Guests of Little Green Bay lounge on the beach in Croatia.Cindy Blazevic/The Globe and Mail
“Croatia is a boutique country now,” says my friend Davor Dragojlovic. This sounds like a compliment, but he means it as a joke, a dig about the republic being tiny and expensive. Maybe because I, too, am Croatian, I get the joke.
And I feel it. We are in Zagreb and I am sipping champagne amidst giant, multicoloured hydrangea in the garden of Davor’s 1920s modernist flat. We are debating Croatia’s tourism potential – newly Schengenized, a mere 30 years postwar, yet still facing hiccups from its decades-long transition from a socialist economy to a market-based one.
With a population below four million and territory on par with Nova Scotia, this country is indeed small. But small can be good. Small can mean sustainable and responsive and different. And, in recent years, this tiny tourism superpower has harnessed these attributes to become a very fashionable destination.
Croatia is a nation that knows the currency of its Adriatic wealth.
Unique, diverse and boasting of a stunning coastline, it also has medieval towns and breathtaking islands. Of its more than 1,100 islands about 47 are inhabited, each with its own ancient civilization and unique gastronomy. The country has countless inlets and bays, mountains and national parks. In addition, its rich historical and architectural inheritance was forged from Ancient Greek, Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman-adjacent cultures, among others. And it has more beaches than you could swim in a lifetime.
Croatia has countless inlets and bays, mountains and national parks.Cindy Blazevic/The Globe and Mail
Yet, Croatia appears torn between protecting its Adriatic treasures and monetizing them. Nowhere is this clearer than when you see the wealth of cruise ships, the aspartame of travel. Yes, they deposit heaps of tourists and their euros onto many shores here, but with them comes environmental damage and a strain on infrastructure, especially in popular destinations such as Dubrovnik and Split. It is not easy to strike a balance between preservation and profits, between stewardship and popularity.
In search of the possibility of this balance, in July my Croatian friends Simona Antonovic, Bojan Mandic and I board a Jadrolinija ferry in the port of Split for the island of Hvar. Jadrolinija, the state-run ferry company, operates local routes, connecting Croatia’s remote populations and ferrying about tourists. Two-and-a-half hours later our seven-storey, high-rise of a ship docks in Stari Grad (established 343 AD). At this point most people head to south to the ancient, walled Hvar Town, a historic Mediterranean hotspot. But we head north, away from the purring megayachts and busy cobblestoned streets. We drive through a changing landscape of ancient olive groves, vineyards, picturesque clay-roofed hamlets and tunnels of pine trees. The air is fragrant with roadside lavender. A roster of slumbering topographical giants are our backdrop: the nearby islands of Brac, Vis and Korcula, and the Biokovo mountain range.
Little Green Bay hotel’s main stone house has 16 rooms.Cindy Blazevic/The Globe and Mail
We are headed to Little Green Bay – which refers to itself as a “non-hotel.” And you would be hard-pressed to find a better example of Croatia’s future boutique potential.
We descend into the teeny village of Lozna with its handful of stone houses, tucked deep in a forested wilderness. We park our car beneath a grove of pines, second our luggage to a golf cart and walk a wooded path to the mouth of the bay, which is as idyllic as it gets. It is the crystalline water of vacation billboards and glossy magazine photos, the rawest of natural settings. “When people arrive here they do not expect it to be this nice,” says Marta Marinic, the warm and personable concierge, with a laugh. “Everyone is very shocked.”
Apart from cicadas, breezes filtered through leggy pines and the sound of a splashy front crawl, we are greeted by near-total silence. The serenity is owing to the incredible privacy of the location, but also to the distinct efforts of Little Green Bay: no development, no music, no stress. Nothing “overpowering,” as Marinic puts it. The hotel is surrounded by a handful of families who, having inhabited and actively preserved this bay for centuries, set a tone of living in balance with nature. It’s an ethos the non-hotel has enthusiastically adopted.
Resembling a deconstructed hotel, the complex comprises a stone farmhouse with 16 rooms, all restored by the previous French-Canadian owners, and three separate stone houses overlooking the sea, while blending seamlessly into the surrounding wilderness. It does that so well, that a mini-flashlight is thoughtfully attached to my room key. The complex has been developed with materials native to the area and its small footprint precludes any possibility of overtourism.
An attentive staff in crisp white uniforms dispense wine spritzes, monogrammed Turkish beach towels and well-researched advice on local excursions to their mostly international guests.
Everyone is casual, chatting; there is a sense of familiarity, ease. Marinic tells me the hotel maintains its personal touch through direct bookings, rather than relying on the usual third-party agencies – a point of pride and a spark of connection that endures upon arrival. Indeed, I cannot remember the last time I felt compelled to hug a hotel concierge from the sheer joy of finally meeting them in person.
The staples of Dalmatian cuisine are all here: wine, olive oil, seafood. A harissa cucumber yogurt salad and brudet (Dalmatian fish stew) are highlights. A fellow guest who is visiting from Ireland excitedly informs me that breakfast is an event here. And the breakfast hors d’oeuvres – a tray of homemade regional jams and baked goods – that precedes the shakshuka, a North-African dish of poached eggs in tomato sauce, I’ve ordered, proves him extremely correct.
Konoba Maslina is found in Vrisnik, on the island of Hvar, a 40-minute drive from Little Green Bay.Cindy Blazevic/The Globe and Mail
Restaurant Maslina
Keeping company with Little Green Bay are the traditional restaurants Maslina and Meneghello Palmizana.
The pilgrimage to Maslina is a steep drive to the tippy top of Vrisnik, located in the middle of the island. In the midst of a copse of 400 olive trees the open-air restaurant is set atop a stone dais – like a patio in the sky. With a low sun, the view is religious. I realize quickly why this is a coveted dinner reservation.
Chef Borivoj Bojanicand his wife, Zeljka, have built a career out of maintaining unique Dalmatian culinary traditions, some of which are 150 years old, such as skartoceti or beef rolls in a hearty sauce, slow-cooked octopus soup and peka, which is roasted over a fire and under a heavy lid to bring out the flavours. The menu here is simple: small-batch sheep’s cheese, homemade bread and olives, ice cream with figs stewed in prosek, a sweet Dalmatian wine. I am a little stunned to learn that Croatians don’t have a culture of preserving and eating olives; only the oil is pressed. Zeljka tells me Hvar and Solta are the only islands with a tradition of preserving. These are the olives we eat and they are stunning.
Palmizana Beach is dotted with yachts amidst the cerulean water.Cindy Blazevic/The Globe and Mail
Palmizana
Our next pilgrimage is by boat to Palmizana, one of the Pakleni islands, in the archipelago just off the coast of Hvar. This island is unlike anything I’ve seen: with cerulean water, enormous towering cacti, wandering peacocks, bougainvillea and art everywhere. As a group of tanned, open-shirted bros walk toward us on the wooded path to the restaurant, one of them spontaneously exclaims in my direction: “Isn’t this insane? We’re in paradise!”
Dude, you don’t know the half of it.
There are many reasons for coming to this island. For one, we have a lunch reservation at the Meneghello Palmizana Restaurant, named after the family that has owned the island since the 19th century when Eugen Meneghello, who happened to be Napoleon’s personal pharmacist, purchased it as a wedding present for his daughter. The food is incredible. We drink cherry liqueur, while nibbling mol carpaccio garnished with pickled motar, a uniquely Adriatic vegetation, and the classic Dalmatian staples of marinated sardines and anchovies. This is followed by gregada, a stew made with shrimp, Skarpina and Grdobina fish and potatoes, a specialty of the area, cooked slowly over an open fire. Alma Meneghello, the soft-spoken, great-granddaughter of Eugen, walks us through Meneghello’s extraordinary botanical gardens, speaking with pride about her family’s 120-year tourism legacy. Romina, Alma’s mother, flits about the open-air restaurant, tending to this and that. There is a strong sense of matriarchal legacy here.
We finish our visit with a leisurely swim at one of the pebble beaches, steps away from the restaurant, bathed in the vibes of this offbeat island.
This is Croatia at its best. Quirky, personal, familial.
I know the country sometimes struggles to strike a balance attracting the gamut of billionaire travellers and the average European family. I recall anecdotes about past instances of less-than-genial Croatian hosting and the kind of no-nonsense attitude that, a few years back, didn’t let Jeff Bezos skip the reservation line at a popular restaurant on Lastovo Island. Croatians are embedded with a streak of punk. They are also warm, convivial, witty. It’s an embraceable paradox.
If you go
Air Transat is the only Canadian airline offering seasonal (from May to October) direct flights from Toronto to Zagreb. Connecting flights to Split can be booked on regional airlines.
Low-season rates for Little Green Bay start at €500 ($806) for two guests, breakfast included. A private boat transfer can be arranged from Split airport, or you can board the Jadrolinija ferry for a nearly two-hour ride to Hvar from Split.
Meneghello Palmizana Restaurant is on Palmizana Island, one of the Pakleni islands, which can be reached from Hvar Town harbour via water taxi or private speed boat.
Konoba Maslina is found in Vrisnik, on the island of Hvar, a 40-minute drive from Little Green Bay.
The writer was a guest of Little Green Bay, Konoba Maslina and Meneghello Palmizana Restaurant. They did not review or approve the story before publication.