Islands in the sun - Korchula to Hvar



Sail away, sail away, sail away...



The best way to see Croatia is undoubtedly by boat. Croatia's coastline is peppered with hundreds of islands, all easily accessible and interconnected by ferries, catamarans and yachts, making it super-easy to get off the beaten track and find your own slice of beach paradise. You also have to be careful to not inadvertently stumble into nudist territory, which seems to be relatively common and possibly a little far-reaching for my liking. Grannies, fat Germans, Russians, Croats, all lounging about in their naked glory, letting it all hang out for passers by to gape at. No one needs a hairy ball-sack while munching down on their morning cocopops. As we all know, I'm a bit of a prude and some scenes were just a little too much for my innocent British sensibilities. I'm not quite sure what the Eastern European fascination is with lying out sans clothes in the sun, cos its not like they've got much to show off...

Our first stop was the island of Korchula, four hours from Dubrovnik and accessed via a large ferry that reminded me of cross-channel holidays to France and school trips where the aim of the game was to hide from your teachers and kiss as many boys as possible. No such luck on this excursion...

Korchula is a small island where the main town looks like a mini Dubrovnik - ancient winding streets occupy a small outcrop of land culminating in a cathedral at its apex.



Looking towards the cathedral


It also has a spectacular array of fruit trees, bushes and vines that gives each resident their own personal fruit bowl without ever having to leave the comfort of their own gardens, which is just as well as the choice of fruit and vegetables in Croatian supermarkets is shockingly bad. But then why do you need to buy fresh produce when you can grow it? Pomegranates, oranges, nectarines, olives, peaches, grapes, kiwi fruit (who knew they grew on hanging vines? I realise probably me, given my job), apples, lemons, limes and endless summer berries, just all there for the taking. And scrump we did, until we remembered we didn't have the the wherewithal to get into a pomegranate...   

We stayed at an awesome hostel at the end of a fruit-filled street, just out of town (the best ones are always a little further away, it seems) and quickly made friends with Brits, Aussies, Scandys and Kiwis, resulting in a couple of classic card games and even messier heads the next day. To deal with our pounding brains Ais had the bright idea to go cliff jumping at a recommended spot round the coast. Was she brave, was she stupid? Possibly both, yet I was going to be neither and instead watched her descend 8 metres into the water from the comfort of my own rock where I could nurse my head in relative safety. Rid Ais of her hangover, it undoubtedly did, and my lasting memory of Korchula will be of her disappearing under the waves only to bob up a few feet away. 

Our only negative experience of Korchula was a cheap boat tour that sold itself as a trip round the small islands filled with snorkeling and swimming. The price tag should have given us a clue - 12 euro for a day's excursion? Surely not. Yep, that would be a no. Unless you consider being taken out on a small boat, dumped on an island with no amenities (not even water) and left there for six hours with nobody but several naked women for company. And no, this didn't include Ais and I. Actually, this probably sounds like heaven to any straight guys and gay girls reading this, but we are neither and thus spent the day rather thirsty and hungry perched on a pebble beach. Not a highlight.

The next day we were on the silly o'clock 6 am ferry to Hvar - Croatia's playground for the rich and famous; where yachts the size of football fields compete with each other for the world's most exuberant and over-the-top boat prize and restaurant prices match the overt wealth of the visitors who dock their sun seekers along the pretty harbour. 

One advantage of getting up at the arse-crack of dawn is that you arrive at your new destination in time for breakfast. We eventually found the cafe that was our pickup point to our hostel and discover that residents and tourists alike are milling around at the bar. Drinking. Beer. At 8 am. Croatia, where alcoholism could easily become a national sport. Now, I like my beer, but 8 am is even too early for me, so I settled for an Americano and a slightly judgemental look on my face. Drinking in the morning? At least make mine a Bloody Mary.

Our hostel was again, slightly out of town and a pleasant walk along the harbour to the old town. Run by two Aussies and an American we were greeted with free pancakes and coffee for breakfast (a rare treat at a hostel), especially when one of the owners has a second life as a chef, which involves cooking on private yachts sailing the Caribbean for half the year. (Lucky bastard.)

There is not much to do in Hvar, except lie on one of its numerous, if slightly uncomfortable beaches and pick which boat you would have if money were no object. Which then of course moves on to discuss what name you would pick, how many berths it would have, where it would be moored etc, you know, all the important questions. I have loved boats for a long time (probably encouraged by living on a canal boat for two years; although I do have a tendency to look back on things through rise-tinted glasses...), and one day would love to learn how to sail. Although, if living in Melbourne hasn't inspired me yet, I'm not sure there's much chance of this land lubber lifting anchor and sailing off into the distance. Mind you, if it was in the Caribbean...

yacht of choice

After killing our budget on a night on the town, followed by a BBQ put on by our hostel, and an unfortunate incident involving a pug and a Geordie, which can not be repeated here, we spent our last two days exploring Hvar's surrounding islands and the local town. 

On our last morning I was treated to the spectacle of three parachuters navigating their way down into Hvar's tiny town square. For what purpose, I am not entirely sure, but it was certainly an impressive sight. 

Coming in to land

After a little more wallet bashing it was time to pack our things and leave - a hop, skip and a quick catamaran over to Split: a return to the mainland and our last destination in Croatia before some well-deserved time at home with our friends and families.