**  CROATIA 2008  - Weeks 5~6  **

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CROATIA 2008 - the war zone of the Zadar hinterland, Šibenik, the Krka National Park, Trogir, Split and the Island of Brač:

We were to witness over these 2 weeks the marked geographical and cultural contrast between Dalmatia's fertile seaboard and the arid maquis of the stony interior: the coastal towns and islands have long enjoyed a thriving Mediterranean civilisation, while the unsettled and barren hinterland has been prone to the political instabilities of the Balkan interior. People on the coast have traditionally been able to sustain a living from fishing, olive and vine cultivation, trade and more recently tourism; life in the interior however - in Croatian, kamenjar ('stone fields') - has always been harsher. The Croatian Krajina border regions were subject to massive population displacement during the 16/17th centuries as refugees from the inland Balkans fled the Ottoman Turkish advance. The resultant ethnic mix in these inland regions of native Croats and peoples of Serbian and Bosnian origins is reflected in religious distinctions between western Catholic Croats and eastern Orthodox Serbs.

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The break up of former Yugoslavia in 1991, and Serbian President Milošević's fanatical ambition for a greater Serbia incorporating any territory with ethnic Serb inhabitants, prompted the Serbian controlled Yugoslav National Army (JNA) to back an uprising by the 90% Serb population around the Croatian border town of Knin. The Serbs pushed westwards towards the coast; ethnic cleansing created masses of Croat refugees fleeing from Serb occupation of the Croatian homeland. In 1995, Croat forces launched Operation Oluja (Storm), recovering their territory from Serb occupation, resulting in a further wave of counter-ethnic cleansing as Serb civilians fled eastwards from the Croat Krajina region.

This week's travels begin with what can only be described as the 'Alternative Croatia': the former war zone of the Zadar hinterland, a region not usually visited by tourists. The first indications of war damage came as we re-crossed the rebuilt Maslenica Bridge, destroyed by the Serbs as they advanced towards the coast in 1991: a concrete hut still pock-marked by heavy machine gun fire bore witness to the fighting in 1995 as the Croats displaced the occupying Serbs. As we approached Novigrad, ominous signs warned of the hazards of straying from the narrow road onto the uncultivated Karst scrubland - uncleared mines left behind by retreating Serbs. We passed a shepherdess keeping her flock safely on the cleared seaward side; here was a grimly frightening different form of occupational hazard to her work. Looking down onto Novigrad, the little fishing harbour looked a peaceful scene guarded over by its hill-top Venetian fortress built 400 years ago ironically to keep out invading Turks (Photo 1 - Novigrad). But descending to the waterfront revealed a different scene with war damage still evident 13 years after the conflict: semi-derelict evacuated homes still boarded up, their rendering pock-marked with bullet marks (Photo 2 - war-damaged homes in Novigrad). Restoration work was in progress, but it was a sorrowful sight; we felt like voyeurs peering into the misery of lives and homes still recovering from the horrors of war which had engulfed the village. In 1991, Novigrad was overrun by the Serbs until recovered by the Croat offensive of 1993, but the village remained dangerously close to the front line so that locals could not return to their homes until the final Serb withdrawal in 1995.

We headed eastwards across the desolately stony and uncultivated scrubland, and immediately began seeing the unexploded mines warning signs again. Approaching the village of Smilčić, we paused to pay our respects at war graves, commemorating the deaths of both Croat soldiers and civilians killed in the 1991~95 fighting. So many Croat families lost husband and sons in the fighting to recover their territory, leaving contemporary Croatians fervently passionate about what they call the Homeland War. They have a distinctive disabled badge for war-wounded showing a wheelchair crossed by a rifle. We passed a large poster showing a picture of General Ante Gotovina, proudly proclaimed as the Hero of Zadar, having led the 1995 offensive which saved the coastal cities from imminent Serb capture. Despite this Croatian nationalistic image, the Hague International War Crimes Commission has recently put Gotovina on trial for alleged war crimes, a move which has appalled fellow Croatians. Visit the BBC News web site for a report on Gotovina's arrest and indictment:  BBC News report on General Gotovina's indictment for war crimes

We had earlier seen graffiti asserting 'Ante Svi Smo Za te' ('We are all Ante (Gotovina'), reflecting Croatian public outrage at their hero's indictment for alleged war crimes against Serb refugees in the aftermath of the 1995 Oluja offensive. Whatever the truth of these allegations, it seems certain that no Serbian officer will ever face justice for crimes against humanity committed during their 4 year occupation of the Croat homeland.

You'll not find Benkovac in any of the guide books, yet here was another forlorn little town still recovering from the traumas of war. The Croat population must have fled to refugee camps on the coast as the town was occupied and fought over 1991~95. The wall of the mesnica (butcher's shop) was daubed with an alarming fresh graffiti - Oluja '95 - the Croat offensive which drove out the Serb invaders, showing that anti-Serb hatred still lingers on among a new generation. Closer to the coast, we passed through the roofless, derelict remains of houses and farms which were once the thriving community of Vrana. The village had been occupied by Serbs from 1991~95 and totally devastated. One photo seemed to epitomise today's horrific images of the war's destructive impact and the subsequent reconstruction of homes and lives: a modern school sign set against the background of houses wrecked by artillery fire.

It was almost a relief to return to the coast and after a night's camp by the rocky shore-line and blue waters of the Adriatic, to travel south to Šibenik. Pre-1990s, this was the main town of Central Dalmatia and a thriving industrial port. The war and recession conspired to close down much of the industry and Šibenik declined into economic depression. The town is however worth visiting to wander the alleyways of its old town, and particularly to see its magnificent Gothic-Renaissance cathedral. The cathedral's construction began in 1431 and took over 100 years to complete. Building was only up to lower storey level by 1473 when dissatisfaction with its Gothic design led to the appointment of master stone-mason Juraj Dalmatinac (George the Dalmatian) to introduce both Renaissance design concepts and construction techniques. Work continued for another 30 years, interrupted by perennial cash shortages, 2 plagues and catastrophic fire. The most novel feature is Dalmatinac's barrel-vaulted roof, constructed from pre-fabricated stone segments and fitted together using carpentry joints. With its Florentine octagonal cupola (damaged by Serb shelling during the 1991~5 war), the cathedral's sturdily vaulted roof is best viewed from the Venetian fortress which overtops the town (Photo 3 - Šibenik Cathedral). Dalmatinac's masterpiece is the baptistery with its delicately sculpted cherubims scampering playfully around the 4 ceiling niches. His sense of humour is seen on the frieze of over 70 charactersome carved stone heads decorating the exterior of the apse, said to portray those citizens too stingy to contribute to the cathedral's cost.

Just inland is the Krka National Park, where the River Krka flows through winding canyons cut deep into the barren Karst limestone plateau; never before have we seen so much un-cultivatable land as in Croatia. A wild camp by the village of Skradin enabled us to catch the early morning boat upriver to the truly amazing series of waterfalls at Skradinski Buk. The swollen river pours for almost 1 km down a series of foaming cascades, spilling over natural barriers of travertine, calcium carbonate sedimented with organic matter from the river (Photo 4 - waterfalls in Krka National Park). A network of wooden walkways threads among the waterfalls, the air filled with the noise and spray of turbulent water cascading down among the trees. Higher upriver, past a narrow gorge, the Krka cascades from a higher section of river in further spectacular waterfalls (Photo 5 - Roški Slap waterfalls). That evening, we received a delightfully hospitable welcome at the straightforward Krka Camping, judged to be one of the best campsites of the trip.

Continuing south, the Magistrala road wove a serpentine way around the coastline, and in bright sunshine, the clear Adriatic shimmered a vivid turquoise blue. The old town of Trogir sits astride a small island wedged between the modern suburbs on the mainland and larger offshore island where we camped at Rožac Camping. From here the local bus took us into Trogir for our visit to the old town whose architecture betrays 4 centuries of Venetian rule. The bijou town spreads handsomely out from its central piazza which is dominated by the cathedral's elegantly lofty campanile. The cathedral's pride is its astonishingly beautiful west portal carved by the 13th century master mason Radovan. In an intricate mix of orthodox iconography and scenes of everyday medieval life, figures of saints, apostles, woodcutters and leather-workers jostle for position in a chaos of sculpted decoration. Large figures of Adam and Eve stand with anxious modesty on a pair of lions which guard the doorway and the arches are supported on the backs of medieval undesirables, Turks and Jews. (Photo 6 - west portal of Trogir cathedral). Trogir is a delightful place to wander the narrow alleys and admire its glorious Venetian architecture, and unlike Šibenik, where you could starve unnoticed, in civilised Trogir you are spoiled for choice with charming small restaurants all with delightfully sunny terraces.

On a wretchedly wet day with the hills obscured by rain clouds and a chill wind blowing off the sea, we reached Stobreč Camping just south of Split; this was the sort of day only fit for catching up on necessary functional jobs like laundry and food shopping. Stobreč is a recently re-opened campsite, the original having been requisitioned as a refugee camp for Croatian refugees from Bosnia during the 1990s wars. Again the site gets the accolade as one of the best of the trip so far: a superbly helpful and hospitable welcome, good facilities, washing and drying machines, supermarket just around the corner, and the #25 bus from just outside the campsite to take you the 6 kms directly into Split city centre. And all this for an excellent value 85 kuna a night. The only downside is that the local youthful aspirants to the Hajđuk Split football team kick about enthusiastically on the beach. But in the evenings, the lights of townships down the coast reflect attractively across the waters of the bay.

Croatia's second city, Split, has curious origins: the Roman city of Salona had flourished 5 kms inland, and the Emperor Diocletian who ruled from 284~305 AD chose this coast to build his retirement palace. Diocletian had been an efficient emperor, bringing order to a troubled empire by ruthlessly harsh government, most remembered for his determined persecution of the early Christian church which by then was growing in significant numbers across the Roman world. Diocletian's palace was a complex of official court, public buildings, palatial apartments and garrison for the imperial guard. Central to this complex was the octagonal mausoleum where Diocletian was buried at his death in 312 AD. 300 years later, 7th century Slavic invasions sacked the city of Salona and refugees fled to the coast, improvising homes among the palace remains. The modern city of Split with a population now of 220,000 has over the intervening centuries grown outwards from Diocletian's original palace into sprawling suburbs and high rise flats. Diocletian's body disappeared, but the ultimate irony is that his mausoleum later was transformed into the city's cathedral, named after one of his prominent Christian persecution victims, the martyred St Domnius, the first bishop and patron saint of Split. The massively vaulted chambers of the excavated undercroft gives an impression of the scale of Diocletian's palace complex and how it would have looked 17 centuries ago. Its four gates still remain, but successive generations have modified the original structure, turning it into a warren of houses, shops, tenements and churches; wherever you look, pieces of Roman stonework were incorporated into medieval and modern buildings. Standing at the Peristyle, the central cross-roads, steps led up into Diocletian's mausoleum, later transformed into Split's cathedral of St Domnius The brooding gloom of the colonnaded domed interior somehow reflected the nature of the ruthless emperor whose burial place this had once been (Photo 7 - Split cathedral, formerly Diocletian's mausoleum).

Weaving our way through the maze of alleyways, we reached the fish market, where stall holders shouted the prices of their produce at morning shoppers - fish of every description and heaps of shrimps, langoustines, octopus and squid. It was to be another fishy supper for us (Photo 8 - Split fish market). Back at the cathedral, we climbed the flimsy stairway of the campanile for the panoramic views over the city and its harbour (Photo 9 - Rooftops of Split viewed from the Cathedral campanile). The following day, we caught the local bus out beyond the modern suburb of Solin to see the excavated remains of its Roman predecessor city, Salona, sacked by the Slavs in the 7th century. There is little to see but the ambience is evocative against the backdrop of the modern city beyond the traffic laden bypass. That evening in pouring rain back at camp, we had our fishy purchases from the market to clean ready for supper; the trip has been gastronomically educative with so far three different recipes for squid.

For our onward journey south, we crossed to the island of Brač (Photo 10 - departing Split by ferry for Brač), the 3rd largest of Croatia's Adriatic islands. Unlike Rab and Pag, Brač seemed almost lush, with pine trees, olive groves and vines around the coast, and everywhere in the scrub-covered high Karst interior mammoth mounds of stones showed centuries of hard labour clearing land for cultivation. Huge quarries are still worked, producing Brač's characteristic creamy-white stone used to face buildings world-wide (eg the White House in Washington). Around the island, tiny fishing harbours peacefully graced with cycads are set at sea inlets, with curious names like Supertar, Sutivan, Povlja and Milna (Photo 11 - Milna harbour on Island of Brač). On the western coast of Brač, the road descends in endless sweeping bends from the high central plateau to the small harbour of Bol. Here we found the remarkable coastal feature of Zlatni Rat (Golden Horn), a 1 km peninsula of shingle projecting into the crystal clear waters of the Adriatic forming Croatia's most renowned beach. In summer, it would be a seething mass of holiday-making obesity; in mid-April, it was delightfully deserted (Photo 12 - Zlatni Rat beach at Bol on Brač). Our base on Brač was at Camp Kito, a small family-run campsite set in an orchard ablaze with bright flowers, with the mountain of Vidova Gora towering overhead, another qualifier for 'best campsite of the trip' award.

Our onward journey would take us back by ferry to the mainland at Makarska to continue south on the Magistrala Adriatic Highway. More on that in a couple of weeks, so join us again then. In the meantime, Doviđenja.

   Sheila and Paul

   Published: Tuesday 29 April 2008    

Next edition to be published in 2 weeks

 

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Music this week:
Croatian folk song - Dalmatinka

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