With time slipping away and our July 16th departure date for our "summer vacation" in Nova Scotia looming, we decide to take the bus from Trogir to Split rather than sail there in Aisling. There's nothing picturesque about the journey, but it takes us less than an hour. We arrive at the Split bus station at 10 a.m., and from there it's just a short walk to the old town and the site of Diocletian's palace.
Diocletian built his palace as a retirement villa, choosing the site of Split both for its proximity to his home town of Salona and its medicinal sulfur spring (which still "perfumes" the air on the Split harbour front). Although Diocletian had stepped down from his position as Emperor by the time he moved to the palace (around 305 AD), he lived in high style, receiving many official visitors in his sumptuous home. But after Diocletian's death, the Roman Empire was in decline and the palace was eventually abandoned. In medieval times, local citizens moved in, building additional homes within its walls. Today, Split's old town lives in an around the remnants of the palace walls.
We enter the palace through the Golden Gate, with its huge bronze statue of the Bishop of Nin, by Croatian sculptor Ivan Mestrovic. The bishop's toe has been rubbed to a golden sheen by the thousands of passers-by who touch it for good luck.
Making our way through the winding streets, we stop at the city museum , with displays tracing the history of the city from Roman times to the present (although oddly, the Homeland War is not addressed). From there we make our way to the peristyle, the magnificent focal point of the palace. It is here that Diocletian built his mausoleum, which in the seventh century was converted to a cathedral that houses the relics of Christian saints who were executed on Diocletian's orders- such poetic justice!
We have a cappuccino (very good!) at the Café Luxor and watch the activity in the square. There's lots going on, with actors dressed as Romans wandering through the crowds and tour guides hawking their services. It's Canada Day, so we're happy to meet a friendly Torontonian who approaches us and says "Do you have any idea what there is to do in this town"? He seems a bit surprised when Rick wishes him Happy Canada Day though.
The cathedral is closed for Mass, so we kill a little time wandering through the palace cellars and the streets of the old town. In the small courtyards, bougainvillea is blooming and day-to-day life is continuing much as it has for hundreds of years. The sound of a male choir singing in a capella harmony (typical of Croatia) drifts through the streets.
Eventually, we make our way back to the cathedral, which is tiny but beautiful, with an ornate pulpit that is indeed virtually identical to the one in Trogir. We play "where's Waldo" trying to identify the carving of Diocletian's face that is supposedly somewhere under the dome, but we cannot find it.
Some tourists are taking photos, ignoring the clearly marked signs that prohibit this. The young man who had sold us our tickets calls out "Hello, look at me" and holds up a large placard depicting a camera with a red X through it. He grins at me. "I feel very important" he says. Seizing the opportunity, I ask him to point out the carving of Diocletian. He is happy to oblige, and points out the carving on a frieze just under the roofline, as well as Diocletian's wife on the opposite side. "My dream is to be up there someday myself" he jokes, then whips out his iPhone and shows me a photo of the frieze that he had taken the previous day. "Don't tell anyone!"
There's no debate about whether we're climbing the belfry (we're not) and the crypt sounds like it would be a bit depressing. We decide instead to visit the Ivan Mestrovic Galley, which houses a large collection of the famous sculptor's works. We walk along the beautiful Riva (a waterfront promenade) then trudge the hot 2 km to the gallery. By then we are thirsty, hungry and ready for a break, so we walk down a set of steep stairs to a public beach that is obviously a popular spot with local families. Giant hotdogs and cold lemonade rejuvenate us, but we're having so much fun people-watching that we linger for a while. Two men who appear to be brothers are standing at the water's edge having an animated conversation in sign language. A young boy in the water periodically joins the conversation. As I watch, I wonder if there are any differences between the signs used in Croatia and the ones used in Canada. If I knew sign language, could I have a conversation with these men?
Finally, we make our way up the hill to the gallery, which is housed in a palace that was designed and built by Mestrovic, who intended to use it not only as his residence, but also as his workshop and exhibition space. (Mestrovic later moved to the US and made his home there. As a very religious man, he disapproved of the philosophies of the old Yugoslavian government.) The works that we see on display are powerful; riveting. Mestrovic has been compared to Michelangelo and Rodin, and although this may be a bit of a stretch, the man was clearly an artistic genius.
The local bus arrives shortly after we finish our tour, so we hop onboard and ride back to the Riva, then explore a few more of the streets and squares of downtown Split before heading back to the bus station. What an attractive city! I'd love to have a few days to explore it properly. Rick wishes we could attend the concert that's being advertised for the next night, with John Lee Hooker's daughter as the headline. But life is full of choices. Our next few days will be spent at anchor outside Trogir in a delightful little anchorage reminiscent of Nova Scotia's Rogue's Roost. As it turned out, that wasn't a bad choice at all.