THE ISLAND OF HVAR
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| Hvar's hilltop |
It was "Mrs Jones"' birthday and she would celebrate it in her own restaurant, called Me and Mrs Jones, located on the northern pier by the waterfront. Locals referred to this restaurant as Napoleon, after the name of the previous restaurant. The food was simple and tasty and so was the locally produced house red wine. Hvar is indeed famous for its wine production since ancient times when the Greeks settled on the island. Mrs Jones told us that her favourite red wine was the plavac mali made by the Tomic family. She had invited friends for the evening and the chef was busy grilling at the barbecue place all sorts of things for the occasion. Customers were offered schnapps and mandarins.
Asked if the restaurant was opened all year round, Mrs Jones told us that it was closed during the winter months because Hvar is a family town and locals like to spend time among themselves. They don't really go out. In winter, she said, you'd be lucky if you met a cat or a dog.
We asked her how life was on the island? It is like paradise, she answered, the island is beautiful, the weather is great, there are great local food products. This was also the opinion of the owner of the Gant shop in Hvar town who had arrived from Zagreb ten years ago to join her husband who has been doing business on the island for the past twenty years. For sure there is an element of truth in what they said but this assumes that paradise features also open-air garbage dump, mass summer tourism and lonely winters.
Thankfully the following day, the sun was out to mitigate the cold of a raging baby Bora. The sea was riddled with short waves that crashed on the rocky shore. We followed the waterside road leading to Vrboska, a creek for the well-heeled. Along the way we passed in front of an abandoned-looking house, probably a former military quarter, which had a fabulous view over the bay of Jelsa. One of the windows had fluffy pink curtains which contrasted intriguingly with the tired white of the stone facade.
Closer to Vrboska, before the entry of the creek was a series of lovely holiday bungalows under repair in the shadow of large pine trees. Tiny areas of concrete materialised patches of beach where the rocks allowed access to the water. Further inside the creek, there were fancy boats, some of them under tarpaulin for the winter. At the level of the village's center, there was a tiny circular island, planted with a lonely palm tree in its center. It looked like a roundabout for boats or possibly like a giant one-year birthday cake. Not far from it a bridge crossed the creek. We disregarded two direction signs pointing to the Senses Resort and Camp Nudist. On the other side of the bridge, we took a road ascending to the island's plateau. Plots of agricultural land were demarcated by large dry-stone walls, more than a meter in width and height. The walls were the legacy of centuries of patient picking of stones that nearly paved the ground where the crops were meant to grow.
Basina, a village nested at the end of an another nearby narrow creek and partly hidden from the wind as a result, was enjoying some sun. Houses were built on the steep slope of the creek and most of them were closed for the season. The only human being we saw was a roadman in the harbour, out on the windy side, attempting to collect dried leaves. Most boats had their winter tarpaulin on and swayed to the rhythm of the choppy waves.
We left the seaside and moved towards the plain of Starigrad. Since Antiquity, 4th century BC, when the first Greek settlers came to live on the island, the plain has been divided in a multitude of rectangular plots demarcated by dry-stone walls. The Greeks organized the sharing of this flat area of land, several kilometres in length and width, into a grid mosaic of olive groves, vineyards and lavender fields. A few stone shelters still stand in the middle of some fields. In the 19th century, a couple chapels were erected by wealthy farmers.
The plain is surrounded by large patches of forest - a mix of oak, pine and cypress - that harbours wildlife - and scrubland on the slopes of the hills North and South of the flat land.
As we walked over a gravel road traversing the forest, a car with a grumpy-looking driver raced in our direction and created a huge cloud of dust in its tail. The man showed no intention of slowing down as he was coming closer to us, so we parked ourselves on the side in order to avoid being hit by this King of the Road. We had our picnic, sitting on a wall, and saw a cloud of dust speeding in the opposite direction, the man was back in his car, apparently determined to give no-one else's a chance to use His road.
We left the forest and saw the plain opening in front of us under a hazy midday glare. The land has stayed with the families born on the island for centuries. Nowadays many of the farmers we saw were old. One of them had accidentally landed his car, a rather recent one, into a vineyard off the road that crossed the plain towards Jelsa. Fortunately the man wasn't too much hurt. We didn't get to know how this had happened. The farmer was looking in disbelief at his vehicle that would require a tractor or a crane to tow it back onto the road. He discussed the matter with two men who had stopped to help him out.
We entered in Starigrad town through the main road that forks into two by the harbour in order to connect both sides of the creek along which the town has spread. The family Anic, our hosts at apartment Anic, could speak as well English as we could Croatian. This made us practice communication by signs, limiting seriously the extent of the exchange. It is clearly when words aren't spoken that the heart speaks most. The old couple introduced us to the apartment with a bit of shyness, asking if we liked it. It was on the upper floor of their house, a simple studio opening on a lovely terrace with views over the old town. The atmosphere and the light in the studio was really pleasant.
Asked if the restaurant was opened all year round, Mrs Jones told us that it was closed during the winter months because Hvar is a family town and locals like to spend time among themselves. They don't really go out. In winter, she said, you'd be lucky if you met a cat or a dog.
We asked her how life was on the island? It is like paradise, she answered, the island is beautiful, the weather is great, there are great local food products. This was also the opinion of the owner of the Gant shop in Hvar town who had arrived from Zagreb ten years ago to join her husband who has been doing business on the island for the past twenty years. For sure there is an element of truth in what they said but this assumes that paradise features also open-air garbage dump, mass summer tourism and lonely winters.
Thankfully the following day, the sun was out to mitigate the cold of a raging baby Bora. The sea was riddled with short waves that crashed on the rocky shore. We followed the waterside road leading to Vrboska, a creek for the well-heeled. Along the way we passed in front of an abandoned-looking house, probably a former military quarter, which had a fabulous view over the bay of Jelsa. One of the windows had fluffy pink curtains which contrasted intriguingly with the tired white of the stone facade.
Closer to Vrboska, before the entry of the creek was a series of lovely holiday bungalows under repair in the shadow of large pine trees. Tiny areas of concrete materialised patches of beach where the rocks allowed access to the water. Further inside the creek, there were fancy boats, some of them under tarpaulin for the winter. At the level of the village's center, there was a tiny circular island, planted with a lonely palm tree in its center. It looked like a roundabout for boats or possibly like a giant one-year birthday cake. Not far from it a bridge crossed the creek. We disregarded two direction signs pointing to the Senses Resort and Camp Nudist. On the other side of the bridge, we took a road ascending to the island's plateau. Plots of agricultural land were demarcated by large dry-stone walls, more than a meter in width and height. The walls were the legacy of centuries of patient picking of stones that nearly paved the ground where the crops were meant to grow.
Basina, a village nested at the end of an another nearby narrow creek and partly hidden from the wind as a result, was enjoying some sun. Houses were built on the steep slope of the creek and most of them were closed for the season. The only human being we saw was a roadman in the harbour, out on the windy side, attempting to collect dried leaves. Most boats had their winter tarpaulin on and swayed to the rhythm of the choppy waves.
We left the seaside and moved towards the plain of Starigrad. Since Antiquity, 4th century BC, when the first Greek settlers came to live on the island, the plain has been divided in a multitude of rectangular plots demarcated by dry-stone walls. The Greeks organized the sharing of this flat area of land, several kilometres in length and width, into a grid mosaic of olive groves, vineyards and lavender fields. A few stone shelters still stand in the middle of some fields. In the 19th century, a couple chapels were erected by wealthy farmers.
The plain is surrounded by large patches of forest - a mix of oak, pine and cypress - that harbours wildlife - and scrubland on the slopes of the hills North and South of the flat land.
As we walked over a gravel road traversing the forest, a car with a grumpy-looking driver raced in our direction and created a huge cloud of dust in its tail. The man showed no intention of slowing down as he was coming closer to us, so we parked ourselves on the side in order to avoid being hit by this King of the Road. We had our picnic, sitting on a wall, and saw a cloud of dust speeding in the opposite direction, the man was back in his car, apparently determined to give no-one else's a chance to use His road.
We left the forest and saw the plain opening in front of us under a hazy midday glare. The land has stayed with the families born on the island for centuries. Nowadays many of the farmers we saw were old. One of them had accidentally landed his car, a rather recent one, into a vineyard off the road that crossed the plain towards Jelsa. Fortunately the man wasn't too much hurt. We didn't get to know how this had happened. The farmer was looking in disbelief at his vehicle that would require a tractor or a crane to tow it back onto the road. He discussed the matter with two men who had stopped to help him out.
We entered in Starigrad town through the main road that forks into two by the harbour in order to connect both sides of the creek along which the town has spread. The family Anic, our hosts at apartment Anic, could speak as well English as we could Croatian. This made us practice communication by signs, limiting seriously the extent of the exchange. It is clearly when words aren't spoken that the heart speaks most. The old couple introduced us to the apartment with a bit of shyness, asking if we liked it. It was on the upper floor of their house, a simple studio opening on a lovely terrace with views over the old town. The atmosphere and the light in the studio was really pleasant.
On the terrace was a vine which in this late season only had a few green leaves left. The couple was probably in their seventies or early eighties. He had the blue eyes of a shy and ruffled school boy. Especially when he would smile, one would forget about his wrinkled face. He wore a used brown tartan shirt and a grey pair of trousers. He was the one who could speak a few words of English which made him indispensable to his wife, a lively lady with the face of a Russian Babushka, in order to translate our conversation into Croatian. She was talkative and he was probably dreading these episodes of guest reception that made him a translator. He was probably more at ease when he was working on his land to produce his own wine and olive oil. They gave us for tasting half a liter of white wine that had a lovely golden colour. This came in handy for a sunset drink on our terrace! We enjoyed it.
We stayed two nights in our little nest having dinner at the nearby and excellent Kod Damira, a local restaurant recommended unequivocally by the old couple. The first night, I forgot my phone on the table. I quickly went back to look for it. It had been kept safe by the restaurant staff who had left a small memory on the phone by taking a selfie of themselves in the kitchen.
Before dinner, we had gone for a swim at the end of the harbour in a place where the water was protected from the wind and the current. A tourist in shorts and panama hat was walking a little faster than us in the same direction, he confirmed that swimming there was easy. When we reached the pier with stairs to enter the water, we saw his hat laid on his clothes neatly folded. The man was swimming a distance away in the costume of Adam.
The weather was looking sad the next day, we however went on with our plans to visit the Kabal lighthouse. We didn't meet much rain though but the wind was blowing strongly, amassing dark clouds in gloomy masses across the sky. Most of the path was going across scrubland.
On the heights of Hobonj, the charred silhouettes of trees and bushes scarred the landscape and contrasted sharply with the limestone paving the ground. There had been a recent fire. It was a reminder that the islands are very dry. Unexpectedly the clouds briefly opened up to let a sunbeam dramatically travel on the surface of the creek as if a show was about to begin. That magic moment was short-lived.
After a long straight stretch espousing the ups and downs of the hills in the middle of a forested zone, the path zigzagged its way down to a small cove from which one could reach the tip of the land where the Kabal lighthouse has been erected. A surprise awaited us when we thought we had come close to it. A tunnel, with a dim light at its further end, was continuing the journey underground. That tunnel must have been used during the past war in the 1990s. It was in fact a series of tunnels that gave access to surveillance platforms to keep watch of sea traffic towards the continent.
Back to Starigrad town, walking along the harbour, the sound of a wedding party filled the air with energetic singing to the tune of an accordion, loud happy laughs and occasional gun shots in the air. The sun appeared again when we were in the old town, walking through the narrow cobbled streets along which multiple storey stone houses were pressed one against the other. There was a LP record store in one of them, that must have been run by a music aficionado with means and time on his hands. Sunday night was quiet but back at Kod Damira all the tables were full with travellers, most of them sailors. I kept my phone in the pocket this time!
The next morning, a pristine sky greeted us on the terrace as we left our nest, after a now customary turkish coffee for breakfast, and bade goodbye to our hosts. We managed to explain to them we had come all the way from France walking. They surely thought we were crazy but we took some pictures together to remember that moment.
Leaving town was easy, along the road leading to Jelsa before turning right towards the village of Dol located on a hill overlooking the Starigrad plain and whose church couldn't be missed from afar. The road continued uphill towards the upper side of the plateau through a forest which gradually thinned as we went higher up to reach a lunar landscape of thin grass, short bushes and stone blocks that covered the upper hills. We moved further West in the direction of Velo Grablje and got commanding views of over the island, the sea and the neighbouring islands. It revealed how sinuous the shoreline was. The hills were cultivated again using an impressive array of dry stone walls to divide the land in small terraces all over the slope of that hilly terrain. The whole thing looked like a cubist creation.
Velo Grablje is facing south-west, built along the steep slope of the hills with breathtaking views on the sea. Next to the cemetery wall, a few benches looked at a white crucifixion cross. It was like an open air church. As we traversed the village, we hardly saw anyone out there. A few kilometres further down the hill, there was another ancient village called Malo Grablje at the feet of the Motokit hill. It is hidden in a narrow gorge full of century old olive trees. The village is now deserted, but it is one example of Mediterranean architecture that developed around the island of Hvar over the past centuries. The village was famous for its distillery that was used to produce rosemary oil in the 19th century and later converted to process lavender oil.
In the 1960s, inhabitants of the Malo Grablje relocated to Milna, two kilometres away by the seaside. When we got there we could hear the noise of olive tree shakers, a machine that makes the branches vibrate so that ripe olives fall on the ground that has been covered with a tarpaulin to ease their transfer into plastic containers that can rapidly be loaded on trucks and transported to the processing location. Milna late afternoon: hardly anyone out; a dim sun low on the horizon slowly was disappearing in the haze, a light grey sea was contrasting with the dark silhouette of a sinuous tree trunk topped by a round bowl of foliage which stood next to a lonely fishing boat resting on the beige pebbles of the beach. Along the shore, Milna spread its two or three storey white-ish houses, individually unremarkable but globally coherent. We were tired of the rather long walking, very much in tune with the peaceful sadness of the place that had resolutely fallen into hibernation in anticipation of the upcoming winter.
We had decided to walk along the shore to Hvar town, but opted instead for a wider path than the scent going up and down to all the pebble beaches. Here too people were busy collecting olives on all the terraces. Upon reaching the main road we could see on the left side the strange circular mini island of Galisnik with a lighthouse occupying most of its ground. Ahead and right was Hvar town, first the new part of the city and beyond the old town in which vertical circulation is made through North-South stairways and horizontal movement using East-West streets running more or less parallel along the slopes of the V-shaped valley that ends by the harbour. There are many signs of the Venetian presence with winged lions on the walls and gates of the walled part of the town but also the clover shape of the church front that up-ends the long Trg Svetog Stjepana. Napoleon gave his name to the fortress built on the upper hill right above the city. A Mediterranean herb garden was built along the access path to the fortress under the lead of Josip Avelini in the 1930s. As a mayor of Hvar town, he focused on developing the town for tourism to turn it into a Madeira of the Adriatic sea! Close to the entrance of the fortress, a couple of benches in the shade of tall trees were facing the town, its harbour and the sea. We sat next to a young Asian lady from Brazil who travelled on her own. We helped each other with taking pictures.
We stayed two nights in our little nest having dinner at the nearby and excellent Kod Damira, a local restaurant recommended unequivocally by the old couple. The first night, I forgot my phone on the table. I quickly went back to look for it. It had been kept safe by the restaurant staff who had left a small memory on the phone by taking a selfie of themselves in the kitchen.
Before dinner, we had gone for a swim at the end of the harbour in a place where the water was protected from the wind and the current. A tourist in shorts and panama hat was walking a little faster than us in the same direction, he confirmed that swimming there was easy. When we reached the pier with stairs to enter the water, we saw his hat laid on his clothes neatly folded. The man was swimming a distance away in the costume of Adam.
The weather was looking sad the next day, we however went on with our plans to visit the Kabal lighthouse. We didn't meet much rain though but the wind was blowing strongly, amassing dark clouds in gloomy masses across the sky. Most of the path was going across scrubland.
On the heights of Hobonj, the charred silhouettes of trees and bushes scarred the landscape and contrasted sharply with the limestone paving the ground. There had been a recent fire. It was a reminder that the islands are very dry. Unexpectedly the clouds briefly opened up to let a sunbeam dramatically travel on the surface of the creek as if a show was about to begin. That magic moment was short-lived.
After a long straight stretch espousing the ups and downs of the hills in the middle of a forested zone, the path zigzagged its way down to a small cove from which one could reach the tip of the land where the Kabal lighthouse has been erected. A surprise awaited us when we thought we had come close to it. A tunnel, with a dim light at its further end, was continuing the journey underground. That tunnel must have been used during the past war in the 1990s. It was in fact a series of tunnels that gave access to surveillance platforms to keep watch of sea traffic towards the continent.
Back to Starigrad town, walking along the harbour, the sound of a wedding party filled the air with energetic singing to the tune of an accordion, loud happy laughs and occasional gun shots in the air. The sun appeared again when we were in the old town, walking through the narrow cobbled streets along which multiple storey stone houses were pressed one against the other. There was a LP record store in one of them, that must have been run by a music aficionado with means and time on his hands. Sunday night was quiet but back at Kod Damira all the tables were full with travellers, most of them sailors. I kept my phone in the pocket this time!
The next morning, a pristine sky greeted us on the terrace as we left our nest, after a now customary turkish coffee for breakfast, and bade goodbye to our hosts. We managed to explain to them we had come all the way from France walking. They surely thought we were crazy but we took some pictures together to remember that moment.
Leaving town was easy, along the road leading to Jelsa before turning right towards the village of Dol located on a hill overlooking the Starigrad plain and whose church couldn't be missed from afar. The road continued uphill towards the upper side of the plateau through a forest which gradually thinned as we went higher up to reach a lunar landscape of thin grass, short bushes and stone blocks that covered the upper hills. We moved further West in the direction of Velo Grablje and got commanding views of over the island, the sea and the neighbouring islands. It revealed how sinuous the shoreline was. The hills were cultivated again using an impressive array of dry stone walls to divide the land in small terraces all over the slope of that hilly terrain. The whole thing looked like a cubist creation.
Velo Grablje is facing south-west, built along the steep slope of the hills with breathtaking views on the sea. Next to the cemetery wall, a few benches looked at a white crucifixion cross. It was like an open air church. As we traversed the village, we hardly saw anyone out there. A few kilometres further down the hill, there was another ancient village called Malo Grablje at the feet of the Motokit hill. It is hidden in a narrow gorge full of century old olive trees. The village is now deserted, but it is one example of Mediterranean architecture that developed around the island of Hvar over the past centuries. The village was famous for its distillery that was used to produce rosemary oil in the 19th century and later converted to process lavender oil.
In the 1960s, inhabitants of the Malo Grablje relocated to Milna, two kilometres away by the seaside. When we got there we could hear the noise of olive tree shakers, a machine that makes the branches vibrate so that ripe olives fall on the ground that has been covered with a tarpaulin to ease their transfer into plastic containers that can rapidly be loaded on trucks and transported to the processing location. Milna late afternoon: hardly anyone out; a dim sun low on the horizon slowly was disappearing in the haze, a light grey sea was contrasting with the dark silhouette of a sinuous tree trunk topped by a round bowl of foliage which stood next to a lonely fishing boat resting on the beige pebbles of the beach. Along the shore, Milna spread its two or three storey white-ish houses, individually unremarkable but globally coherent. We were tired of the rather long walking, very much in tune with the peaceful sadness of the place that had resolutely fallen into hibernation in anticipation of the upcoming winter.
We had decided to walk along the shore to Hvar town, but opted instead for a wider path than the scent going up and down to all the pebble beaches. Here too people were busy collecting olives on all the terraces. Upon reaching the main road we could see on the left side the strange circular mini island of Galisnik with a lighthouse occupying most of its ground. Ahead and right was Hvar town, first the new part of the city and beyond the old town in which vertical circulation is made through North-South stairways and horizontal movement using East-West streets running more or less parallel along the slopes of the V-shaped valley that ends by the harbour. There are many signs of the Venetian presence with winged lions on the walls and gates of the walled part of the town but also the clover shape of the church front that up-ends the long Trg Svetog Stjepana. Napoleon gave his name to the fortress built on the upper hill right above the city. A Mediterranean herb garden was built along the access path to the fortress under the lead of Josip Avelini in the 1930s. As a mayor of Hvar town, he focused on developing the town for tourism to turn it into a Madeira of the Adriatic sea! Close to the entrance of the fortress, a couple of benches in the shade of tall trees were facing the town, its harbour and the sea. We sat next to a young Asian lady from Brazil who travelled on her own. We helped each other with taking pictures.
It is obviously a matter of perspective, time and place, that the beautifully lit jail cells of the fortress looked splendid with their vaulted ceiling, they would do very well to host an atmospheric restaurant or a bar. But of course as a prisoner, without proper light, chained and with several inmates per cells, the experience must have been unbearable.
I will remember Hvar town for an amazing Scorpio fish at the Macondo restaurant simply grilled with a bit of olive oil and lemon juice.
We spent our last half-hour on Hvar waiting, next the large palm trees planted along the jetty, for the ferry to Vela Luka on Korcula island. A French mother arrived with a child and three teenagers.
They had apparently missed their boat connection to the mainland. The mother went to the ferry counter to ask for options while her unconcerned teenagers remained deeply absorbed by their smartphones. She came out of the ferry desk with her young one and asked the teenagers for their preference on any of the options available. They continued to look at their phones without even raising their heads to look at her. They simply ignored her. Frustrated she left saying she was going to have an ice cream at a nearby cafe. After a minute had elapsed, they all got up and followed her silently for ice cream was a concept that seemed to trigger priority attention from teenagers' strained bandwidth!
I will remember Hvar town for an amazing Scorpio fish at the Macondo restaurant simply grilled with a bit of olive oil and lemon juice.
We spent our last half-hour on Hvar waiting, next the large palm trees planted along the jetty, for the ferry to Vela Luka on Korcula island. A French mother arrived with a child and three teenagers.
They had apparently missed their boat connection to the mainland. The mother went to the ferry counter to ask for options while her unconcerned teenagers remained deeply absorbed by their smartphones. She came out of the ferry desk with her young one and asked the teenagers for their preference on any of the options available. They continued to look at their phones without even raising their heads to look at her. They simply ignored her. Frustrated she left saying she was going to have an ice cream at a nearby cafe. After a minute had elapsed, they all got up and followed her silently for ice cream was a concept that seemed to trigger priority attention from teenagers' strained bandwidth!
Images:
1/ Hvar's hilltop
2/ Jesla's harbour
3/ Accidental parking in the Stari Grad's vineyard
4/ Gone for a swim in Stari Grad town
5/ Selfie in the kitchen at Kod Damira
6/ Hvar Town's walled city
1/ Hvar's hilltop
2/ Jesla's harbour
3/ Accidental parking in the Stari Grad's vineyard
4/ Gone for a swim in Stari Grad town
5/ Selfie in the kitchen at Kod Damira
6/ Hvar Town's walled city
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| Jesla's harbour |
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| accidental parking in the Stari Grad's vineyard |
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| gone for a swim in Stari Grad town |
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| selfie in the kitchen at Kod Damira |
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| Hvar Town's walled city |
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