The Times
Travel
April 27, 2002
Emma Haughton and her sons pause for breath during the
family’s tour of Dubrovnik’s city walls, one of the
highlights of their holiday in Croatia
Sending them up the wall in Croatia
Dubrovniks views, Cavtats beach and Dalmatian
hospitality suit Emma Haughtons children
SOMETIMES first impressions of a place are misplaced,
and so it is with Croatia. Frazzled after flying with
our brood of four, I inadvertently step beyond the
immigration checkpoint before being invited and find
myself brought to task by a fierce-looking customs
official.
“You vill come back here now,” she barks in a tone
that snaps something inside my usual British reserve.
“I will not be spoken to like that,” I say equally
vehemently, not missing the kids’ looks of alarm and
my husband Jon’s sharp intake of breath. Oh gawd, I
realise the moment it’s popped out of my mouth — now
they’re not going to let us into the country.
Thankfully they do — and very grateful I am too,
because Croatia proves to be a real treat. On the
short coach journey from the airport to our hotel, my
ruffled nerves are quickly soothed by the lush green
coastline, interspersed with peaceful-looking villages
and hemmed with gorgeous bays and a deep blue sea.
Pomegranate and tangerine trees are fruiting along the
side of the road, and flowers are blooming in the
hedgerows. It’s October, but feels like spring. “How
come it’s still summer here, but it’s winter back
home,” says Chip, six. “Because they’re lucky and
we’re not,” is all I can think to reply.
Our hotel, on the southern edge of the coast, is
large, clean and well equipped. The two good-sized
swimming pools are a stone’s throw from the beach and
we spend our first day basking, bathing, then
strolling the 20 yards or so to a restaurant
overlooking the sea, where we tuck into salads and
plates of chips.
Jon, having refused to pack sunblock on the grounds
that “we couldn’t possibly need it at this time of
year” is forced to eat his words when, later that
evening, we all turn as red as the local roof tiles.
The hotel and the smart little resort of Cavtat nearby
are perfectly placed for trips to Dubrovnik: sitting
on the beach we can just make out its fortified walls
a mile or so away across the bay. So it seems
appropriate to make our first visit by boat, and catch
one of the regular ferries leaving from outside our
hotel.
It is the ideal way to travel, the sun on our backs
and the kids squealing with delight as the boat
gathers speed and sprays them with brine. As we close
into the harbour, we soon see why Dubrovnik is
considered such a treasure. It is impossibly
beautiful, with its fortified harbour and the Stradun,
the grand main street where thousands of feet have
polished the stone pavement to an improbable shine.
It’s also tiny, with a population of 30,000 and, like
the rest of Croatia, incredibly cheap. Our kids think
Christmas has come early as we sit in a posh café in
the main square and indulge in luscious slabs of cake,
a mere 40p a slice. “I weally would like to wive
here,” mumbles nine-year-old Flan through mouthfuls of
confectioner’s cream.
But to get a real flavour of Dubrovnik, you have to
rise above it. We drag our protesting brood on a
one-mile tour of the city walls. They soon stop
complaining as we gain height and peer down into the
grid of streets and cobbled passageways that cut
between whitewashed houses, and into the assortment of
little courtyard gardens, all lit up with Barbie-pink
bougainvillea.
The highlight of our trip, literally, is the view from
the dizzying 650ft heights of the Minceta Fortress,
where we survey a sea of coral red roofs, spot
someone’s washing hanging from a TV aerial, a cat
sunning itself on a top storey windowsill, and beyond
it all, wonderful views across the bay, the cobalt
blue sea blending into the horizon with barely a fault
in the blue-grey haze.
We hire a car for a couple of days and drive along the
near empty coastal roads of the southern Dalmatian
coast, past imposing white hills speckled green with
scrub and trees. There’s a collective frisson as we
pass a sign to Mostar; again when we see another for
the main road to Sarajevo.
Our curiosity is aroused — the next day we venture
into neighbouring Bosnia. Our first port of call is a
supermarket, from which I can only conclude that the
Bosnians are extremely fond of Swiss chocolate, then
visit to Neum, or Bosnia-by-Sea, the only town on the
nine-mile stretch of coastline the country lays claim
to.
It turns out to be a rather godforsaken and grim bit
of land culminating in a car park that looks like it
could well be mined; the surrounding buildings have
bullet scars in the walls and I can’t help thinking
the Bosnians got something of a raw deal when it comes
to seaside resorts.
Then we head inland into the beautiful, fertile and
eerily quiet interior, where we perch on a pile of
rocks up in the hills and listen to the sound of
nothing. Passing back across the border, the lone
guard and his dog look surprised to see us, but after
a careful check of our boot and passports, they allow
us to leave.
Another day we take a boat trip to the Elaphite
islands. The kids discover that by chucking their
lunch over the side of the boat they can attract half
the marine life in the Adriatic. Word gets around
almost instantly, and suddenly we’re deluged by a
heaving frenzy of bread-crazed fish.
On Kolocep, population just 150, we sit in the little
café in the harbour admiring the surrounding islands
with their volcanic looking peaks. “Hope they’re not
still active,” says Chip, worried.
At Sipan we walk the pretty, woody half-mile to one of
the few sandy beaches in the region, where Hetty,
three, finds a crafted boat made from flotsam and
driftwood, and spends a couple of happy hours bouncing
it on the waves.
It’s perhaps the most idyllic and relaxing afternoon
of the holiday, only slightly marred by my wandering
off the path on the way back and coming face to face
with a large snake — I run in one direction, the snake
heads off in another, both as terrified as each other.
We spend our last evening lounging in one of the cafés
lining the pretty waterfront at Cavtat, watching the
pleasure boats deposit their passengers on the
quayside. Suddenly the little resort is invaded by a
high-spirited and raucous Croatian wedding party.
Some 30-odd cars parade up and down the seafront,
decked out in white ribbons, their drivers tooting
their horns and waving before parking in the middle of
the street, and disgorging their happy revellers into
the nearby church. We follow their lead, and are just
watching the bride and groom emerge as newlyweds when
our eldest two decide to engage in the
mother-of-all-battles over nothing in particular, and
have to be half-nelsoned into submission.
Jon and I are pink with mortification, but the
celebrating Croatians seemingly nonchalant. Scary
customs officials aside, it clearly takes more than a
couple of squabbling English kids to ruffle their
feathers.
Need to know 
Getting there: The Rees-Haughtons travelled with
Holiday Options (0870-013 0450,
www.holidayoptions.co.uk). Seven nights at the
three-star Hotel Albatros in Cavtat costs from £349pp
and £315 per child (under 12) based on two sharing,
including flights, transfers and half-board
accommodation. Other operators to Cavtat include
Transun (0870-444 4747, www.transun.co.uk) and Inghams
(020-8780 4444, www.inghams.com).
Reading: Croatia (Lonely Planet £10.99), Croatia
(Rough Guides, £9.99).
Further information: Croatian Tourist Office (020-8563
7979, www.croatia.hr).
