Day 9 Balkans Tour—11 hour Blue Cave boat ride

April 25. Boat tour from Split 

 An “11-hour tour”… and yes, the Gilligan’s Island theme song that was in the back of all of our minds absolutely seemed appropriate as we pushed off from Split aboard what can only be described as a 24-foot Zodiac adventure capsule. Thirteen of us climbed aboard, straddling saddle-style seats with handholds that hinted this ride could turn “amusement park ride” at any moment. In fairness, the Adriatic behaved—mostly calm seas spared us from a full rodeo—but the setup alone suggested this wouldn’t be your average sightseeing cruise. There wasn’t a life preserver in sight, and just minutes out of the harbor we were flagged down by a police boat for a registration check. That did little to inspire confidence in our fearless crew, Bože and Boris. Still, we’d seen worse—Panama comes to mind—and onward we went. Later we found out that this was in fact Boze's first day on the water, and was unfamiliar with boat skills.  

Ironically, the only piece of equipment that seemed unquestionably reliable was the stereo. As we cleared the harbor, our imagined theme song was abruptly replaced by Another One Bites the Dust by Queen—which felt… mildly concerning given the circumstances. Almost to the Blue Cave, we did hear Three Little Birds by Bob Marley, with the familiar reassurance: “Don’t worry about a thing, ’cause every little thing gonna be all right,” followed shortly thereafter by No Woman, No Cry, where Marley reminds us again that everything’s going to be all right. 

Somehow, that felt like the universe trying to settle the nerves just in time. From Split, it’s roughly 70–75 kilometers (about 40–45 miles) out to the island of Biševo, where the famed Blue Cave awaits. The ride took about an hour and a half, slicing across open water until we reached one of the Adriatic’s most mesmerizing natural wonders. The Blue Cave is something you don’t quite believe until you see it. The entrance is so narrow and low that our Zodiac couldn’t fit—we transferred into small boats, almost like Venetian gondolas, and ducked our heads as we slipped through the opening. Inside, the cave transforms into an otherworldly chamber glowing with an electric, almost neon blue light. This isn’t artificial—it’s sunlight filtering through an underwater opening, refracting off the white limestone seabed and illuminating the entire cave from below. The water itself glows, while objects beneath the surface appear silver, as if lit from within. It’s surreal, quiet, and almost cathedral-like despite the handful of boats sharing the space. We were lucky—visiting in shoulder season meant a fraction of the crowds. In peak summer, especially July and August, the cave can see upwards of 2,000 visitors a day. Today, it felt almost intimate. A rare moment where hype and reality align perfectly.

 From there, we continued to the island of Vis, long known as a former Yugoslav military stronghold under Josip Broz Tito and often cited as one of the sunniest islands in Croatia. We pulled into the fishing village turned postcard town of Komiža—a charming harbor lined with stone buildings and a relaxed, lived-in feel. Right on cue, our arrival soundtrack shifted to Mamma Mia by ABBA.Not by accident—much of Mamma Mia! Here We Go Again was filmed on Vis, and the island wears that cinematic charm well. 

 We explored more caves along the way, including the Green Cave on the nearby islets of the Pakleni Islands—a limestone cavern where sunlight filters through an opening above, casting an emerald glow across the water. During World War II, these hidden coves and caves reportedly served as discreet gathering points for Allied forces, adding a layer of history beneath the natural beauty. 

 Our final major stop was Hvar, where we spent a couple of relaxed hours in Hvar Town. Towering above the harbor is the imposing Fortica Fortress, standing guard over the marina and red-roofed town below. Lunch was unhurried, the stroll through town easy and scenic, and a quick stop at a small grocery store rounded out the visit. In one of those classic “small world” moments, I struck up a conversation with a Mass Maritime instructor—sparked by his Diablo Bait and Tackle shirt (a fish taco spot in the Panama Canal, of all places). Turns out he had sailed with Jack Stansel’s dad and also knew Steve Gasecki from Port Canaveral. File that one into the “small world” folder. 

 The ride back to Split was about an hour—long enough to feel every mile of the day. After nearly 11 hours on and off that Zodiac, it was good to be back on solid ground. But there’s no denying it: the day delivered. From glowing sea caves to historic islands, quiet fishing villages to lively harbor towns, it was a full immersion into the natural beauty and layered history of Croatia’s Adriatic coast. And somehow, despite the rocky start and questionable seating arrangements, we all made it back—happy, a little sun-soaked, and with a story that definitely earns the title: an 11-hour tour.

Day 8 Balkans Zadar to Split

 

April 24, 2026

After a relaxed breakfast at the hotel, we packed up, loaded the car, and set our sights south toward Split. There’s something about a travel day like this—equal parts plan and spontaneity. It took a little technical maneuvering with the navigation, but we managed to lock in the scenic coastal route, and that decision paid off almost immediately.

The drive unfolded like a postcard. Each turn revealed another cove of deep blue water, small coastal towns tucked into the landscape, and stretches that felt more like Southern California than what you might expect from this part of Europe—dry, rugged terrain dotted with low vegetation and that unmistakable Adriatic light.

Of course, no good road trip comes without a slight detour. Ours came in the form of a wrong turn that turned into a literal dirt road, eventually dropping us into Šibenik. Not exactly planned, but that’s part of the adventure. The town had a quiet charm, and the unexpected stop added a layer of discovery you just don’t get sticking strictly to the route.

By late afternoon, we rolled into Split and immediately got a sense of its energy. Navigating into the old town was an experience in itself—tight alleys, stone passageways, and finally a small hotel tucked deep within the maze, just steps from Diocletian’s Palace.

The palace isn’t just a historic site—it’s the living heart of the city. Built as a Roman emperor’s retirement residence, it has evolved over centuries into a dense network of homes, shops, and winding corridors. Walking through it feels like stepping inside history that never stopped moving. The narrow passageways twist and turn, opening into small courtyards, then tightening again into stone alleys that still follow their ancient Roman layout. Later additions from the Venetian period layer on top—arched windows, worn facades, and subtle details that reflect centuries of adaptation and survival.

We wandered through it all on a self-guided tour, just letting the place reveal itself piece by piece.

At one point, near the Silver Gate, we stumbled into something completely unexpected—a full-on Croatian wedding celebration spilling into the square. Music, flags waving, flares lighting the air, and a crowd singing what had to be traditional wedding anthems. The entire group was dancing, laughing, completely in the moment, and it was impossible not to stop and take it in. It felt less like watching and more like being briefly pulled into something authentic and joyful.

Split also delivered one of the more memorable “only in Europe” moments—watching a car that had parked where it shouldn’t be not just ticketed or towed, but literally lifted by a crane and removed like a misplaced object. Efficient, dramatic, and oddly entertaining.

As evening settled in, we made our way down to the Riva and had dinner at Adriana Restaurant, right along the waterfront. The setting was perfect—boats in the harbor, people strolling, that vibrant port-side energy in full swing. That said, while the atmosphere delivered, the service left something to be desired, a bit out of sync with the otherwise lively scene.

One highlight, though—discovering a Krombacher 0.0. Easily the best non-alcoholic beer of the trip so far, and a perfect companion to wind down after a full day.

From quiet coastal roads to ancient stone corridors, wrong turns to wedding celebrations, it was one of those days where the journey and the destination both showed up in full

Day 7 Balkans Zadar

 4/23

We started the day tucked inside the old stone walls of Zadar, waking up at the Alamayer Hotel right on the peninsula. The setting alone tells you what kind of place this is—the perimeter still feels like a fortified edge of an older world, where the city once stood guard against whatever might come across the water. Breakfast was included, simple and satisfying, and before the day really got going I slipped out for a quiet walk to the waterfront.

That early stroll led straight to the famous Sea Organ—and it’s one of those things that’s hard to fully explain until you hear it. Beneath the stone steps are a series of pipes, and as the Adriatic pushes waves into them, air is forced through to create these low, haunting tones. It’s not music in the traditional sense, more like the sea breathing through the city. With hardly anyone around that early, it felt almost surreal.

Zadar itself is compact, but it holds centuries tightly layered together. Later that morning we met up with our guide, Paula, who gave us a completely different perspective than our previous guide in Zagreb, especially when it came to the era of Josip Broz Tito and the socialist period. It added depth to what we were seeing, turning buildings and ruins into something more personal and recent.

Walking with Paula through the old town is like moving across a timeline. At the center sits the Roman Forum (Zadar), still anchoring the city just as it did thousands of years ago. Right beside it rises the Church of St. Donatus, its circular form instantly recognizable and a reminder of the city’s early Christian roots. From there, the story keeps unfolding—through narrow marble streets, past layers of construction and reconstruction, all the way to the imposing Land Gate (Zadar), part of the Venetian defensive system that once protected the city.

One of the more fascinating details Paula pointed out was how much of the Roman city had been buried under medieval development, only to be revealed again after the destruction of World War II. In a strange way, tragedy uncovered history. What you see today is not just preservation—it’s rediscovery.

We spent time walking the fortifications, with those incredible views: the deep blue of the Adriatic stretching out in front of us, and in the distance, the rugged outline of the mountains rising behind. It’s a contrast that sticks with you—water and stone, calm and rugged, all in one glance.

After a full day of wandering and learning, we settled in for a Croatian dinner here in the Dalmatia region—fresh, simple, and exactly what you want after miles of walking stone streets. As evening set in, we joined what felt like half the city making their way toward the tip of the peninsula.

That’s where Zadar puts on its nightly show.

First came the sunset over the Adriatic—cool breeze coming off the water, the sky slowly shifting through colors that didn’t feel quite real. And then, just as the light faded, the ground itself came alive at the Monument to the Sun. What looks like a large glass circle by day transforms at night into a glowing display powered by the sun it absorbed all day. Around it, smaller installations represent the planets, turning the whole space into something between a light show and a quiet celebration of the solar system.

Between the sounds of the Sea Organ and the glow of the solar installation, Zadar manages to blend the ancient and the modern in a way that feels effortless. It’s not just a place you visit—it’s one you experience, layer by layer, step by step, sound by sound.

Day 6 Zagreb to Zadar

 

April 22

Apr 22 Zagreb to Zadar

We wrapped up our time in Zagreb the same way we came in—right in front of the Zagreb Cathedral—but this time under clear skies. No rain, no rush, just an easy Uber pickup and a clean start to the day.

From there it was out to the airport to grab a rental—splurging a bit on a Land Rover Discovery from Alamo Rent a Car (definitely not cheap, but solid for the drive ahead). Our Uber driver suggested a more scenic inland route toward Plitvice Lakes National Park, cutting through smaller roads instead of the highway. It turned out to be the right call—two-lane country roads, light traffic, and a steady soundtrack of ‘80s rock made for an easy, enjoyable ride.

Our first stop was just outside the town of Slunj, in the village of Rastoke—and it honestly felt like stepping into a fairytale. Often called a “mini Plitvice,” Rastoke is built right into the water itself. The clear, emerald-green Slunjčica River tumbles over limestone shelves and spills into the Korana, creating a network of waterfalls and cascades that run directly beneath and around the town. The houses aren’t just near the water—they’re literally built over and among the falls.

What makes Rastoke so memorable is how naturally everything fits together. Wooden homes and centuries-old watermills sit right on top of rushing streams, some still powered by the current below. Dating back to the 17th century, this was once a working milling village, and you can still feel that history as you walk the narrow footbridges connecting paths over the water. Everywhere you turn, there’s the sound of rushing falls. It’s peaceful, unpolished, and incredibly photogenic—a place that slows you down without even trying. A true living postcard.

From there, we pushed on to Plitvice Lakes National Park, and within minutes of stepping out of the car, the mood shifted completely. Fresh air, open space, and that immediate sense of being surrounded by nature—it hits fast.

The hike itself was incredible. We hoofed it about three miles along mostly hewn log walkways that skim just above the water, weaving through a chain of crystal-clear lakes and waterfalls. The water was unreal—shades of deep emerald and bright turquoise—and so clear you could see through to the bottom. With that much water everywhere, the karst springs provide such an abundance .

Everywhere you looked, water was moving. Big waterfalls, small cascades, streams connecting lake to lake—it just keeps going. At times you’re climbing up along the edge for sweeping views, and then suddenly you’re back down at water level, walking right alongside it. We made our way up to the top of the lake chain, then caught a couple of the boat shuttles for the return, which was a nice break after covering ground on foot.

The weather couldn’t quite make up its mind—cool in the shade, warm and sunny in bursts—but no rain, which felt like a win. Crowds came and went, but there were still plenty of stretches where it felt quiet enough to just take it all in.

Leaving the park, we continued south along Route 1, passing through the edges of the Dinaric Alps and alongside the dramatic Velebit mountain range. Eventually we merged onto the A1, hit a long tunnel cutting straight through the mountains, and emerged on the other side just in time for sunset.

The descent toward Zadar was something else—the light dropping low over the Adriatic Sea, the landscape opening up, and that first glimpse of the coast after a full day inland.

From city streets to waterfalls to mountains to the sea—all in one day.

Day 5 Balklans Trip Zagreb-2

April 21, Day 2 in Zagreb Croatia

 

 

This is a Funicular ^^^^

Zagreb unfolded for us as one of those cities that doesn’t shout—it hums. And if you listen closely (or hop on a convertible bus with headphones), it tells a pretty great story.

We kicked things off at Dolac Market, coffee and pastries in hand, easing into the morning the way the Croats seem to prefer—unhurried. There’s a rhythm here: sip, sit, watch. I grabbed a banana from a fruit vendor to round things out, because nothing says “balanced breakfast” like pastry followed by a token piece of fruit. The market itself was vibrant—fresh produce, local goods, and just enough souvenirs to remind you where you are without hitting you over the head with it.

A quick stop at the visitor center pointed us toward Zagreb City Tours and their hop-on, hop-off bus. “Great way to see the city,” they said. What they didn’t mention was that you actually have to catch the bus. We jogged (lightly… let’s not exaggerate), missed the first stop, wandered to the second, overshot the third, and eventually surrendered to patience—waiting nearly an hour before finally boarding. Very on-brand for the day: we were learning to slow down, whether we liked it or not.

Once aboard, though, it delivered. Zagreb revealed itself in layers—history, culture, and a few fun facts tucked in. Like the city being the home of the fountain pen, thanks to Slavoljub Eduard Penkala, and Croatia’s role in popularizing the necktie, or “cravat.” Not bad for a country quietly shaping global style.

The iconic blue trams rolled by constantly—part of the city’s fabric since 1910, electric and efficient, gliding through streets lined with greenery. Zagreb is full of parks, squares, and flowers—so many flowers. The highlight being the elegant Lenuci Horseshoe, a U-shaped string of parks and public spaces that gives the city its open, breathable feel.

At one café, we were. surrounded—flanked, really—by smokers (clearly another local custom).

Just after that, Kurt was interviewed by a local reporter about U.S.  political views.  I abstained from commenting.  Kurt was a “tad” more vocal. 

At one point on the tour bus, a South African pensioner asked if we were American or British. I said “American,” to which she replied, “ Sorry…. Another sign of the world political sentiment towards Americans.

Lunch took us to “Submarine”where the burgers absolutely delivered—no hesitation calling them best. We shared a table-side moment with a local couple and their corgi, Becky, who may have been the real star of the meal.

We attempted to ride the Zagreb Funicular—one of the shortest in the world—but it was closed. Still, we climbed up to the top station and were rewarded with sweeping views of the city’s red-tiled roofs and layered skyline. Not a bad consolation prize.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of wandering—pedestrian streets, cafés, and our best attempt to “act Croatian,” which mostly meant sitting longer and doing less. Weather kept things interesting: cold and gray one minute, sunny and warm the next, followed by a quick rain just to keep everyone honest.

After an afternoon of adventuresome wandering, we accidentally happened upon a true gem of a restaurant.  Literally tucked back into an alley, we dined at Kia Street Food where the vibe, service, and of course the dinner was absolutely top notch.  Had to leave a Trip Advisor review for that one stating the same. 

By the end of it, Zagreb didn’t feel like a checklist city—it felt like a place you settle into. A little slower, a little more observant, and maybe just a bit better at enjoying a coffee without rushing off to the next thing.