I am not an experienced sailor. As a matter of fact, I have been on board only twice in my life. Both times I sailed with a huge oldtimer, Algarina, a Turkish ”Gulet” with two masts; a type of wooden ship used for ages to transport goods along the Turkish coasts. A good friend of mine, Hans Christian Cars, bought such a boat some years ago, upon his retirement, and has used it ever since to invite his friends, and other interested parties, to join him and his wife Isolde on leisurely trips in the Mediterranean. (1)

The first time I sailed with them was on a trip along the Lycian coast (starting in Marmaris, Turkey). Since last year, they station the boat in Murter on the Croatian coast and I could not resist the lure of travelling these historic waters, hoping to ease my transition into retirement, when they graciously reinvited me to join them on yet another cruise. I even convinced a long-time friend, Per Magnus Wijkman, to come along. He is renowned for his immense cultural and economic knowledge, as well as for being a social and amiable companion; I trusted that he would put all of this to good use during the long hours of sailing and touring.

My expectations of a pleasurable journey were more than surpassed and I feel the urge to convey my impressions to a wider audience.

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(1) The website of the yacht Algarina is www.adriayachting.se 

Continuing our cruise with strong winds, we eventually cast anchor at the famous coastal towns of Primošten, Trogir and Split, before returning back north to Murter, with temperate coastal winds (Bora) gradually cooling off the temperature and sailing possibilities. The last day was spent on an inland excursion by car to the Krka National Park, with its waterfalls and unique flora, driving back to Murter via the impressive town of Šibenik.

Hans Christian is a man of many talents, among them that of a writer, with several books published, on a surprising range of topics, from documentary reports on politicians to economic reform proposals, not to speak of a thriller and a treatise on religion. Despite approaching his seventies, he is still surprisingly agile and handles the rudder and sails like a youngster.

Isolde, formerly a renowned ophthalmologist, also has a formidable knack as diagnosist and pedagogue, when it comes to explaining the nature of the various ills and cramps we all are burdened with. In her new life, she is keeping the ship in fit and orderly con-dition, as well as seeing to the guests’ wellbeing with persisting enthusiasm. 

The sailing partner, Andreas, has a successful career as manager in private enterprises to look back on. Despite his “youth”, only just approaching his ’fifties, he has vast experience in sailing all kinds of boats, from small boats to large catamarans.

That not withstanding, he gladly admits his fascination with handling a huge sailing vessel, like the Gulet Algarina. He is usually relied upon to do the jumping and flexing of muscles that we old-timers admire but have difficulties in emulating.

Isolde and Irene in well-deserved repose, basking in the glow of the afternoon sun.

His companion, Irene, joined the trip for a week and kept us content with her albeit shy, but serene, personality, always keeping a smile on her face, whatever the travails of the journey, and ready to lend Isolde a helping hand when needed.

My fellow passenger, Per Magnus Wijkman, hardly needs a presentation, being an internationally renowned expert in trade economics. Suffice it to google his name to get access to the numerous publications he has issued over the years.

What the search results don’t tell you is that he holds a comprehensive grasp of world events, present and past, having gained these insights through his multivaried career and ever present curiosity about all things human and societal. For instance, his preparation for the trip consisted of ploughing through a thick tome on Byzantine history, as well as bringing along DVD’s with 21 lectures on the same topic by a renowned American professor.  

Humility prevents me from listing my own personal characteristics. Suffice it to point to certain similarities to Per Magnus’ personality; my preparation for the journey also implied ploughing through a tome on Byzantine history, although a somewhat smaller and more superficial one.

Thus are described the “dramatis personae” – let the journey begin!

Andreas fastening the rope that holds the Genoa

Two of them unfold by being rolled out along furlings, in the front of the vessel, and blow up like balloons when unfolded and with the wind being proficient. I gather the foremost of them to be called Genoa. On some occasions, they alone drove the boat at almost 8 knots (15 km/hour).

Behind them, on the two masts, hang what I would call more traditional sails, which each have to be raised from a horizontal beam. If I am not mistaken, they are called Gaffel sails.

Here I am at the rudder, keeping the boat aligned to the wind.

The beams have to be fastened at an angle. This permits the wind, blowing at the sails more or less from the opposite angle, to propel the boat ahead. It goes without saying that a lot of handforce is needed to raise and lower these two sails, whereas the two front sails are relatively easy to manoeuvre.

Sails are set as soon as breeze turns into wind. For doing this it helps to steer the boat against the wind. This means that a third person has to stand at the rudder, whilst Hans Christian and Andreas work with the sails. This was usually entrusted to Isolde, but even the guests were sometimes invited to “do the honour”.

The maximum speed we made, with the four sails raised, was up to 10 knots (about 20 km/h). I can tell you that this is an impressive experience indeed. The boat rushes ahead in relative silence. When you sit in the captain’s lounge at the back of the boat, you do not realise that the vessel is surfing ahead. You notice only it’s rolling, following the waves that accost it from the side.

But as soon as you walk to the front of the boat, the experience is quite different. The front cuts the waves in a strong forward movement, splashing your face and glasses. Turning around, you see the whole boat ascending and descending, majestically, in the waves; the sails are bulging and singing, the boat is creaking and you get a full comprehension of the forces at play.

You might believe you are standing on a small barge, subjected to the elements. Fortunately, you notice ordinary “diminutive” sail boats alongside now and then, which are usually being surpassed by Algarina with its great mass and, through comparison, you are reconvinced that you are indeed standing on a large ship.

The ship is large indeed; in its entrails it harbours 6 cabins, each with a combined toilet and shower room. Ten guests can be accommodated in addition to the three crewmembers. The captain’s lounge in the back of the ship seats about 8 persons. But everyone gets a seat at the large table located “al fresco” on the back of the boat, just behind the captain’s lounge.

Along the trip, the preferred way of taking shelter in the evening is to put down anchor in a secure bay. By lowering a ladder, it is easy to either take a swim around the boat, or board the small dinghy for visits ashore.

The anchoring is a relatively relaxing experience. The anchor is let go and the ship made to back, slowly, by motor power. Simultaneously, the anchor chain is released up to a length of about 100 meters. Through its considerable weight, surpassing a ton, the anchor chain, lying on the seabed, keeps the ship on the leash, so to speak, permitting only a slow and narrow turning with the wind, which, anyhow, usually abates at sunset. 

Algarina safely anchored in a sheltered bay.

First the anchor must be lowered, whilst assuring that the released chain is exactly in line with the berth. If there is wind, however mild, the boat must then start its berthing by slowly backing with engine power towards the dock, at an angle, such that the wind will nudge it perfectly in line with the dock at the exact moment at which it is entering it. This is not self-evident and takes the co-operation of the full crew.

Following the partition of the Roman Empire by Diocletianus in late 200 BC it became part of West Rome. But after that empire’s demise, and subsequent Germanic successor states, Emperor Justinianus’ re-conquest in the sixth century established it firmly within the reach of East Rome (Byzantium).

But this did not last. The Avars and Slavic tribes came and penetrated the Balkan, including its coast. The empire managed to absorb them eventually, in the ninth century, by the process of christianising. Greek orthodoxy was spread to the heathens of the Balkan, by Greek missionaries, with the help of texts written in two new scripts, Glagolitic and Cyrillic (2).

In the meantime, West Rome regained its vigour during the reign of Charles the Great (Charlemagne). It wanted its part of the Balkans back! After a five years’ war with the Byzantines in the early ninth century, peace was made and it was established that the inland of Dalmatia, then already populated by Croatians, would belong to West Rome (the Franks), whereas the coast and islands would remain with Byzantium. This led in time to the ascension of Roman Catholicism in Dalmatia, as well as in Croatia at large.

Byzantine reign of Dalmatia was thereafter increasingly infringed upon by the Croatian and Hungarian sovereigns, by the Doge of Venice and by Norman princes. Stable conditions were reestablished at long last, in the 15th century, when most of the region fell under Venice, who possessed it for some 350 years, albeit regularly being threatened by Turkish incursions, with the Ottomans reigning in the inland.

Nature is as interesting as history. Limestone appears to be prevalent on both the coast and the islands. Cultivation throughout the millennia has led to karst, and karst vegetation, almost everywhere. Still, some parts of the coast and islands have kept their coat of pine coves and forests, providing a glint of former natural splendour.

On the other hand, islands close to the coast are almost bare on the side facing inland, due to a harsh northeastern wind, called the Bora, which is devastating the eastern parts of those isles.

Traditional agriculture is mostly consisting of olive plantations and (some) wine plantations, with the remainder of the land being dedicated to sheep and goat herding.  This gives the rural landscape a bucolic character and would invite pleasant walks among olive trees and fields, would it not be for the ever present stones and underbrush that firmly discourage promenades without trodden paths.

Throughout the ages, peasants have fought a losing battle against harsh nature, collecting forever stones from the fields and using them for building impressive walls, surrounding the cultivated patches. But as the remaining earth is being gradually eroded, stones keep appearing in the fields, so labour is never-ending. 

Since the Mediterranean has always been known and feared as being rather difficult and often dangerous to navigate in, ship traffic has a long tradition of relying on coastal waters, preferably between islands, for safe voyage and anchoring. The Adriatic provides very favourable conditions for such sea transport, due to its myriad of sheltering islands close to the coast.

As a result cities, large and small, have been born out of sheltered bays on the mainland and the islands. Not only did they provide shelter for weary sailors. They also gave protection to their own population, from attacks through the ages by aggressors.

Among the highlights of our twelve days of sailing was the privilege of berthing in some of those old port cities, often strongly fortified, and discovering the architectural riches of the ages, having expanded like tree rings around central city squares and ports.

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(1) You may find the text in this, as well as the following, section to be rather eclectic. Please note that it reflects my personal impressions from the trip. Don’t hesitate to let me know any important errors or omissions.

(2) The oldest texts written in Glagolitic have in fact been found on Cres, an island in the Kvarner bay, outside Rijeka.

This is an ancient city, inhabited since the Iron Age at least. Augustus, the first Roman emperor, had the ramparts built. The town, safely kept inside the walls on a long-drawn ridge, harbours architectural treasures from some 2000 years back.

You can still see columns standing from a forum built under King Theoderic the Great (3). Starting from there, Romanesque monasteries, a Romanesque/Gothic cathedral and an upshot of noble palaces from Venetian times call for your attention.

The four towers of Rab seen from above. But they are more impressive seen from the sea

These are just the main highlights, not to mention the numerous narrow side streets with small residences where commoners dwelled in olden times and still do.

Three sites fascinated me. Of course, the ruins from Theoderic’s time take the high seat. But, walking along the main street about a hundred meters to the left of those remnants, the street suddenly widens out to a square. Not overly large, the square radiates a serene calm, surrounded as it is by small Venetian town palaces flanking it on three sides. Its western side opens to the sea, granting you a broad panorama of neighbouring isles, as well as the intense blue of the waves meeting the cloud-spattered azure of the sky.

Along the rampart resides a beautiful Mediterranean oak, with branches spreading out in perfect symmetry. A small sign indicates that it was planted in 1921, to memorize the withdrawal of Italian authority after the Great War. (4)

The Mediterranean oak on Rab’s town square

Now, ambling instead to the right for a few hundred meters, you come to the end of town. As you climb over the wall at that end you suddenly are being transferred into another world. Before your amazed eyes lies a beautiful oak forest, of which only very few are left in Dalmatia, and indeed on the Mediterranean coasts.

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(3) Theoderic, King of the Ostrogoths, con-quered the remains of West Rome from the usurper Odoaker (who in turn had deposed the last Roman Emperor, Romulus Augustulus). Theoderic subsequently aspired, in vain, to revive the empire to be governed by his dynasty.

(4) The population of most Dalmatian isles has been Italian speaking ever since Venetian times. When the Austrian reign was ended after the Great War, Italy claimed Istria and Dalmatia as spoils of war. However, with the peace of Rapallo, both regions were instead handed over to the newly formed Kingdom of Serbia, Croatia and Slovenia.

Sailing in a zigzag pattern along and around those islands, especially with strong winds forcing the boat along, must certainly be an experience long remembered even by the most world-travelled sailors. For us newcomers on a huge sail ship this was an adventure never to be forgotten.

The Kornati got their name from peculiar limestone “circlets” that are crowning every other one of them. The name stems from Latin “caputes coronati” (crowned heads). The islands’ forests having been felled ages ago and their grounds having been grazed by goats and sheep almost as far back, (5) most of the Kornati are rather barren of vegetation. Nonetheless, former property rights are still clearly delineated by the ever-present stone walls that cross the islands.

The ship’s front cutting the waves with a vengeance, whilst cruising through the Kornati.

Here and there you see small pine groves along sheltered bays, which provide well-needed rest from looking at bare karst formations. But not only that; each of them is harbouring small establishments, providing food and drink for weary travellers. All in all, a paradise for sailors!

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(5) To this day, mainland farmers from the region use the Kornati for sheep grazing in much the same way as the peasants in the Swedish region of Dalarna used their forests for their cattle. Each coast village involved has right to a part of the isles, as delineated by stone walls.

It used to be the capital of Roman Illyria until it took the bad decision to back Pompeijus in his civil war with Julius Caesar, a decision that much later turned out not to be so bad at all. Not unpredictably, Caesar moved the Illyrian capital to a neighbour village, Salona. Trogir was kept in limbo and almost forgotten, whilst Salona grew to become a large regional centre. But, during the Völkerwanderung, Trogir was spared whereas its sister city was plundered and fell into oblivion.

In the subsequent centuries, Byzantine, Croatian, Hungarian and finally Venetian inhabitants put their mark on the town. In the thirteenth century, Trogir was even for some time granted the charter of an independent city, with its own bishop, and used its newfound status to embark on a centuries-long endeavour: to build a cathedral.

We are lucky to be able to admire the result of this striving throughout the centuries. It permits us to stroll through the narrow courses of an essentially medieval city, burnished by numerous Venetian accoutrements.

The town is not large; you can leisurely walk through it in 15 minutes. But why hurry? Looking into a back yard may open a treasure chest of architectural details. Asking a resident for information may get you a guided tour of surprising hidden treasures – for instance, the oldest church, Sveta Barbara, stashed away in a narrow side lane.

The portal to the well-hidden church of Santa Barbara.

The outstanding architectural wonder is after all the cathedral, well suited for students of history of architecture to scrutinise. In this one building can be studied: Romanesque foundations; gothic walls; and renaissance windows with Venetian flavour.

Climbing the bell tower brings you from the thirteenth century all the way up to the sixteenth, although this is no feat for weaklings! I hesitated myself to finish the climb, since it became rather airy towards the top. However, Per Magnus did not hesitate, so I could not but follow in his daring steps.

Peaceful as it appears in daytime, the town comes alive in the evenings, with an amenable ambiance in many small localities. We old-timers did not experience this first hand. However, Andreas and Irene told us that they had passed a pleasant evening in town, whilst the rest of us fell into our cots for a well deserved repose.

I recall reading, as a young student, a travelogue by the famous Swedish journalist Jolo (Jan Olof Olsson) (2) wherein he describes his first impressions of Split. He mentions a vast ancient empty “basilica”, the size of half a football field, with the roof open to the sky and with children actually playing foot-de-rue within.

It took some time for Jolo to realise that he was standing in the Vestiarium (entrance hall) to Emperor Diocletianus’ private quarters. Eventually it dawned on him that the entire original town of Split was built on the site of (and with stones from) the emperor’s private summer residence, an enormous compound still bearing witness to the gravitas of this saviour of the Empire.

We entered the compound from the quay, strolling in through the residence’s kitchen entrance, a sequence of aweinspiring grottos underpinning the Vestiarium. When emerging from this underworld you suddenly arrive at a large square, the Peristylum, flanked on all sides by remains of proud pillars.

 The Vestiarium, seen from the Peristylum

To the right of the square stands Diocletianus’ Mausoleum, sadly desecrated and converted to a cathedral (3). To your left resides the Temple of Jupiter, oddly transformed into a baptistery.

These consist of a sequence of cascades that the river Krka has forged over the millennia, to ease its way from the inland mountains down to the sea. The river has cut itself through a deep gorge and shows off a series of waterfalls and lakes before finally arriving at a vast estuary close to the town of Šibenik.

Vegetation, starting scarce on the high grounds, turns into pine and blend forest along the canyon walls and ends up as enchanted river glades down where the water gurgles through the rapids. The whole area is declared a national park.

We visited the Skradin part of the park. From the highlands you take a bus that leads you down into the canyon by scarily windy roads. Along the trip you can appreciate sweet smelling pine groves and now and then get a glimpse of one of the lakes deep down in the gorge. Well down by the river cascades, a little village from olden times awaits you, where you can study clever ways and means by which the energy of the rushing falls has been harvested of lore, to grind flour, to drive an interesting washing machine, as well as for other uses.

It is easy to spend a full day in the vicinity. There are plenty of paths up and down the cascades, permitting you to study the impressive scenery, as well as to amble through the enchanted surrounding groves, listen to the water gurgling and the birds singing and generally to relax your mind and body in these enticing sceneries.

Just to single out some sites of special interest to me: I was surprised to find the remnants of the second oldest water power plant in the world, hidden in a cascade grove. It used to provide power to the whole region, including the town of Šibenik. Nikola Tesla, the renowned electricity pioneer of Czech origin, constructed the plant. He also built, along the Niagara Falls, the first water power plant ever. We also have to thank this great man for bringing us the alternating current.

At the site with the most beautiful view over the cascades an observation balcony was constructed, over 140 years ago, at the occasion of Emperor Francis Joseph’s visit to the region. Although he took possession of the balcony only for a few minutes, the arrangement is still a welcome boon for today’s visitors, since it assures access to the best view around.

Three weary sightseers, recuperating on Emperor Francis Joseph’s balcony.

Last but not least, the manifold small ponds, stringed along the cascades, harbour a treasure of glittering fish, eager to be appreciated. We could of course not resist the temptation to sample some of the trout at a relaxing luncheon, before returning to the ship and, the day after, embarking the flight back home.