It was the perfect evening, in every way. The delicious charcoal grilled chicken dinner. The stroll through “Old Town” seeking out the ideal photographs to capture the city’s magic. My quest to find the best gelato to calm my craving for a sweet treat. The temperature ideal – no wind and hovering at that place right between short sleeve and long sleeve. And I was walking among the ancients and antiquities again, something that has quickly become a favorite thing to do.
My airbnb lodgings were located right outside of the Diocletian Palace walls, 
built for the Roman Emperor Diocletian at the turn of the fourth century AD. As with all Croatian cities, Split has a long history of conquest and occupation, its various inhabitants each adding to its fortification. But these were not simply high angled stone walls to protect its citizenry from aggressors’ cannonballs. Walking in to the main square and looking around at the ornate facades of the houses which lined the streets, it was easy to see this was once the place the aristocracy of the day called home. And the palace was surrounded by a quaint patch of buildings with narrow streets and a long steep walkway that led up through the hillside, providing exquisite panoramic views of the expansive city and sea below.
Not only was Split lovely, but so was the elderly cleaning lady, Amelia, who greeted me upon my arrival. Bubbling with joy, she was seemingly dancing on air as she walked me through the workings of the flat. Embarrassed by her broken English, I assured her it was far better than my Croatian.
Unable to stop looking at me and smiling, Amelia clearly had an endless string of things which desperately needed to be said. After about 10 minutes of banter, she kept stopping herself mid sentence, somehow believing she was imposing on my time. But just as quickly as she refrained from saying anything further, Amelia would pick up where she left off, as if her respectful silence was powerless to the sheer weight of the need to communicate and radiate her kind spirit on to her audience. Her joy was definitely contagious.
Inquiring about the “can’t miss” things while in Split, I was directed to a map of the city
which she marked up in a frenzy. Amelia walked me through it all, neighborhood by neighborhood, assuring my aimless wandering gained precision.
It’s impossible to amble around an ancient city like Split and not be in awe. The architecture is stunning, a palpable energetic residue drifting around you from the millions of predecessors who walked the exact same footsteps you are taking. The highly polished white marble cobblestones, now yellowed and slick and shiny, appeared as if they had just been rained on. Apparently a bi-product of the endless buffing by the suede slippers and leather boots of old as well as today’s Nikes and Jimmy Choos.
Exploring the quaint narrow streets and the below ground caverns where goods were stored (as well as Princess of House Targaryen, Daenery’s dragons in Game of Thrones), it’s impossible not to feel the gift this beautiful destination is to all who find their way here. Hugged by the Adriatic Sea and inhabited by the kindest of people, I’ve never felt safer and more at home in a city that was completely foreign to me only a few hours earlier.
And how do you make the perfect evening even better? By stumbling upon a troubadour churning out an endless string of your most favorite songs on his jazz guitar of course!
As my evening stroll around the Old City limits was coming to an end and I was heading back to my bed for a long night’s slumber, I rounded the corner to find a medieval Roman square which was bookended by restaurants and shops on one side and beautiful white marble columns that seemingly ran up in to the clouds on the other. There were marble steps on all four sides that walked down to the common area in the middle, people sitting side-by-side and there wasn’t an empty seat in the house. A man perched on a bar stool with a microphone and amplifier playing to the tables set-up outside of the
Grisogono-Cipci Palace for their diners, but the audience extended to the entire square which was comprised of a most appreciative crowd. He ran through one classic to another, Van Morrison and Tom Petty and James Taylor, but when he started playing pink Floyd’s “Wish You Were Here” the entire crowd came to life and began singing in unison. That amazing second chorus, possibly the best second chorus in all of rock-and-roll has never sounded so good – “How I wish, how I wish you were here. We’re just two lost souls, swimming in a fish bowl…” One can only imagine the same kind of gathering of people drinking wine and singing together enjoying the night away happening in the exact spot, night after night, for the last 1000 years.
A marble bench to sit on in an ancient palace. Clean salted sea air to breathe. Song with your fellow man. What more do you need?