Venice, Italy to Dubrovnik, Croatia

Our bicycle trip started in Lido di Jesolo, a beach town just north of Venice, Italy, and ended 1,423 miles later in Olympia, Greece. We cycled around the northern edge of the Adriatic Sea to Trieste, then crossed the border into Slovenia, to start our trek south along Croatia's Dalmation coast. We stopped in villages along the way that have attracted tourists since at least the time of Diocletian - a Roman Emperor who retired on May 1, 305 A.D. to his seafront palace in what is now the ancient city of Split. Then we cycled through Montenegro, Albania, Macedonia, and into northern Greece. Then across the Bay of Corinth on the Rio-Anterrio Bridge and down the Peloponnese peninsula to our final destination, Olympia. We averaged 50 miles a day, and every inch was fascinating.

On our fourth morning we climbed out of Trieste up a steep, seemingly endless hill, through beautiful old neighborhoods to the top of the Karst Plateau, and made our way to the Slovenian border. The sun got higher and the day got warmer. There was no auto traffic on the narrow road and, but for the hum of my bicycle wheels, there was silence. Then, the faint sound of laughter coming from somewhere up ahead. As I proceeded on the laughter grew louder. I could now clearly hear conversation between a man and woman, then gaffaws of laughter. Whoever they were, they sure enjoyed each other. Around the next bend in the road, I saw the border station. It was a small three or four room building with two doors in front - one on the Slovenian side, and another on the Croatian side. There was one of those red and white traffic barriers lowered across the road to stop any traffic that might approach this isolated border crossing. As I rode up to the barrier, a smartly uniformed young man on the Slovenian side smiled and gestured for my passport, which I handed to him. He stamped it, raised the barrier and handed my passport to a smartly uniformed young woman on the Croatian side. She smiled at me, stamped my passport, and handed it back to me. They looked happy and not totally focused on the serious work of border control. As I cycled away from the border, I could hear their laughter and happy conversation fade into the distance.

Selce was another 45 miles down the road. The route traced along the northern edge of Istria, an arrow-head shaped peninsula that points straight south into the Adriatic and forms the southern shore of the Gulf of Trieste. This was not my first visit to this part of the world.

Nine years earlier, my wife, Pat, and I had cycled around the perimeter of the Istrian Peninsula. For the most part, we cycled from one little Istrian village to the next, visited some ancient castles, swam in the ocean, learned a bit of local history, and we consumed good food, wine, and beer. At that time, in 2007, Croatia and Italy were in hot competition with each other for tourists. Croatia’s ad slogan was, “Croatia! Italy as it used to be.” Indeed, Croatia seemed a lot like the Italy that Pat and I visited as college students 35 years earlier, and many of the locals spoke Italian, but few spoke English. The ad campaign must have been successful because Istria’s coastal villages were full of tourists from northern Europe. My strongest memory of that trip is getting caught in a torrential downpour while we were cycling down a mountain road. The sky turned black, the wind whipped up, and the rain felt like we were on the receiving end of a fire hose. We cycled in that storm for about 10 miles before we came to a little village. We found the local tavern, parked our bikes, and went inside hoping to find someone who would give us a lift to our destination, the town of Buzet, another 10 miles down the road. There were a dozen or so patrons in the tavern, but none spoke English and they all looked at us blankly as we stood dripping on the floor. Finally, the bartender walked into the room and asked in perfect English, “Can I help you?” He was very young, perhaps 18 or 19 years old. We explained our situation and he called a driver with a van who could give us and our bicycles a lift to Buzet. While we waited for the driver, the bartender served us a couple of beers. My wife, stunned at meeting someone who spoke such good English so far out in the Croatian sticks, asked if he had studied in the United States at some point in the past. He said that he had never left Croatia in his life, and explained that he learned English by watching Cartoon Network. It was still raining hard when the driver arrived. I paid the bartender, loaded our bikes in the back of the van, and we headed down the road to Buzet. Although I'm not a religious person, I remember thanking God for Cartoon Network.

Today, however, the sun was bright and warm and once I cleared the Croatian border the road to Selce meandered inland, crossed over the Ucka mountain range, through farm country, and occasionally zig-zagged across Croatia’s brand new Adriatic highway, and back out to the shore. The Venetian Republic controlled this part of Croatia from the 15th Century until the late 18th Century, and during that time constructed coastal fortifications to protect its Dalmatian assets from numerous land grabbers - including the Ottoman Empire, the Habsburgs, and a nascent French empire. These old castles and forts continue to stand guard all the way from Istria at the northern end of the coast, to Kotor, Montenegro at the southern end. They compliment the landscape and excite the imaginations of history buffs and children. Less picturesque, however, are the reminders of a more recent conflict - the breakup in the 1990s of the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia into its constituent republics, including Croatia. When you get away from the main highway and travel along the small, secondary roads, it’s not unusual to see an occasional sign warning of unexploded land mines and artillery shells; or to see buildings that still bear the scars of fierce combat. These ruins are reminders that this part of Europe is now and has always been culturally, religiously, and politically volatile.

I arrived in Selce about mid-afternoon. I checked in to the Hotel Marina Celce - Crikvenica, showered up, found a sidewalk cafe overlooking the water, ordered a beer, and shouted greetings to my fellow cyclists as they arrived. The route from Trieste was 75 miles and included 7,000 feet of elevation - a hard day, but worth the effort.

A view of a family's garden patch, Trieste, and the Adriatic from the Ciclopedonale Girodano Cottur, a bicycle trail ascending the Karst Plateau.

Monument to Communist "partisans" who died resisting Nazi occupiers during World War II, located near Veliki Dol, Slovenia. Visitors still pay homage by leaving red candles.

The former headquarters of the Italia Marritima on the Piazza Unita d’Italia in Trieste, Italy. The Austro-Hungarian Empire built the Piazza when Trieste was its biggest port. In the early 1920s, Italy annexed Trieste. Slovenes, still a large ethnic group in Trieste, refer to the square as Velike Trg (Grand Square).

A Croatian farmer leading his team of work horses back to the stables after work.

Croatia’s Adriatic Highway, near Bakar, at the northern end of the Dalmatian Coast.

A 14th century castle near Hreljin, Croatia standing guard over the Adriatic.

During the Yugoslavian breakup of the 1990s, forces loyal to the Socialist Federal Republic of Yugoslavia engaged in fierce combat with Croatian separatists. This roadside building near Cista Mala, Croatia still bears bullet scars.

* * *

The sixth day of our trek found us three days into Croatia, on the Dalmatian Coast, and cycling from the small town of Pag to the city of Zadar. Pag is on Pag Island, a long, skinny island that runs parallel to the Dalmatian Coast. For centuries, the island’s economy depended entirely on salt ponds, goats, and goat cheese. Today, there are still goats and goat cheese on the island, but there are also beaches. One of the most popular, Zrce Beach, is located north of the town of Pag. In the summer and early fall, young people from all over Europe gather there and throw beach parties that would make Miami’s spring breakers blush.

South of town, however, the island is almost completely undeveloped, except for miles and miles of goat pens made from local field stones. There are no trees and no real shade, except for clumps of bushes where goats can get out of the sun. The goats, who eat any and every form of vegetation, for some reason don't eat those bushes - probably because they know the bushes provide the only shade on the island. On this day, the sun was high in a deep blue, cloudless sky, it was very hot, and I was not carrying nearly enough water for the short, 35-mile ride to Zadar. Fortunately, just when I was at my sweatiest and thirstiest, a commercial cheesery appeared on the side of the road beckoning me to come in and try some of their local goat cheese. Hoping the owner would allow me to fill my water bottles there, I coasted to the side of the road, leaned my bike against a big rock, and went inside. A few of my fellow cyclists were already there with the same idea, and figuring out which of many cheeses to sample - and with which wine. We spent about two hours in the little cheesery eating and drinking. Heaven. When it was time to hit the road, the proprietor let us fill our water bottles (with water) before we made our happy way to Zadar.

We reached the outskirts of town and made our way to Hotel Kolovare, located near the shore and less than a ten minute walk to Zadar's historic neighborhood. I locked up my bike, checked in to the hotel, cleaned up, and went for a walk.

Zadar has been in continual existence as a city for about 2,500 years, and throughout that time virtually everybody who’s been there comes away feeling as if they’ve visited a magical place. Of course, Zadar has had its low points. During the Second World War, it was bombed almost out of existence by the Allies, who were trying to destroy a sizeable German garrison that occupied the city. Then, during the Yugoslavian break-up in the early 1990s, Serb loyalists surrounded Zadar, isolated it from the rest of Croatia, and bombarded it with artillery. During that time, Zadar’s only connection with the outside world was by way of Pag Island, along the same road we used to get there.

In 1964, Alfred Hitchcock visited Zadar and pronounced the sunset there the most beautiful in the world - even better than the sunset at Key West, Florida. I heard of Hitchcock’s quote before I arrived in Zadar and doubted it could be true. After all, I have been to Key West. And, while sitting on the deck of a waterfront bar eating pizza and drinking a beer, I have witnessed the sun set on the Gulf of Mexico. That sunset is hard to beat. But, then there is Zadar. There’s nothing quite like sitting down in the Fosa Restaurant, on the edge of the Adriatic, just before sunset, and being served a delicate fish carpaccio, followed by black risotto and grilled sea bass, served on a bed of potato and spinach, paired with a nice, local chardonnay, and watching the sunset. Key West was good, but Zadar is in a different class altogether. Hitchcock was right.

On Pag Island, the road south to Zadar.

The Kopnena Vrata, or Land Gate, completed in 1543, was part of the defenses constructed around Zadar during the Venetian-Turkish war. The iconic Venetian Lion stands over the entrance.

The Church of Saint Donatus, left, was built during the 8th and 9th centuries, and is located on the edge of Zadar's Roman Forum. Zadar's archaeology museum is also located on the Forum, to the right.

The main chapel inside the Church of Saint Donatus.

Legend has it that the Church of Saint Donatus was built on top of the ruins of a Roman temple to Juno. This legend has been discredited by historians. But, no doubt the Church was built on the top of something Roman, as evidenced by this fluted column that was used as a footer.

Tourists stroll along Zadar's waterfront.

Strolling along Zadar's waterfront and its 16th century Venetian fortifications on a warm evening.

* * *

Croatia seems like a big country when you're trying to explore it on a bicycle and, indeed, it took us another six days to work our way south along the coast to its border with Montenegro. It's not that the distances were so great, its that there are so many distractions that deserved a day or two of our attention. Skradin, for instance, is near the Krka (pronounced "krika") hydroelectric plant, completed in 1895 just a couple of days after completion of Nikola Tesla's hydroelectric plant at Niagara Falls, New York. Croats are quick to point out that although the Niagara Falls plant is "arguably" the first such power plant in the world, Nikola Tesla was a Croat, born and raised. Besides, although Niagara was the first to be completed, the Krka plant was on line and delivering electricity before the Niagara Falls plant. To find the Krka plant, you take a boat ride from Skradin up the Krka River to the falls, where you'll find the best swimming hole you've ever seen (so take your swim suit), then hike a short distance through Krka National Park to the ruins of the old plant.

Krka Falls, near Skradin, Croatia

The ancient village of Ston is famous for the oysters harvested from its bay, but it has been producing salt for centuries. Ston's defensive wall, purportedly the second longest defensive wall in the world, after China's Great Wall, is a little over three miles long. The ancient Republic of Regusa began construction of the wall in the mid-14th century to protect the works from Ottoman raiders. It's fun to hike from Mali Ston (Little Ston) along the top of the wall nearby Ston.

The village of Ston and its salt works. The defensive wall was begun in the mid-14th century by the Republic of Regusa to protect the salt works. It's fun to hike along the top of the wall from Ston to Mali Ston.

Dubrovnik, our last stop in Croatia, is another example of an ancient Adriatic city that, despite political upheaval and the best efforts of rampaging invaders, remains charming and picturesque. During the Yugoslavian break-up in the 1990s, Serbian troops occupied the hills around Dubrovnik and rained artillery shells down on the old town, destroying most of it. But, since then the city has rebuilt itself and did a great job of repairing and preserving its medieval architecture. You can walk around the old town on top of the ancient defensive wall, which is a good way to study the city's lay out before walking through the narrow, winding streets below.

Unfortunately, Dubrovnik is a destination for cruise ships. They drop anchor in the harbor and disgorge thousands of tourists who immediately jam the old town streets. Not that the tourists themselves are bad, its just that the city cannot really handle the crowds very well. So, the best time to walk around Dubrovnik is early in the morning, before the cruise ships unload the passengers, or in the evening after the passengers have gone back to the ships. The restaurants are open when the cruise ship passengers are not there, and everybody seems a little more relaxed.

Old Dubrovnik from the top of the surrounding defensive wall.

The Dubrovnik harbor and defensive fort.

A residential neighborhood before the cruise ship tourists arrive.

The cruise ship passengers have arrived! The city is not capable of handling the cruise ships comfortably, and the cruise ship tourists don't bring enough revenue to the city to justify the crowds. Over the past few years, the city of Dubrovnik has gradually increased harbor fees for the cruise ships in an effort to offset the costs of crowd management.

Wandering around Dubrovnik.

The Stradun.