Hvar, Croatia

Prior to this trip, my parents told me that the only place in Croatia that I absolutely had to see was Hvar, the 68 km long stretch of pine-forested island lying 38 km south of Split. They went in 1975, to celebrate their engagement, and talked enthusiastically of how beautiful, relaxing and pure it was- a far cry from the tourist-jammed Dubrovnik from where they had just come. Obviously, I hadn’t expected the holiday haven to have completely maintained this apparent sense of undiluted serenity, given those opinions were formed over three decades ago, but I certainly hadn’t predicted that change on such a colossal scale would have taken place either.

Before I was even able to exit the ferry, hundreds of signs advertising accommodation were being waved in my face by hordes of fraught and squabbling guesthouse owners, determined to secure a booking. I smiled, apologized (how typically British), and attempted to worm my way through the mob without clouting anyone with my backpack. I quickly lost patience with this solicitude and ended up callously barging my way through before bursting out the other end.

Hustle and bustle aside, the allure of the dainty little harbor tucked behind the pier struck us immediately. The dire weather had now passed, leaving a blue-sky backdrop and perfect clacking conditions. I, however, was unable to partake in any clacking due to the loss of my camera and a great deal of irretrievable photos at Outlook Festival. So I now had to rely on Kevin to do all my clacking for me.

Hvar Harbour

Ever since the aftermath of the Civil War, Hvar has enjoyed a steady incline in tourism, and in recent years has attracted the wealthiest of clientele, including the likes of Jay-Z, Beyonce Knowles and Roman Abramovich. Surely I was bound to see somebody famous? Nope. Not a soul. Hvar was completely celeb-less, yet still astonishingly expensive.

Even just a ham and cheese baguette set me back 35 kuna (£3.50), and a coke can sized beer cost 25- both ludicrously high prices in terms of Croatia’s regular going rate. Our hostel, Villa Marija, however, was economically priced at 70 kuna a night, whilst still offering an impressive array of services. Upon our arrival, our extremely friendly and informative host (Marija herself) detailed exactly what to do and where to go, focusing particularly on the best party hotspots on the island. One such hotspot was the renowned ‘Carpe Diem’ nightclub, which I had heard about weeks before, due to its sole standing as the only edifice on the tiny, neighbouring Stipanska Island. That night was to be the secluded venue’s closing party.

Night fell and I, along with three others, strolled down to the harbour, wondering what the night held in store for us. Judging by the swarms of baby-faced, inebriated Brits/Aussies falling out of every bar on every corner, I guessed that that would pretty much be the gist of it for the rest of the evening. Unsurprisingly, it was.

Carpe Diem Nightclub, Stipanska Island

We moored at the pearly gates of ‘Carpe Diem’ at around 2am to discover that we were actually among the first punters to arrive. 80 kuna in and it was absolutely dead. Some closing party. Matters only worsened when we learnt that drinks cost around 75 kuna each, though I must admit the set-up was pretty impressive; loaded with long, squishy, pillow-packed sofas, hammocks, resonant speakers and even a swimming pool. All in all though, it was seedy, overpriced, musically lackluster and bitterly disappointing.

Venitian Castle

Next day, I ventured off into the island’s visibly less-trodden and refreshingly unsullied countryside, eventually finding my way to the Roman-built castle, overlooking the busy, yacht-awashed harbour. Once again, I was spoilt for choice, as striking vistas emerged on all horizons; red-bricked rooftops gleamed in the resplendent sunlight beneath me; jagged cliff-tops loomed dauntingly to the right, whilst vineyards, olive groves, and lavender fields spanned meadows to the rear.

To my left, however, were two snoring, discernibly hungover whippersnappers, one with permanent marker on his face, slumped against the wall. The stark contrast in these images I felt was an accurate summing up of the island: while Hvar will indefinitely remain as one of Croatia’s jewels for all its plain-to-see beauty, so too will its reliance upon excessive and binge-drink cultured tourism for sustainability.

View from The Castle