Adriatica: A Croatian Road Odyssey

By CL Rogerson

There are some countries you visit, and some that claim you. Croatia is the latter. A land of walled cities and wind-carved coasts, of Roman emperors and haunting sea songs. This was a road trip wrapped in myth and saltwater, starting in the capital and unfolding southward until we reached the edge of the map… and ourselves.

From Zagreb to the Sea: The First Glimpse of the Adriatic

We flew into Zagreb, the elegant, understated capital. Got a rental car and pointed it toward the coast, the pull of the sea a low, constant hum in our veins.

Then it happened: we crested a hill on a nearly deserted freeway and caught our first glimpse of the Adriatic. Just a flash, electric blue, sunlit, before we disappeared into a mountain tunnel. When we emerged… boom. The sea in full view, stretching wide and wild. It was a cinematic moment. A baptism by horizon.

Split: Palace Walls and Waterfront Feasts

Split was the southernmost point of our journey, but it felt like the beginning of something ancient. We stayed in a millennium-old palace, the bones of the place still bearing the weight of centuries. The rooms had been modernized, yes, but the stone walls and worn floors held stories of millennia past.

Mornings were for wandering Diocletian’s Palace. Afternoons for grilled fish by the waterfront, fresh from the boat and kissed by fire and olive oil. Evenings faded into wine, music, and the kind of conversations that only happen when time slows.

Klis Castle at Dawn: Time to Ourselves

We hit Klis Castle early, before the crowds. Before the light got harsh. It was just us and the wind. Standing in the same fortress that once stood guard against the Ottomans, I felt history in my chest like a second heartbeat. From the old stone chapel to the stocks in the public square, this two-thousand-year-old castle had stories to share and we were there to listen. There is no surprise that it was used to tell a story in Game of Thrones.

Chartered Waters and Island Whispers

One afternoon, we chartered a boat, and slipped away to explore the nearby islands. No itinerary. No rush. Just the lull of the waves and the promise of discovery. There’s something about viewing a country from the water that marks the soul. Gliding through the waters as ancient mariners did, approaching a new town, a new shore, a new life. This is a land where the stones whisper stories from millennia past, and every coastline crag has seen the rise and fall of empires.

Plitvice: Water in Motion

From the coast, we turned inland to Plitvice Lakes National Park. It’s hard to describe without sounding hyperbolic, but this place? It’s alive. Water moves through it like breath through lungs, cascading, rushing, pooling, as if the land itself is exhaling centuries of myth and memory. Each boardwalk, floating a breath above the crystalline lakes, felt like a passage through a dream. Each cave, a portal to another dimension.

But this isn’t fantasy; it’s geology in symphony. Sixteen terraced lakes, joined by gravity-fed waterfalls and rimmed with travertine barriers that grow, dissolve, and shift like living architecture. The limestone karst beneath your feet is constantly shaping the flow, a natural design in perpetual motion. You don’t just see the waterfalls here, you hear them first, a rising whisper that builds to a crescendo around every bend.

The park has been protected since 1949, a wise move by a country that understood this was more than landscape; it was a sacred inheritance. Even UNESCO stamped its approval in 1979, listing Plitvice as one of the first natural World Heritage Sites in the world.

And yet, it doesn't feel like a museum. It feels wild. You half-expect a Slavic forest spirit to step from the mist, or an ancient Illyrian to appear by the water's edge, nodding in silent agreement: yes, this is where the old gods would rest.

Trogir: A New Chapter in Stone

Trogir is a time capsule in stone, a miniature Venice kissed by the Adriatic and cradled between history and myth. Founded by Greek settlers from the island of Vis in the 3rd century BC, it flourished under Roman rule and later bloomed into a jewel of the Venetian Republic, earning nicknames like "the stone beauty" and "open-air museum." Wander its tight medieval lanes and you'll pass Romanesque churches, Renaissance palaces, and even a cathedral with a portal carved by Master Radovan in 1240, a stone storyboard of biblical beasts and Dalmatian dogs. Venetian lions still leer from the walls, and Kamerlengo Fortress stands guard like a weathered sentinel. It's said Napoleon’s men once marched through here, but wisely left the town mostly untouched. Even conquerors knew better than to meddle with perfection.

Krka National Park: An Unscheduled Adventure

We were late. Maybe too late. The gates had closed, but the moment felt right. We parked a short ways up the road and entered the woods where we slipped in carefully, quietly, with the reverence of pilgrims and found the waterfalls waiting, full and echoing, relentlessly emptying themselves into the Adriatic. It was like the park had opened just for us, a private showing from nature herself.

Krka National Park in the stillness of dusk is a different creature entirely. By day, it thrums with the footfall of explorers and the chatter of awe. But in that golden hush of evening, we found only the sound of water, Skradinski Buk, the park’s famed cascade, tumbling over travertine steps like liquid lace. No crowds, no camera shutters other than our own. Just the rhythm of the river and the whisper of the wind moving through the reeds.

This isn’t just a park, it’s a hydrological hymn, a place where the Krka River, fed by karst springs and ancient time, sculpts limestone into tiers, pools, and lush green amphitheaters. Monks once lived here, seeking the divine in solitude; the 14th-century Visovac Monastery, perched on its island in the middle of the river, still holds vigil like a sentinel of silence.

We walked as far as we dared, the setting sun and rising moon playing with light and shadow that even Michelangelo couldn’t capture on canvas.  It seemed that there were ancient river fairies playing in the soft shadows on the water’s surface, dancing to the frogs chirping in rhythmic code. For a fleeting moment, it felt like we’d slipped back centuries, no lights, no signs, no other souls, just us and the river, ancient and unbothered, reminding us that time here doesn’t run on schedules. It flows.

Zadar: Where the Sea Sings

We took a short paddle boat across the channel to reach the old town, not a gondola, mind you, but a distant cousin in spirit. The boat was low-slung and no-nonsense, piloted by a grizzled local whose shoulders told stories his mouth never would. It was a crossing measured in minutes, but it felt like drifting through a tear in time. The stone walls of Zadar rose ahead like the prow of some ancient ship, and the water below whispered tales of Illyrian pirates and Venetian spice traders. We passed quietly, lulled by the rhythm of oars and tide, carried not just across the channel, but deeper into history's undertow.

Zadar greeted us not with fanfare, but with a hymn older than language, the haunting tones of the Sea Organ. Built into the very bones of the city’s marble promenade, this architectural marvel was conceived by architect Nikola Bašić as both sculpture and spirit, channeling the Adriatic’s breath into a perpetual song. Each note, shaped by the tide and wind, is an echo of centuries past, of Roman legions, Venetian merchants, and Yugoslav ghosts. We sat at the edge of it all, where stone meets sea, letting the waves hum through our spines like tuning forks of memory. In that moment, the journey wasn’t just underway, it was being composed, one salt-sweet chord at a time.

On the mainland, the ghosts of the Soviet era still clung to the concrete like mildew. Our lodging was tucked inside a relic of that time, a hulking apartment block built more for utility than charm. The elevator, a two-person tin can with a wheeze like a dying accordion, looked like it hadn’t been touched since the Iron Curtain rusted shut. The open staircase, spiraling through the atrium like a spine without skin, wasn’t much more reassuring. But the story turned once we stepped inside. The apartment, a corner perch with big windows and bigger light, opened up like a well-kept secret. From there, we looked south across the terracotta rooftops to the silver shimmer of the Adriatic. Zadar spread below us in all her contradictions: ancient and brutalist, wind-worn and sunlit, forever caught between empire and escape.

Back to Zagreb: Epilogue in the Capital

Zagreb was our coda, a single day carved out before returning to Poland, and to separation. We wandered the old town like characters in a film noir epilogue, chasing cobblestone echoes through Gornji Grad’s narrow lanes. The hours slipped by, marked not by clocks but by café clatter and the clink of glasses under streetlamps. We lingered at outdoor tables as espresso turned to wine, then drifted into torchlit pubs where the walls sweated history and absinthe. The city didn’t rush us. Zagreb knows the weight of a parting glance, the poetry of a slow goodbye. So, we let the hours stretch and soften, trying to stitch memory into the seams of our final day before planes, borders, and silence took their turn.

Final Thoughts

Croatia isn’t just a destination. It has a rhythm to be experienced. A pulse. It’s where you go not to escape the world, but to hear it more clearly. And if you let it, the sea, the falls and maybe a river fairy will speak your name.

Until the next tide pulls us forward, stay bold, stay curious, and always chase the horizon.

– CL Rogerson
Captain, Curator of Adventure, Eternal Student of the Sea