Half an hour after leaving the centre of Split the city bus grinds to a halt next to a bulldozer and a supermarket. By this stage I am the only passenger left. I steer my suitcase through the hotel´s steely gates past some grey velour sofas into what looks like an airport business lounge, wondering exactly where the “peaceful oasis” is.
Girls on tour
“How far is the beach from here?” I ask pan-faced Annamaria on reception.
I do feel sorry for lip readers in Croatia as it can be quite hard to fathom what people are conveying from their avatar facial expressions.
“We have shuttle to the beach club. You need to pay €35 for a sunbed.” I try to remember which of my 5 school-chums persuaded us all to book into a hotel that is half an hour outside the city and miles away from the coast.
At about this point I start to see the supermarket opposite as my potential salvation. A quick scoot around the wine aisles and I´ve snapped up a few bottles of crisp Debit and fruity Dingaĉ to soften the blow for when my gaggle of gals arrive off the Heathrow flight a few hours later. Or rather whopping Debit card bill and raspberry Dingbat as I came to nickname these wines on the exorbitant menus in the touristy Split tavernas we sampled over the following 4 days.
Island hopping offers a multitude of options
Over a few glasses or six on our hotel balcony, we pledge to find out which magician-photographer is responsible for the alluring images of olive trees round the swimming pool or the dinky spa for Tom Thumb body doubles.
There is a lot to be said for schoolfriends who know how to glide and slide around each other decades later. We don´t have to be best mates or text every day to progress our friendship. As boarders, our deep links were forged over years of compensating the lack of access to immediate family for 8 months of the year. Shackled in sync amidst the gentle Sussex slopes, we have shared everything from shampoo to ra-ra skirts.
No sign of Brooke Shields at the Blue Lagoon
Time has marched on yet our breakfast conversations remain locked in a time warp. The following morning we discuss the underwhelming offering of the Salona Palace buffet; the congealed fried egg yolks look remarkably similar to the gelatinous ones we tried fruitlessly to dip our fried bread into decades ago. Quite different to what you might expect in a “small luxury resort”. It´s starting to dawn on us that the hotel inclusion of “palace” in its name is as far-fetched as someone addressing me as Your Majesty.
Split’s heritage comprises almost as many nationalities as an INC coffee morning. Originally Greek, it was then Roman, Byzantine then part of Venice, French, Austrian and so the list goes on, a bit like a United Nations conference. However, if you were led to Republic Square blind-folded on an overnight train and asked to guess where you´d woken up you would do well to say Italy. Like other areas of the Dalmatian coast, the historical Italian legacy can be seen in the myriad pizza parlours and the terracotta tiled roofs and porticoes.
Diocletian´s henchman are a vicious lot
Roman Emperor, Diocletian´s magnificent white-stoned summer residence takes up most of the old city and is still bustling with more than 3000 residents and almost as many ice cream parlours. The palace is free to visit and Game of Thrones fans might recognise large sections of this very impressive UNESCO World Heritage site. Slavko from Sugaman Tours brought our visit to life with wit and knowledge; a far more engaging guide than most of our history teachers from school. I´m sure he could make the Industrial Revolution as riveting as any Netflix series.
In the heart of the palace, we were lucky enough to witness a young bride and bridegroom exit the world´s oldest cathedral amidst plumes of red smoke from the flares thrown over them by their excited guests who were chanting the local football team mantra. Most of the guests towered above us and it would be fair to say that Split is not for the vertically challenged. I have never felt quite so diminutive at 1.72 m in my life. Needless to say, basketball is a popular national pastime.
Buzara seafood stew spiced up our tastebuds
In addition to the legendary wild-card Goran Ivanišević whose Wimbledon victory is still feted today, Split can boast of as many as 72 athletes with Olympic medals.
However, the only sport my girlfriends and I indulged in was a repetitive elbow to mouth action with expresso martinis on a roof terrace above the marina at sunset. The strain of which has triggered a mild case of tennis elbow.
Just in case you were wondering why we were staying in the middle of nowhere, the Salona Palace Hotel takes its name from the Roman amphitheatre next door. Rather like the hotel, it didn´t get a rave review so we gave it a miss. Mrs Lavington, our Latin teacher, would be appalled but far be it for us to argue with Trip Advisor.
15 mins on a boat from Split is Trogir
I enjoyed Split and am sorely tempted to return to Croatia for some island-hopping fun with the family another year. Hopefully, in the meantime, the Salona Palace will purchase some reading glasses for their receptionist, Maja. As we were checking out she said that I reminded her of an actress. My vain ego immediately started conjuring up images of Salma Hayek or Courteney Cox, however I was somewhat disheartened to see her brandishing a photo of 72 year old Christine Baranski on her telephone. Thankfully, one of my quick-witted travel companions pointed out that she was in fact 56 when she appeared in Mamma Mia.
Never too old for ice cream
