We said goodbye to the lovely Split; cruised on a catamaran for two hours and found ourselves on the island of Hvar, fondly referred to as the “Croatian Madeira”. The island of Hvar is extraordinarily green and lush, filled with lavender, heather and pines and the coastline is indented with an abundance of rocky coves. The town is a gorgeous cosy place that is quaint and breathtaking.
We have always found that the places we enjoyed most are not necessarily places with a lot of interesting features but places where we have time to feel the true character of the place, watch how people enjoy their lives and the nature. This may only happen if we don’t jam pack our trips with tight itineraries: Hvar is teaching us to take things more slowly and, because the high tourist season hasn’t started yet, it feels that we have this cosy town largely to ourselves. As usual, my mood is driven by the sea which I was eager to see on arrival.
For our several days there the sun was always shining. Coming from a place with over 1800 hours sunshine per year, we thought it is already one of the sunniest places. However, the island of Hvar, with the oft-quoted statistics of 2724 hours of sunshine every year makes it the sunniest place in Europe. Basking in the sun is one of the gifts we had on the island. By the side of the St Franciscan Monastery, we found these bathers enjoying their time.
The town is centered around the harbor. We took a long stroll from one side of the harbor to the other; strolling as far as we could. Here is a marina for the smaller boats and along the seaside promenade sways a row of larger boats.
It is similar to Split, but no matter where you turn in Hvar you can always see a view of the Adriatic sea. The water is the bluest in the world. Quoting George Bradley’s poem :
Our long stroll took us to this place where we can gaze out to the sea with the church as a backdrop. The sun was setting and we found these benches inviting. We knew we can sit there forever, just watching the blue Adriatic sea and dreamily thinking of the poem. . . . . . . . . . .