Croatian Roads, Mystery Islands and Raspberry Incidents
We woke up feeling much better.
In fact, I remember my head hitting the pillow the night before, and the next thing I knew the alarm was going off at 8 o’clock. This was a considerable improvement on the previous day, when sleep had been more of a rumour than an activity.
Rosamund had a simple suggestion:
“Let’s go back over the bridge and explore the island.”
A brilliant idea—especially considering we still had no idea what the island was called. That came later in the day when we found a Map.
So off we went in our trusty little Renault, over the bridge and up into the hills… collecting a queue of traffic behind us almost immediately.
Apparently, the locals had places to be.
The View That Made It Worth
It
Halfway up, we spotted what looked like an abandoned car. Naturally, we assumed this was an official scenic viewpoint and pulled in beside it.
And what a view.
Trogir spread out below us, the coastline stretching into the distance, the airport clearly visible, and the Adriatic shimmering away towards Split. Absolutely stunning.
We paused.
Breathed it in.
Felt very adventurous.
Then got back in the car.
Over the top of the hill and down the other side… and this is where things got interesting.
The roads became:
Narrow
Then narrower
Then “are we actually meant to be here?”
The surface looked as though someone had removed half the tarmac and left grooves behind—possibly for snow, judging by the warning signs. In April, it just felt like driving on a very committed experiment.
We aimed for a beach.
This was, in hindsight, optimistic.
To reach it, we had to pass through a small town where:
Roads twisted like spaghetti
Streets narrowed to near impossibility
One-way systems existed for very good reasons
At one point, we turned into entirely the wrong road and had to perform a multi-point turn on a steep hill, while quietly reconsidering our life choices.
We never found the beach.
We decided this was probably for the best.
We headed north instead, onto slightly better roads—think narrow English country lanes, but with added cliffs and consequences.
Then the satnav suggested turning up a very steep side road.
We tried it.
About 100 yards later, staring at what felt like a 30° incline, I decided:
“No. That will do nicely.”
Thankfully, there was just enough space to turn around
At this point, we made a rare sensible decision: return to yesterday’s beach.
We knew it.
We trusted it.
It didn’t involve reversing uphill.
We parked, went for a short walk, found a bench, and had lunch—simple bread, but thoroughly enjoyable.
Just as we were heading back, a few drops of rain appeared.
Not proper rain.
More of a suggestion of rain.
We retreated to the car anyway.
Next stop: Marina.
Now, Croatian roads are full of speed limits—40, 50, 60, 80 km/h.
Being British, I treated these as strict instructions.
The locals… did not.
Before long, I had built up a very respectable queue behind me. With nowhere to overtake, I became something of a moving traffic management system.
Eventually, I pulled over to let everyone pass—and to recover emotionally.
We arrived at Agana Marina, where our sailing adventure would begin the next day.
A quick visit to the tourist office gave us:
Maps
Ideas
Reassurance that parking was free (a big win)
We also arranged to leave our bags there the next day.
Naturally, we then drove up another hill.
This included:
Roadworks where half the road had disappeared
Steep climbs
Another “are we sure?” moment
But at the top—another incredible view over Marina.
Worth it. Just about.
We headed back, once again pulling over occasionally to release the growing convoy behind us. Back at the apartment, we parked on our now-familiar “designed-before-cars” road—narrow, concrete, and optimistic about two-way traffic.
We walked into Trogir along the seafront and found:
A charming nautical shop
Lots of children’s outfits
And… Croatian hats
I now have a white one.
Rosamund has a blue one.
We looked the part.
I filmed:
The winding medieval streets
The palm-lined waterfront
Yachts arriving in the harbour
At one point, I lost Rosamund.
Fortunately, I found her again. Always a reassuring outcome.
Back at the apartment:
Chicken and potatoes for dinner
Grapefruit starter (expertly divided into uneven portions)
Ice cream and raspberries for dessert
And then…
Red streaks down Rosamund’s leg.
A moment of concern.
Followed by relief.
It was raspberry juice.
We finished the day:
Watching a bit of English television
Packing for the morning
Preparing to return the car
Because tomorrow…
The sailing adventure begins.
