Funny thing about Split – I nearly skipped it. Was dead set on heading straight to Dubrovnik until a Croatian bartender in Zagreb grabbed my phone, deleted my bus booking and said “you’re an idiot if you miss Split.” Best unsolicited advice I’ve ever taken.
The Stone City That Breathes History
You know that feeling when you walk into a place and immediately realize you’ve been missing out? That’s Split. The moment I stepped off the ferry (yes, took the scenic route from Ancona), the smell of sea salt mixed with grilling fish hit me. But it’s not just another coastal town – this place literally lives inside a Roman palace.
Diocletian’s Palace isn’t some roped-off tourist site. People live here. Actually live here. I watched a grandmother hang laundry from a 1,700-year-old window while tourists below photographed the ancient walls. My Airbnb? Inside the palace walls, up three flights of worn marble stairs that millions of feet have polished smooth over centuries.
That room though – see that massive historical mural behind the bed? Spent my first hour just staring at it. Felt weird brushing my teeth while Pope John Paul II’s 1979 visit to Split watched over me from the wall.
Getting Lost is the Point
First morning, I ditched Google Maps. Best decision ever. These narrow limestone alleys – they’re meant for wandering.
Found myself in the cellars (those underground passages everyone talks about), where Game of Thrones filmed Daenerys’s throne room. €8 entrance fee. The echo down there is insane. Some kid was singing and it sounded like a full choir.
Oh, those Roman soldiers? Yeah, they’re everywhere. €5 for a photo. Cheesy? Absolutely. Did I do it? Also absolutely. The guy playing centurion told me he’s been doing this for twelve years. Has a law degree. Croatia, man.
The bell tower of Saint Domnius Cathedral? Yeah, I climbed it.
- 183 steps
- My calves burned for two days.
- The view? Worth every wheeze at the top.
- Pro tip: Go at sunset, but prepare to fight for photo spots.
Where Stone Meets Sea
The Riva promenade – it’s where the city exhales. Every evening around 6 PM, the whole town seems to migrate here. Grabbed a Karlovačko beer (€3) and just… sat. Watched the yachts pull in. Couples arguing about dinner plans. Kids chasing pigeons.
That rooftop infinity pool? Hotel Ambasador. Their Sky Bar became my splurge spot. You’re floating above centuries of history while sipping overpriced cocktails. Worth it once. Maybe twice.
The Food Situation
Let me be real about Croatian coastal food.
That pizza. I know, I know – going to Croatia and eating pizza? But listen. Wood-fired, local prosciutto that melts on your tongue, cheese from Pag island. €9. Beat anything I’ve had in most Italian tourist towns. Fight me.
Black risotto at Restaurant Bokeria. They cook it in this iron pan and when they bring it out, people at other tables stop eating to look. It’s theater. Tastes even better than it photographs. Your teeth will be black for hours. Own it.
Then there’s the new wave stuff. That colorful creation? Restaurant Zoi. Beetroot carpaccio with some molecular gastronomy situation happening. Honestly? Give me the traditional stuff. But Instagram loved it.
| What I Expected | What I Got | The Verdict |
| Basic Mediterranean | Black risotto that stains your teeth | Incredible, embrace the vampire look |
| Tourist pizza | Actual wood-fired perfection | That prosciutto one haunts my dreams |
| Overpriced seafood | Fresh catches for €12-15 | Cheaper than my local sushi place |
| Boring hotel breakfast | That modern spread at Ambasador | OK this one was actually overpriced |
Day Trips That Justify The Rental Car
Rented a beat-up Fiat for €35/day. Manual transmission because that’s all they had left.
The Pelješac Bridge Drama
This bridge. Opened in 2022, connects Croatian mainland to Dubrovnik without going through Bosnia. Engineering marvel, sure. But nobody warned me about the wind. Thought my Fiat was going to take flight. White knuckles the whole way. Views though? Unreal.
Krka: Where Fish Photobomb Your Waterfalls
Hour north to Krka National Park. €30 entrance in summer, €10 in October when I went. Guess which I recommend?
That boat ride from Skradin? Takes you through a canyon that looks fake. Water’s this impossible green. The captain – Croatian guy who looked about 200 years old – turned off the engine halfway through. Dead silence except for birds. Then he goes “you hear that? That’s what Croatia sounded like before tourists.” Savage.
Remember Marko the duck? This guy. Followed me from the main waterfall area all the way to the mills. Other tourists started taking photos of him following me. Became a whole thing. Someone’s kid cried when Marko wouldn’t follow them instead.
The fish though. They don’t care. Swimming in the designated area near the entrance (only spot allowed now) and suddenly you’re surrounded by hundreds of them. No fear. One swam straight into my chest. Their scales catch the light filtering through the water – looks like swimming through liquid silver.
Those ice cream stands at the exit?
€5 for a Magnum. Highway robbery. Bought two.
Mostar: The Bridge Everyone’s Seen on Instagram
Three-hour drive to Bosnia. Nobody tells you about the border. Not the crossing – that’s easy. I mean the emotional whiplash. One minute you’re in EU Croatia with perfect highways, next you’re in Bosnia where bullet holes still scar buildings from the 90’s war.
The old bazaar leading to Stari Most. Every shop sells the same copper coffee sets, same “hand-woven” scarves (with Made in China tags if you look close), same pomegranate juice for €3. But then you turn a corner…
And there it is. The bridge.
Here’s the thing nobody mentions: it’s not ancient. Original from 1566? Yes. But what you’re looking at? Rebuilt in 2004. The original was destroyed in the war. They fished every stone from the river, numbered them, rebuilt it exactly. That’s more impressive to me than if it had just survived.
The Jump
Guys collect money to jump. €25-30 per jump. Twenty-seven meters high. I watched one do it five times in two hours. That’s €150. Tax-free. Not bad for repeatedly almost dying.
Local kid told me the real jumpers – the ones who do it for tradition, not tourist euros – they jump at dawn. No audience. No money. Just them and the Neretva river.
Didn’t see that. Saw the circus instead. Still worth the detour.
The Beach Club Situation
Back in Split. Beach clubs. Let’s talk.
Žnjan Beach: The local spot. Pebbles, not sand. Bring water shoes or suffer. Free to enter. Beers from the grocery store. Croatians everywhere, tourists looking confused about the rocks.
Beach Club Bene: Tried to be Mykonos. Pine trees meet concrete slabs meet overpriced sunbeds (€40/day). DJ started at noon. Nobody was dancing. Everyone was on their phones.
Joe’s Beach Bar: Hidden in Podstrana, 20 minutes from center. Run by an actual guy named Joe from Michigan who married a Croatian woman in 1993 and never left. €15 sunbeds, €4 beers, blues music on Sundays. This is the one.
The Water Reality Check
Mediterranean in October? Still swimmable. Barely.
- Morning: Freezing
- Noon: Cold
- 3 PM: Perfect
- 5 PM: Why did I get in?
Locals swim year-round. Saw a 70-year-old woman doing laps in October while I stood there shivering in my wetsuit. She laughed at me. Fair.
Split After Dark
The palace at night? Different animal entirely.
Those cellars that cost €8 during the day? Free to walk through at night. Completely different vibe. Couples making out in the shadows. Some teenager practicing violin. Echoes bouncing off 1,700-year-old stones.
The Bar Crawl Nobody Talks About
Academia Club Ghetto: In the palace walls. Used to be a medieval ghetto. Now it’s where locals drink. No sign. Green door. Knock twice. I’m kidding about the knock but you will walk past it four times before finding it.
Fabrique Pub: Kraft beer bar. Twenty-six taps. The bartender has opinions about everything. Let him talk. He’s usually right.
Central the Club: Where everyone ends up at 3 AM. On a boat. Moored permanently. Seen more sunrise walks of shame from this gangplank than anywhere else in Croatia.
Real Talk: Where to Actually Stay
Palace apartments sound romantic until you’re dragging luggage up medieval stairs at midnight. My knees still haven’t forgiven me.
Inside Palace Walls:
- Pros: Living in actual history, stumble home from bars, bragging rights.
- Cons: Stairs from hell, tourist noise starts at 7 AM, no parking within a kilometer.
Bacvice Area:
- Pros: Beach access, normal stairs, locals actually live here.
- Cons: 15-minute walk to old town, less “authentic” (whatever that means).
Hotel Ambasador (the modern one in my photos):
- Pros: That rooftop pool, actual elevator, breakfast spread that could feed an army.
- Cons: €250/night in season, feels like you could be anywhere.
I stayed three nights in the palace, four in Bacvice. Guess which I preferred? Bacvice. Every time.
Split vs Dubrovnik: The Fight Nobody Wants to Have
Alright. Cards on the table.
Dubrovnik is a museum. Split is a city.
Went to Dubrovnik after Split. Three days. The old town? Gorgeous. Pristine. Dead after 8 PM when the cruise ships leave. Walked the walls (€35 now, what?). Ate at restaurants where nobody spoke Croatian. Stayed in an apartment that cost more than my monthly car payment.
Split? Messy. Graffiti on Roman walls. Laundry hanging from palace windows. The fish market that smells like… a fish market. Kids playing football against a 1,700-year-old wall their great-great-great-grandparents probably played against too.
One place is for photos. The other’s for living.
Choose accordingly.
Why Instagram is Full of Lies
Every Croatian beach photo you’ve seen? Lies. Well, not lies. Selective truth.
Those crystal-clear waters? Real. At 6 AM. Before the boats. Before the people. Before the wind kicks up sediment. By noon, still beautiful but not that impossible turquoise you double-tap.
The beaches themselves? Rocks. Pebbles. Some concrete platforms if you’re lucky. Sand beaches exist – Zlatni Rat on Brač, sure – but most places? Bring those rubber shoes or accept your fate.
Best swimming? Not at beaches. These hidden spots along the coast where locals have built janky wooden ladders down the rocks. No amenities. No sunbeds. Just you, the sea and maybe some old Croatian dude who’s been swimming there since 1973.
The Money Truth
Let’s talk numbers because nobody else will:
Daily Damage in Split:
- Accommodation (Airbnb, old town): €80-150
- Accommodation (outside center): €40-80
- Meals (tourist spots): €25-40/person
- Meals (where locals eat): €10-15/person
- Beers: €2-5 (depends how close to the Riva)
- That stupid tourist train: €10 (don’t)
- Ferry to islands: €5-15
- Renting a scooter: €30/day (do this)
Spent €1,400 for ten days. Could’ve done it for €800 if I’d skipped Ambasador’s rooftop and that one ridiculous €90 dinner at Zrno Soli. (Food was good. Not €90 good.)
The Scams Nobody Warns You About
- The Menu Switch: Restaurant shows you one menu outside. Different prices inside. “Oh, that’s the old menu.” Sure it is.
- The Taxi Meter: “Meter’s broken, flat rate €20.” It’s a 5-minute ride. Walk.
- The Boat Trip Special: “Only today, special price!” It’s the same price every day. Shop around.
- The Roman Soldiers: Some charge after you take the photo. Agree on price first.
- The “Local” Restaurant: If someone’s standing outside trying to drag you in, it’s not where locals eat. Ever.
When to Actually Come
July-August? You’re insane. Unless you love crowds, €200 rooms and fighting for restaurant tables.
September-October? Perfect. Still swimming weather (barely), half the tourists gone, locals return to their own city.
May-June? Also solid. Water’s warming up, Germans haven’t descended yet.
November-April? City’s yours. Hotels cheap. Restaurants grateful you’re there. Swimming? You’re hardcore or hypothermic.
The Islands Dilemma
Everyone says “do the islands!” Which ones? There are over a thousand.
Hvar: Party island. Mega yachts. €18 cocktails. Prince Harry was there once. Pass.
Brač: Zlatni Rat beach. Yes, it’s beautiful. Yes, it’s packed. Yes, that famous shape changes with the current. Worth a day trip, not more.
Vis: The one. Farther out, fewer tourists, Blue Cave if you must (you don’t must). Komiza town on the far side? That’s the Croatia from 30 years ago.
Šolta: 30 minutes from Split. Nobody goes there. That’s why you should.
Things I Wish Someone Had Told Me
- ATMs in the palace charge ridiculous fees. Walk five minutes out.
- That “fresh” fish at the market? Frozen if it’s Monday. Boats don’t run Sundays.
- The green market behind the palace. 8 AM. Grandmothers selling actual homegrown tomatoes. Best €2 you’ll spend.
- Uber exists but taxi mafia doesn’t like it. Had one driver cancel when he saw where pickup was.
- Everyone speaks English. Until prices are discussed. Then suddenly, no English.
- The public bathroom situation is criminal. €1-2 to pee. Cafes make you buy something. Plan accordingly.
Final Truth
That bartender in Zagreb who told me to come here? Found him on Facebook last week. Sent him a message. “You were right.”
His response? “I know. My cousin owns five apartments there. You probably stayed in one.”
Croatia, man.
Split’s not perfect. It’s touristy. It’s sometimes overpriced. That palace everyone raves about? It’s crumbling in parts, smells like piss in others and those Roman soldiers are annoying as hell.
But at 7 AM, when the sun hits those white stones and the fishermen are selling last night’s catch and some grandmother’s yelling at her grandson from a palace window and the church bells are going mental?
Yeah. You should probably come.
Just don’t come in August. And bring water shoes.
