FIELD NOTES: SPLIT & HVAR, CROATIA
A month exploring the Adriatic coastline.
Split, Croatia
It was April when I arrived in Split – still out of season, before the crowds – and the city moved at a quieter, slower pace.
I was staying for a month in an apartment tucked into the hillside of Marjan, the pine-covered hill that rises to the west of the city. On one side, the forest pressed close. On the other, the city stretched out below: terracotta rooftops, the shimmer of the harbour, and the low hum of ferries gliding across the Adriatic. Each morning, when I opened the windows, I was met with the scent of pine mingled with sea-salted air.
Split, Croatia
Split, Croatia
Every day began with a descent. I’d wind down through cobbled streets as the city slowly stirred – shutters creaking open, voices floating on the breeze, silver fish catching the first light as they were wheeled in green crates into the Peškarija market. I carried my camera without a particular image in mind – only the hope that by staying a little while and slowing down, I might notice and capture the quiet rituals of daily life.
Split, Croatia
Ferry to Hvar, Croatia
Split feels both ancient and entirely lived-in. Within the labyrinth of the old city, life continues: washing strung between crumbling balconies, doorsteps swept clean each morning, voices echoing from open windows. As the sun rose, light curved around corners, flooding the narrow passages and soaking into the limestone, which seemed to drink it in. Cracked facades caught the morning glow. Long shadows stretched across the marble underfoot. Locals lingered outside cafés, sipping espresso and trading gossip.
Split, Croatia
Split, Croatia
I’d follow the winding streets to the harbour, watching lines form – commuters heading to work and the occasional traveller pausing in the morning breeze. Sometimes, I’d join them, boarding a ferry to one of the nearby islands. On board, I began to notice the in-between moments: a silent piano, a forgotten cup of coffee bathed in morning light, a man gazing out at the sea, his thoughts adrift.
Ferry to Hvar, Croatia
Ferry to Hvar, Croatia
Hvar was quieter than I expected. It felt like it was holding its breath, waiting for the hum of summer to arrive. A cat curled in the shade of worn stone steps. An elderly woman tended a lemon tree in a terracotta pot. A man in overalls repaired his boat – steady and unhurried. I wandered without aim, letting the island unfold at its own pace.
Split, Croatia
Hvar, Croatia
Back in Split, Sundays were spent watching locals gather at the beaches around the base of Marjan. Families unpacked picnics. Older men played chess and cards in the shade. Teenagers lounged near the water on pastel towels spread over concrete steps.
Krka National Park, Croatia
Hvar, Croatia
Each evening ended with the walk back uphill, the weight of the city in my legs. Yet something was grounding in that slow return – a quiet satisfaction in retracing the morning’s steps, now filled with the imprint of the day.
Dalmatian days passed in the shadow of 1,700-year-old walls. Without the crowds, Split and its coastline revealed itself: unhurried and alive. The city is enduring; my time, brief.
Just as I began to settle into its rhythm, I was already leaving – like the ferries I watched pull away from the harbour each day – the city retreating into memory.