IT'S RAINING, the wind is near gale-force, the famed Adriatic sun is nowhere
to be seen - and I'm having the holiday of a lifetime. I'm not sure the same
can be said for my crew, shivering and huddled together in the cockpit,
hands tucked in armpits and heads turned away from the stinging rain.
“Woo-hoo! Eight knots!” I shout above the noise, in a not altogether
convincing attempt to boost morale and convey something of the thrill of the
moment as we careen along in the force-six blow, mainsail reefed and lee
rail dashing through the water.
Three pairs of eyes, conveying a mix of fear and loathing, stare out at me
from under the hoods of three lightweight cagoules. I'm jolly glad I decided
to bring my Musto fleece-lined offshore oilies.
It's the last week in September and we are 50km (30 miles) off the Dalmatian
coast of Croatia, running southeast towards the island of Korcula in a wind
that wouldn't be out of place this time of year off eastern England.
It had been my audacious plan to visit the town of the same name that claims
Marco Polo as a local boy. It will be a shame not to see Korcula, by all
accounts an architecturally breathtaking “Little Dubrovnik”, festooned with
ancient towers and battlements, but wind and waves get the better
of my plan.
A sanctuary much closer than Korcula lies no more than ten miles and two
hours' sailing astern and, to shrieks of gratitude, I tack the boat round.
It doesn't matter than I'm the only one on board who knows his stem from his
stern: with self-furling sails and all lines leading back to the cockpit,
the joy of a modern yacht is that it can be sailed single-handed.
Two days ago, when we picked up our charter yacht from the ACI Marina at
Split, the sun was out, the wind was nowhere to be seen and, under engine
and clear blue skies, we puttered the ten miles south across the Splitski
Channel towards the narrows between the islands of Solta and Brac. Beyond
lay the open Adriatic and the promise of a paradise of islands.
With our galley and fridge packed with supplies we looked set fair for a week
of light winds, hot sun and self-contained island-hopping. While I fretted
with frustration, fiddling pointlessly with the sails as they flopped
flaccidly from side to side, the bikini-clad sunbathers (aka “the crew”),
sprawled over the foredeck.
Now, after two days of sunbathing, lazy sailing, dropping anchor in deserted
bays and plopping off the stern into blue waters, the weather has taken a
turn for the tetchy - and the sailing has improved immeasurably.
Whatever the weather, the Dalmatian Adriatic is Swallows and Amazons territory
on a grand, adult scale - a spectacularly beautiful marine playground
studded with 1,000 islands, many deserted and fringed with countless coves
where grown-ups can drop anchor and play at pirates.
Or one can join the Caravan Club. No offence to caravanners, or to the owners
of the many excellent but crowded marinas in these parts, but surely the
point of chartering a yacht is to get away from the madding crowd? And there
is no crowd more madding than the marina set at the end of an Adriatic
day-sail.
In this part of the world yachts are moored stern-to and that means your
cockpit will be jammed between two others. The often all-male crews from a
variety of nations party loud and late. You will share their multilingual
Euro-pop, cigar smoke and screams of increasingly drunken hilarity.
It doesn't have to be this way. A boat in a marina is a bird in a cage -
especially in waters as enchanting as these, where a thousand deserted coves
invite you to anchor for the night. Croatia's splintered coastline, arguably
one of the most spectacular in the world, is a geological metaphor for the
turbulent, fractured history of the Balkans. The Illyrians, Greeks, Romans,
Goths, Huns, Venetians, Italians, Austrians, French and, inevitably, the
British, have all passed this way, plundering, trading, destroying and
building, and the result is some of the richest history and most beautiful
island towns in the world.
Take Hvar. Although the 68km-long (42-mile) island was settled by the Greeks
in about 400BC, Hvar reputedly began life as a hideaway for medieval pirates.
It isn't hard to see why. Coming upon Hvar from the sea is a breathtaking
experience. After a long passage of grey skies, seas and rocks, the
beautiful Venetian harbour, nestled against tree-topped slopes and littered
with shops and pavement cafés, bursts on the senses.
Hvar today is a bustling centre of cosmopolitan cool, its waterside square
framed by beautiful old buildings, including the 16th-century St Stephen's
cathedral and the arches of the 17th-century Venetian Arsenal, where the
galleys that brought the Doges their riches were repaired.
The town is a maze of stepped alleyways that roll up the hillside towards the
dominant citadel, another 16th-century Venetian contribution, from which the
view at sunset across town, sea and islands is dazzling.
On our way back along the café-lined harbour promenade we pass the extremely
cool Riva, Croatia's only affiliate to the Small Luxury Hotels of the World
brand. At any other time I could be tempted to idle away a week there but
right now the thought of languishing on the stylish Yacht Terrace, watching
yachts sail away into the sunset, fills me with a pity for the guests,
sipping their drinks and gazing seaward past the islands with a wistful air.
At dawn the next day our bow is cutting across the Viski Kanal, the five-mile
stretch of water separating Hvar from the much smaller and less developed
island of Vis, the wartime hideout for Tito's Yugoslav partisans and British
commandos and closed to foreigners by the military until 1989. The sea in
these parts is liquid history and 90m under our keel lies the wreckage of
one of the last major naval engagements under sail.
During the Napoleonic Wars Vis, then still known by its Venetian name, Lissa,
was held by the British. Today the small island in the entrance to the
harbour at Vis is known as Hoste Island, in honour of Sir William Hoste, who
in 1811 destroyed a Franco-Venetian fleet that was trying to retake the
island for France.
British sailors still lie in a naval cemetery overlooking the bay they once
guarded and knew as Port St George. The British also left behind ruined
fortifications and, incongruously for this part of the world, a love of
cricket, a game revived by locals in 2002.
An 1831 British pilot book noted that fresh water was available on Vis, “but
it is not plentiful; their beef is indifferent, but their mutton very good”.
Entering the bay today, one finds very little that is indifferent, and
plenty that is very good.
Dead ahead in the harbour lies the small settlement of Kut, a charming
waterside idyll where yacht crews tie up at the quay and step ashore to
explore the narrow streets. A few hundred metres further round the bay lies
the main town of Vis, slightly more developed but still a place of beauty,
and home to the remains of a Greek cemetery and Roman baths.
We have been lucky enough to pick up a buoy 50m out from the shore at Kut and,
as the boat swings gently to its mooring in the dying evening breeze, we sit
in the cockpit sipping chilled wine and trying to decide where to eat.
This is a tough call: mutton might be hard to find, but in these waters today
bars and restaurants flourish wherever yachts tie up for the night and the
modern sailor is frequently spoiled for choice.
As the light fades we clamber down into the yacht's dinghy, start the outboard
and chug to shore. Damp bottoms are a small price to pay as we sip
sundowners on the sofas outside Bar Lambik before dining alfresco on a
medley of beautifully cooked seafood under the palms at Val, a charming
restaurant on the small square right on the water's edge.
The following morning we set sail early, having promised ourselves time to
explore Split. First, however, we must get there. Overnight a fog has
descended and as we slip our mooring we can see no farther than Hoste Island,
less than a mile away. Out in the choppy Viski Kanal the visibility is no
better. Hvar has vanished, but the GPS steers us unerringly to a waypoint
just west of the Pakleni Islands. With almost no tide to speak of, pilotage
is a much simpler affair in these parts than British sailors are used to.
By the time we have cleared Hvar, the sun has begun to burn off the fog and
within two hours we are in bright sunshine as we pass through the narrow
channel between the islands of Brac and Solta, guardians of the southern
approach to Split, Croatia's second city.
Six days ago, when we had arrived in hot sun at the ACI Marina, we hadn't
given the city a second glance. We were just part of a rush-hour of dozens
of charter crews anxious to get aboard.
Now, a week later, as we sail towards the city along a course familiar to
Roman galleys and Venetian merchantmen, Split rises into view as a
mysterious destination in its own right. At the heart of the city stand the
substantial remains of the Roman emperor Diocletian's sprawling 4th-century
palace, absorbed haphazardly into every generation of the city's subsequent
evolution, like a glorious shipwreck around which a coral reef has grown.
We tie up for the last time in the marina and take a short water-taxi ride
across to the city's waterfront. After the peace of the 25-mile sail, the
vibrancy of the place is concussive but infectious, and we stroll the warren
of ancient and modern streets and buildings with the heightened appreciation
for land that all sailors experience at the end of a voyage, no matter how
timid.
Nevertheless, leaving the boat the next morning is a wrench. This isn't one of
those holidays one is secretly glad is over.
Need to know
Jonathan Gornall travelled with Dalmatian Destinations (020-7730 8007, www.dalmatiandestinations.com),
which specialises in fully crewed boats. A week's charter on board a 26m
(85ft) ketch with five double en suite cabins starts at £12,000. The price
includes breakfast, lunch, drinks, all local costs and airport transfers.
