When
I first laid eyes on Dubrovnik's main road I had an overwhelming
desire to rip off my shoes and slip down it in my socks or, even
better, dive belly first and see how far I could slide. The road,
known as the Stradun, was so shiny I could almost see my face
in it. 'It's made out of pure marble,' a companion told me and
I spluttered in disbelief. Isn't marble reserved for the lobbies
of five-star hotels or the bathrooms of the super-rich? Apparently
not.
Anushka Asthana, The Observer, August
15th 2004
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It’s said of Istria,
the peninsula that hangs from Croatia’s northernmost tip, that
in every home there is a drawer containing seven flags.
Annabelle Thorpe, The Times, August
14th 2004
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The next morning, the sea
is as flat as a pancake. Tony junior is starting up the boat,
resplendent in a red-and-white Croatia T-shirt. England needs
only to draw tonight to reach the play offs. Not being English,
however, I want music, laughter and dancing with the local beefcakes,
not dark mutterings and death threats. We motor back to Prvic.
The "trek" part of the firm's name refers to the walks
from one side of the island to the next swim, so we're soon sauntering
through a deserted village. An elderly woman with a gummy smile
has set up a makeshift stall: strings of dried figs, shells and
coral, plus what looks like rosemary in olive oil, but is in fact
a homemade herb schnapps.
Christine Rush, The Independent,
July 10th 2004
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Picture this: you’re
sipping a cappuccino on the sunbaked wooden deck of a ferry steaming
between idyllic islands. A pair of dolphins chase at the stern,
and two yachts — their blue and white sails puffed out pompously
— race towards your wash. Otherwise, the water is as smooth as
a satin sheet. The Seychelles? Southeast Asia? Absolutely not.
The ship is called Dubrovnik, and this is island- hopping Croatian-style.
Andrew Thomas, The Sunday Times,
May 16th 2004
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I wanted to come to the island of Vis in
the Adriatic, a two-hour ferry ride from the Croatian coastal
town of Split, because I read somewhere that it’s what Mediterranean
islands once were, before mass tourism. I came because I wanted
to see the old Med. The Zorba the Greek Med, a place full of wizened
old men chatting in the shade, a place of olive oil and strong
wine.
Doug McKinley, The Times, May 1st 2004
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What would you do
if you knew you were completely alone on an abandoned island,
so still and quiet you could hear a boat coming from two miles
away? It took us a whole week to find an answer to that question,
but finally, it came, in a little cove where a lone pine tree
made a fragrant cave, where we lay and ate nectarines.
Helen Rumbelow, The Times, May 1st 2004
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Walk through any one of old
Dubrovnik's three city gates, and you'll find a litter tray for
cigarette ends and chewing gum. Inside, the reason becomes apparent.
Dubrovnik is the Bath of the Balkans: a pristine set-piece walled
town where shop signage is written on removable banners and only
one colour is allowed for doors - a classic dark green, which
combines most agreeably with the town's yellow limestone bricks
and terracotta roof tiles. Litter would be a wart on its face.
Oliver Bennett, The Guardian, April
17th 2004
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48 Hours In Dubrovnik...The
walled city of Dubrovnik on Croatia's Dalmatian Coast is at its
best in the spring.
Linda Cookson, The Independent, April
3rd 2004
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[Croatia]...is also the perfect
combination for those young enough to like the image of the intrepid
backpacker, but old enough to need just a holiday - you get to
relax on the beach but without the constraints of a package holiday
or the sense that you've seen it all before.
Ben Wright, Mail on Sunday, March
28th 2004
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here!
Ask anyone: Croatia is the
hottest destination in the Med this summer. The Dalmatian coast,
they will tell you, with its close-hauled constellation of 1,000
islands, is the “new Riviera”; while the Istrian peninsula, with
its Italian looks and flavours, is “the new Tuscany”. But these
slick phrases miss the point. Croatia isn’t really a “new” anything:
it is still very much its old self.
David Wickers, The Sunday Times,
February 1st 2004
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