©Site content is copyright P. Breathnach unless otherwise made clear

Some years ago, when we were inexperienced and impecunious travellers, Herself and I took a package tour. We learned quickly that such things are not for us, and rescued our holiday by detaching ourselves as much as possible from the set programme, skipping local tours in favour of doing our own exploration. We came home with a "never again" resolve. But, fickle as always, we were recently seduced by an advertisement and booked a package tour to Croatia. The attraction was a cruise in a vintage schooner along the Dalmatian coast between Split and Dubrovnik, and our liking for boats and water outweighed our reservations about taking a holiday programmed by somebody else.

So we rose early on Saturday, betook ourselves to Dublin Airport, endured the usual tribulations, and took off for Split. Somewhere over Germany I was offered coffee by Air Adriatic. It was awful -- or, to be fair, I should say that it was not at all to my taste. I finished it only because I did not want to give the cabin crew the bother of disposing of liquid when collecting refuse.

The airline schedule did not accord with that for the boat, which had already departed Split by the time we landed. This was neither a surprise nor a problem; our package included the transfer to Makarska to join up with the boat. There was a representative of the tour operator in the arrivals hall. She told me where to find an ATM (right behind me) and then, Kunas in pocket, we boarded the bus for Makarska, about 50 km. to the south.

The scenic road runs along the very narrow coastal strip between the mountains and the sea. The strip is not continuous, so some stretches of the road are built on the sides of mountains, to the discomfiture of this acrophobe. The barren mountains are good for pictures, goats, and little else. Little wonder, then, that it looked as if in the past the small amount of low land was densely populated and intensively cultivated, and that there are many harbours which presumably served for both transport and fishing. Nowadays much of the area is heavily developed for tourism -- a smallholding is more profitable as a site for a hotel than as a vegetable plot -- and the harbours are used mainly for pleasure boating, among which inshore fishing boats mingle to add a patina of tradition. I worry that the rush to develop might be too headlong, and that it might not be managed well enough: it looked to me as if the exploitation of the beautiful coastline might make it ugly.

The bus deposited us at the harbour in Makarska. We had arrived before the boat. Encumbered by our bags, it seemed that the best thing to do was repair to one of the many bars facing the water. There I had coffee (to my relief, rather more to my taste than that on the plane), and we enjoyed the sunshine and the colour and the bustle while we waited for our ship to come in. And in she came, ghosting along in the sheltered water of the harbour, and tied up almost in front of us. Lopar was twenty-seven metres long, with wooden hull, two masts, and a substantial superstructure of varnished timber. By the time we reached the gangplank all passengers had disembarked and we were welcomed aboard by a crew member who showed us to our cabin; this was about two metres square, with another square metre of bathroom. When we had unpacked (meaning stowed most of our stuff under the lower bunk) the crewman returned to tell us that our lunch was ready. Lunch at 17:00? Well, lunch was included, and we hadn't been aboard at lunchtime.

Three courses and an hour later, we eventually set out to explore Makarska. The town is jammed between the harbour and a mountain, and its central square is built on an incline. The small church (in former days a cathedral) is at the upper end of the square, and is said to be interesting. But when we neared it, we found there was a mass on, and we chose not to intrude. Close by we came upon a produce market, but most of the traders had packed up, so we could but imagine how much fun we might have had. Further afield, we came across another market, far larger and targeted on tourists. At 20:00 on a September Saturday, there were probably more vendors than purchasers, yet there was no aggressive selling, so we could wander about at our ease, noting all sorts of things that we had no interest in buying.

It had been a long day, so we had a nightcap and returned to the boat. Herself headed for the cabin, while I stayed on deck to smoke a pipe. Across the harbour everything lit up -- lightning, and not too far away. The crewman who was on deck told me that it was Irish weather, that every time they had Irish passengers on board we seemed to bring our weather with us. With little wind to carry it away, the storm lasted a couple of hours.