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A sailing holiday with two small kids? Are you mad? Tim Ecott tries it and
finds a week afloat is a huge hit and the perfect way to see Croatia's
lesser known islands and bays.
Saturday June 11, 2005
Sail now on ... Jessica and Ilona relax on board. Photograph: Tim Ecott
In Komiza, they grew rich on sardines. For 2,000 years, the wooden fishing
boats known as
falkusa
set off for the deep Adriatic to bring back the
glistening fish that the Venetians said were the best in the world. In the
old harbour, we moored beside the jetty, a few yards from the stout walls
of the town hall, a pale limestone castle built in 1585. Jutting out from
the cornerstones are great stone rings, where medieval galleys and
merchant vessels would have attached their ropes. At the modern quayside,
our skipper, Bane, watched hopefully as I attempted to master the simple
knot he had demonstrated at least eight times the previous day.
"Not so tight!" he warned. Too late. I had jammed the free end of the
mooring line against the cleat, and watched as Bane strained against the
weight of the boat to free it. He made it look easy, and I was determined
to get it right next time. Fortunately for me, helping to tie up the boat
was all the assistance Bane required, as he piloted Pride, our 42ft yacht
around the Dalmatian islands. Bane (pronounced Bar-nay, but short for
Slobodan Banasin), made the cruising easy, and quickly allayed my fears
that taking our children (Ilona aged nine, and Morgan, almost five) on a
yacht was not foolhardy.
Aside from a week on the extremely tranquil Norfolk Broads, our family
cruise experience has been limited to a few trips on motor-boats. At
Marina Kastela, a mere 20-minute drive from Split airport, we discovered
that our yacht was extremely comfortable: four cabins, three with double
beds and one with bunks. The saloon (aka kitchen/sitting room) had a
decent sized freezer, a two-ring gas cooker and a table big enough for
six. There were even two bathrooms (albeit the same size as an aeroplane
loo). We would be expected to include the skipper in our family meals, an
enforced intimacy that I imagined might potentially be awkward.
According to ClubAdriatic, choosing skippers is the secret of a good
holiday. "We try to match the boat, the skipper and the client," he
reassured me, "so that you get to experience Croatia by yacht, and see
unexplored islands and bays that you wouldn't necessarily find if you were
travelling on your own. But you need to get on with the guy who's doing
the sailing."
Fortunately, Bane proved to be something of a saint. He taught Ilona how
to tie knots (in return for learning how to feed a tamagotchi). And, when
we moored in sheltered bays, he let Morgan "drive" the rubber dinghy (in
return for not touching the buttons on the GPS when we were sailing).
Jessica and I were also delighted when he twice insisted on cooking dinner
on the boat: fried calamari one night, and for our final meal, a special
stew made with incun, an anchovy-like fish dipped in olive oil, garlic and
flour. Sailing had taken Bane around the world, on merchant ships, luxury
yachts and in small dinghies. Never short of conversation, he is currently
director of the Adriatic Skippers Association, and is organising an
international regatta specifically for yachts with crew members who are
deaf.
Heading offshore, Bane took evident pride in revealing the beauty of
Croatia. Each morning we studied the charts and asked him what route he
advised to minimise the risk of rough seas. In fact, the entire week was
calm with just occasional breezy hours in the afternoons, but nothing to
induce seasickness in the children. The rhythm of the creaking sheets
(ropes to landlubbers), the pough-pough of a billowing sail and the gentle
crunk of the bow cutting through the waves became our constant
accompaniment.
For all its tranquil glassy appearance, we learnt that the Adriatic is not
the easiest sea to sail. Bane taught us about the unpredictable north-east
wind, known as the bora, that can appear without warning and reach high
speeds. Even more dangerous is the black bora, of hurricane proportions,
and which usually strikes in winter. In August, the hot mistral blows. One
night, I awoke to hear the wind singing through the rigging, a gusting
burst that echoed through the harbour for several minutes and then
vanished as suddenly as it had begun. Generally, the bora would strengthen
in the afternoons allowing us to put up the sails, and cooling us as we
meandered between the islands.
On the way to
Stari Grad
on the island of Hvar we met 12 dolphins feeding
close to a rocky shore. Resolutely, they tracked the unseen prey,
glistening skin arcing above the surface of the deep dark water. For half
an hour we followed them at a respectful distance and were pleased to find
that our presence was gracefully ignored.
In
Stari Grad, I confessed that I had been to the island before, on a
hastily arranged package holiday 20 years ago when Croatia was then part
of Yugoslavia. The collapse of communism and the war of the early 1990s
have intervened, but now tourism is booming again in Croatia, and in many
places foreigners are snapping up land to build seaside villas.
Mercifully, the islands seem to have remained unspoilt, though thankfully
the choice of restaurants and food is greatly improved.
On one of the quiet cobbled streets, we found Antika, a charmingly
converted stone townhouse run by Inge and Bosko Racic. We ate black
cuttlefish risotto, with rice stained dark by the cephalopod's ink, and
fresh tuna steaks in caper sauce. On the open-air roof terrace the aged
walls were draped with vines, and from the house across the street two
16th-century gargoyles peered over the wall.
The following morning, living fish were on view at the house of Petar
Hektorovic, an epic poet who lived at the beginning of the 16th century.
Around a cloistered courtyard, constructed in 1520, a seawater channel
replenished a pond where hundreds of grey mullet swirled in billowing
clouds. Nearby was a dovecote and there were Latin inscriptions carved
into the walls, adding a cerebral element to the tranquil scene. Behind
the house was a vineyard, and a walled field where a single white pony
grazed. Hektorovic said that he aimed to create a house where the elements
of earth, sea and air all played their part, and in so doing he aimed at
the creation of a perfect environment in which to live and write. It is
hard to imagine anyone doing a better job of it.
High on the limestone slopes of Vis, the most westerly of the Dalmatian
islands, we saw the ancient gun emplacements used by Tito's partisans
during the second world war. Further along the coast, we found Uvala
Smricevica, a tiny bay hidden from the sea by great white stone cliffs
riven by a slim gap just big enough for a small boat to pass through.
Tucked away on one side of the short beach were two pastel-coloured
fishermen's houses complete with drying nets and pairs of battered wooden
oars leaning against the walls. At Bobovisce, we swam from a tiny beach
below elegant new villas built into the sides of a ravine. Across the
harbour, an old convent sat in crumbling elegance in the midday heat.
At Maslinica on the island of Solta, the children were playing on the
rocky beach when I overheard English voices. A young couple introduced
themselves and the woman told me that she had seen us disembarking from
our yacht. "You've cheered me up," she said, unexpectedly. "We love
sailing, and since I'm pregnant we thought this would be our last chance
for many years to go on this type of holiday. But I see that you are doing
it, with two young children."
My own children were indeed content to be on the boat all week, and for
Morgan the highlight was seeing the dolphins.” Lions used to be my
favourite animal", he explained in a serious tone that evening. "But now,
I think it's dolphins." Ilona, who is always the first to awaken, said she
relished the delights of sitting on deck in the bright morning light and
drawing. She also confessed that she had ventured on to the jetty alone
several times, and made an inspection of the other boats. "I like seeing
the people coming on deck and standing around drinking their morning tea,"
she explained. "People on boats are friendly. They always say, 'Good
Morning'."
Each day passed in a cycle of sailing, mooring in empty bays for swimming
and exploring new villages and historic buildings. After dinner, Bane
would often leave us to visit friends in port, and Jessica and I would sit
on deck enjoying the warm night air.
By the end of our week afloat, I had managed to tie up the boat with all
of the mooring lines at the correct angle, and the knots facing in the
right direction on at least three, possibly four, occasions.
But
Bane
still came
and
inspected them.
As we headed back to the mainland the towering slopes of
Biokovo, south of
Split, rose almost 2,000m above the glimmering Adriatic. Alongside Biokovo
lay Mosor, with rugged shadowy flanks bleached pale in the midday sun. The
rock face merged with an ice-blue sky as our yacht settled onto her
course. Arriving by boat is an organic experience, a naturally paced form
of transport somehow removed from the modern world. On many days we slept
just a few miles from where we had started, but it felt as though we had
been on a genuine journey, each craggy cliff and olive grove etched
indelibly into our memory.
Way to go
Getting there:
ClubAdriatic, can arrange tailor-made sailing holidays with
English-speaking skippers, yacht (sleeps up to six adults plus a skipper).
Mooring fees in port around £35 per night, including fresh water, use of
shower blocks etc. Diesel for the week, £30-£40. Croatia Airlines
(020-8563 0022,
croatiaairlines.com)
flies direct to Split from Gatwick and Heathrow from £153 rtn inc tax.
To see all
type of boats click here:
Find your sailing holidays yacht:
Further information:
Croatia
2006
Flight time London-Split: 2¼hrs.
Country code: 00 385.
Time difference: +1hr.
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