sun sets on zadar

“We have the most beautiful sunsets in the world,” the thin waiter tells me as he delivers my glass of 'maraschino' on ice.

“You do,” I agree, as the blood orange sun slides into the azure Adriatic. Above the scalloped edges of the long island on the horizon, the sun bleeds into the sky, making silhouettes of boats, people and palm trees.

Of course many places in the world have sunsets to die for. [I love Bali sunsets for example], but it is the power of words which gives Zadar the superlative sunset. Alfred Hitchcock's words in this case. It helps if the words are those of a celebrity!

It is our last night here. We plan for two nights and stay for five, such is the allure of this city. Because we haven't pre-booked accommodation and it is August, we have to move three times, from a spacious private room to a hotel room the size of a wardrobe to a studio apartment with walls painted lurid lime and vibrant vermilion.

Luckily in this pedestrianised Old-Town of Zadar, we only pull our bags a couple of hundred metres over shiny flagstones each time we move. It is kind of fun. And a city without cars is every thing I imagined it to be. If only... We don't want to leave this haven which nestles between the old city walls and the sea, but there is so much more to see along the Dalmation coast and only two weeks left to see it.

Architecture, or the initial 'publicity shot' 
for the release of the latest 'Fiat Punto'?

As the sun sets we are eating grilled sea-bass at the restaurant on the esplanade, when a group of eight men at an adjacent table start singing, with rich harmonies, softly at first, then building to full voice. The music is 'Klapa', traditional Croatian songs of love and longing and loss.

I imagine fishermen in their navy and white striped tops sailing around the 1,246 islands of the Dalmation archipelago singing as the sun sets.

Later we see our singers perform at a concert on the esplanade; they were practising over a drink in our restaurant.

When the men stop singing, a group of young women begin tentatively singing sad, haunting songs. Their voices are higher and thinner but strangely mesmerising like the sounds of mermaids which sailors heard at sea.

With the sunset, the songs, the succulent sea-bass, the serene sea, it is hard to imagine a more perfect place to be. Yet the city was repeatedly bombed by the allies during the second world war, so much of it had to be rebuilt. Although the Serbs attacked Zadar during the Civil War, they didn't penetrate the Old Town.

The weather is sublime every night. All the women wear sleeveless dresses or tops. Yes, even I bare my fleshy arms!

The keen observer will have realised Carol does not use a

Canon EOS digital camera.

The entire city is buzzing and bursting with life. People fill every square and alleyway, at tables and chairs or wooden benches. Some promenade or dance to the nightly free music concerts in the central square. Our apartment is in a zone where the men go for beer or spirits with small black coffee [kava] and cigarettes for breakfast. This is near the university, reputedly the first to be built in Croatia in 1396. At night the district transforms itself into a labyrinthine outdoor night club with psychedelic patterns projected onto old stone walls. Here the young and cool chill-out as music thumps out of doorways of bars and clubs. But we don't see any drunk or disorderly behaviour as we head through the zone to reach our apartment at midnight.

Zadar caters for everyone. Families with tiny children dance in the square alongside middle aged couples and the old men still sit in another alleyway and smoke.

Although bustling, Zadar is not overcrowded. I don't feel overwhelmed by the 'humants' we experienced in Plitvicka.

Every day we find more to delight us within Zadar's protective walls. I love the eclectic mix of the old and the new in architecture, music, people and food.

Old women dressed in black with black head-scarves come in by ferry to shop at the fresh produce market alongside barely clad, tanned leggy girls with long lustrous hair and bodies as luscious as the ripe fruit and vegetables stacked on the market stalls.

Children play on Roman ruins next to swanky cafes. Ancient stone pillars appear in the middle of newly paved squares. Shops selling religious icons around the corner from a sex shop with its fetishist icons, including the biggest plastic [?] penis I have ever seen. Women in traditional Croatian folk costumes finish a performance and come to dance to a rock and roll band in the square, waving their head scarves in the air.

Croatian dancing... folk and funk.

We take ferries to two islands. My favourite is Silba, more remote and unspoiled, with an old stone village, fragrant pine trees, a fennel schnapps after lunch and the clearest warmest water for swimming. Silba has twenty unique species of butterfly and claims to be allergy free. There are no cars. People move heavy loads around the island with handcarts. 

Island immersion.

As the car ferry pulls out from the wharf, the sun sets on Silba and the sea darkens to a midnight blue. My eyes are heavy and my skin stings with sun and salt, so I stretch out on a bench on deck for the four hour ferry ride back to Zadar by the light of a thin crescent moon. I swear I can hear the eerie sounds of sad siren songs calling me back to the sea.