Sabbatikos

We left Hvar beneath a steady rain, the leading edge of an approaching storm, walking through puddled cobblestone streets with hoods up and bags slung, while the hotel sent our suitcases ahead to the ferry dock. Hvar had been good to us. It was warm, relaxed, and full of charm, but it was time to move on. Our next destination was Split, the final stop along the Dalmatian Coast, reached by high-speed catamaran through a restless sea.

Once aboard, it became clear we were not outrunning the storm. We were sailing straight into it! The Adriatic, had turned moody and unsettled. Heavy seas slapped against the hull, and sheets of rain blurred the horizon. The clouds ahead were barely visible, but their darkness was an unmistakable black. We were heading into a tempest!

When we docked in Split, the skies fully opened and poured down upon us. Thunder cracked, lightning flashed, and the rain fell in such volumes it felt biblical. Old Testament biblical. We spotted our car and ran for it, instantly soaked. A very soggy driver, holding a dripping sign with our smeared name, met us at the port and navigated us through a city caught in a deluge, with flooded roads, stalled cars, and chaos sloshing at every curb and intersection.

We checked into the Hotel Ambasador, grateful to be out of the wind and rain. Venturing out wasn’t an option just yet, so we changed into dry clothes and listened to the storm from the hotel bar. Judging by the delay between lightning and thunder, it was slowly moving on.

As we waited out the storm in the bar, we ordered drinks and lunch and played a few rounds of dominoes. By the time we paid the bill, the clouds were retreating, the skies were clearing, and Split began to reveal herself. We headed out to explore.

At first, the city was underwhelming. We wandered along the vast Riva waterfront and found it lined with overpriced, touristy cafes offering generic menus. But just as the skies had cleared, so too did our perspective. We veered off the main street and ducked into the tangle of alleys and side streets that make up the true heart of Split. That was when we realized we were not walking through just any old Croatian town, we were walking through a Roman emperor’s palace.

Diocletian’s Palace is not just a monument set aside for posterity; it is Split. The homes, buildings, alleyways, and plazas that make up the living core of the city were either once part of the emperor’s palace or were built directly on top of it and woven into its remains.

We wandered through arched passageways and ancient courtyards, climbed the bell tower above the cathedral, stumbled upon the Temple of Jupiter, and explored the crypt below the Cathedral of Saint Domnius, which stood above the Crypt of St. Lucy. History unfolded before us in stone, shadow, and light. It was the best kind of immersive, accidental magic.

We assumed our guide would be taking us through more of it tomorrow, so we kept our visit light, focusing on the views and a few informative placards. And a film, apparently. A movie production was underway, possibly from India, set in a Roman theme and complete with an open invitation to return later that evening for a full Bollywood dance number. We decided we would catch it in theaters.

As the sun shone brightly and not a single cloud remained in the sky, we found the cutest and coziest bar within courtyard of the hotel Palaca Judita, where we enjoyed an aperitif or two in the open courtyard of a small boutique hotel. It was one of the coolest outdoor bars I have ever had the pleasure of imbibing in.

From the bar, we planned our dinner. Ian found a great rooftop restaurant called Articok, worthy of the day’s drama. The food was excellent, and artichokes were prominently featured. I had three different artichoke dishes, each better than the last. With the history, the drinks, and the dinner, our opinion of Split was completely transformed from that initial first impression. Split surprised us, first with rain, then with revelation.

Tomorrow, we dive deeper with a guided tour. But tonight, we toasted to storms that passed and to Diocletian’s fine home. We could see why he chose Split to retire to.