I can't quite articulate why I love this city.
It's as if the longer I'm removed from it the memories, sights and smells mature with time, deepening the romance and intensifying the beauty until one day -- in love-drunk prose -- I might actually blurt out that Split has surpassed Rome as my favorite on the map.
Unlikely as that may seem, Split continues to hold a charm for me. Maybe it's the way the historic centre lent itself to a wanderer's imagination. The craggy walls of Diocletian's palace, complete with vendors, cafés and apartments tucked inside, made it seem as though the Colosseum had come alive. It was bustling and energetic. You could live and bustle right along with it.
Or maybe it was the way the breeze caught notes of sea salt, lavender and freshly baked bread. It wasn't hard to inhale the smells while hiking up five marbled floors to our apartment. The trial would be instantly forgotten, however, once we were standing (spellbound) before our kitchen's view.
I can't forget that green market, either. Ripe for the picking every morning, young and old would mingle together among aisles of homemade olive oil and garlic ribbons. Though the early hours could be chilly, they were communal. I still remember the shaggy white dog, so well behaved for his size, that would faithfully heel next to his tall, shaggy white owner.
What was his favorite smell? I wondered.
