A Croatian Roadtrip: Makarska to Zadar

AKA: Makarska to Zadar – The Road Less Travelled. Or the one where we made the decision to change our route halfway and ended up in the middle of nowhere.

We wake up in our Makarska hotel room and peer out of our balcony to see blue (ish) skies.  This will be perfect for our epic coastal drive to Zadar.  Our trusty weather app suggests we may be in for some stormy and changeable weather over the next couple of days, but for now, the weather is fine.  We settle ourselves on the terrace for breakfast – and suddenly the heavens open.  I’m still wandering around the dining room trying to find the milk when everyone rushes past me, clutching cups of coffee and croissants.  Back in our room we can no longer see the blue skies as the grey clouds roll down the mountains.  Croatia weather is indeed changeable.  Ten minutes later, the sun is back out, the skies are blue and we’re packing up the car, which has survived the night at its perilous angle.

Mr Fletche has set the GPS, and it seems eager to send us on the E65 Highway.  This is indeed the quicker option, but we have plenty of time today, we’re not able to check in to our Zadar apartment until 3pm so we ignore continue along the D8.  Once more, we are hugging mountains on the right, and the sparkling Adriatic on the left.  We travel through little waterfront towns such as Omis and we skirt the suburbs of Split.  Our first fleeting impressions of the town aren’t favourable as all we can see are hypermarkets and high-rise buildings. We hope we’ll get a much better impression when we return here properly on Sunday.

And then something changes.  Between Split and Primosten, Mr Fletche decides he has seen one too many winding curves, beautiful seaside towns and glimpses of the deep blue sea, and is impatient to arrive at our final destination. He wants to experience the fresh Croatian air of Zadar, and not be cooped up any longer in the Fletchemobile#3.  So after hours of ignoring the GPS, Mr Fletche decides to listen and take the next right-hand turn towards the E65.  Which we do. 

We now find ourselves traversing those mountains that we have been at the foot of for so long.  The road gets narrower and narrower and twistier and turnier as we climb higher and higher.  We do not pass another car.  Which is a good job, as we are now on single-track roads with no signs of a passing place.  It’s just us, and a hundred windmills. 

We’re starting to regret listening to the GPS.  We were happy on the D8.  This unnamed dirt track is not making Mr Fletche happy. The Fletchemobile#3 has clearly not been manufactured with this type of excursion in mind.  There are finally signs of civilisation ahead.  Except it’s like a ghost town, and now the banjo twangs from “Deliverance” are playing on a loop in my head.

And just when we fear we’ll be lost in the Croatian wilderness for ever, the road widens, road markings start to appear again and we are heading for the E65.  We breathe a sigh of relief.