my wishlist. I tell them that I’ve seen more diversity in Trogir that evening, towards the end of my holiday, than at any time before. I have had a brief interaction with a Surinamese man at the cash machine, have seen a solitary black girl with a group of older white folk, and various other brown faces dotted around the Old Town.
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| Blue Lagoon (courtesy of Seget Nautica) |
As is always the case, the last full day of my trip rolls around with a quickness. I try again - unsuccessfully - to enjoy a lie-in. The end-of-holiday melancholy and worries about over-spending are weighing on me. Remaining present is a constant struggle. My mind instinctively races to the next thing, whether good or bad. I’m aware it’s robbing me of what’s left of the trip. It’s exhausting trying to resist this reflex.
I’m meant to have an easy day spent in and around Seget Vranjica village. I’ve been seriously entertaining the idea of a half day boat tour to the Blue Lagoon, led by Luka, the man who kindly dropped me off at my accommodation when I first arrived. If nothing else, as a thank you for the favour.
On the boat, I do some grounding exercises to help me stay in the moment. They appear to do the trick. The sight of clear, teal-coloured water never grows old. Our return journey will be a lot more eventful. A distant forest blaze will darken the skies and there'll be the constant buzz of firefighter planes overhead. For now, the boat ride couldn't be more tranquil.
On reaching the Blue Lagoon, buyer’s remorse sets in. I should have done my research. I recall Martina the tour guide sounding underwhelmed about the island. It’s really aimed at those interested in swimming and/or water sports or a picnic stop off point for those on island tours. Apart from a couple of over-priced, cash only bars/restaurants staffed by rude personnel, there’s not much to do. As much as I wanted to patronise Luka, I fear I’ve just wasted 30 euros. Now that I’m here, with almost five hours to kill, I try to make the most of it. I switch on a podcast and go for a walk. I find a semi-secluded spot uphill where there are lovely views of surrounding islands.
Reflecting on the last few days, I’m glad it’s not my first experience of Croatia. Whilst I’ll take away some positive memories and I still find the coastline beguiling, the reception has also been a lot more mixed. I hope I'm not deterred from returning soon. There’s much of the country I’d still like to see.
That evening, I'll have one of my most pleasant culinary experiences of the trip at a restaurant on the other side of Seget Vranjica village. My waitress is warm and attentive, despite the busyness.
In the distant hills, I see the amber glow of the still-blazing forest fire. It's after dark that I better understand the measure of it. I'm told these conflagrations are common in that region at this time of year. There have been several that week alone. The fumes will reach my bedroom during the night and I'll be awoken by the constant sound of the fire-extinguisher jets, resuming the work they've had to stop at nightfall.
On check-out day, I'm overly-precautious about arriving at the airport early. I make time to sit idly by the Seget bay but cut it prematurely short. I decide to make up for it at Trogir bus garage, which overlooks the marina. I'm sufficiently ahead of schedule and the airport is so close, that there's no hurry. At the station, I cross paths with the friendly bus driver whom I met on arrival. For the first and last time, we exchange names. I feel it's providential, just before I leave, to have bumped into one of the most consistently kind individuals I've encountered on this trip.
Soundtrack: John Gómez and Nick the Record present the TANGENT compilation feat. Various Artists + The Burning Bush: A Journey through the Music of Earth, Wind & Fire by DJ Harrison & Nigel Hall.
