Sometimes neurons that I haven’t used for over 30 years start to fire off, and the memories they harbor trickle back in.
This began a few weeks ago, with just a low frequency hum. The more I read in preparation for the trip, the more it grew, and then last night the excitement on arrival to Split led to today’s outright cavalcade.
During my undergraduate studies I took a course on the history of the Dark Ages (now called Early Middle Ages). I remember the professor saying on the first day that he was going to start with the Emperor Diocletian because he was one of the greatest Roman Emperors.
He then clarified “great” as meaning outsized or important, not necessarily successful. But as an Emperor he was, in fact, successful in stabilizing the teetering Empire. He was able to return value to Roman gold coins (but not silver, which was a problem, because those were for daily use), and he was the first to divide the Empire and have a co-Emperor. He was also the first emperor to abdicate the throne.
What the professor didn’t say was that he was originally from Croatia (at the time it would have been Yugoslavia, or more fittingly, Dalmatia) or that, when he finally abdicated he retired to a coastal town, which would later become Split.
All of these year later, I’m here in Split, staying in a hotel that stands within the walls of Diocletian’s retirement villa. And every time I think about that a little tingle of excitement runs down my spine.
The palace is large – more a fortress than a palace, to be truthful. The size is a bit unclear, but by my math its footprint is roughly 9 acres.
Most impressive are the areas in the southeastern part of the structure, where the peristyle was once the courtyard into Diocletian’s quarters.
Adjacent is the domed vestibule, with it’s acoustics that attract folk singers in the summer.
Also near the peristyle is the Cathedral of St Domnius, which at one time was the mausoleum of Diocletian.
And in front stands the soaring belltower, standing well above all else in town.
Of course I climbed the belltower – and I did it before 9 am, when the morning was still comfortable and the crowds hadn’t invaded. The views, unsurprisingly, were spectacular.
Today was a day that kept surprising me. Everywhere I turned, I found something to enchant my mind.
The basement was sublime.
The statue of Bishop Grgur was amusing. He defied the papacy (well before Martin Luther) and is depicted as though he is about to cast a spell.
And in the evening I took a food tour, on which I was accompanied by four twenty-something New Yorkers. Along the way we chatted about the city and travel, while our guide showed us highlights of the town, sprinkling in delicious meals every 40 minutes or so.
Long after the tour was done the New Yorkers invited me to join them for drinks, but I declined. I needed to go back to the peristyle.
There, I took a seat on the steps surrounding the square, sipped a negroni, and listened as a lone guitarist strummed patiently, rattling off one chill song after another.
I don’t remember what he played, and it doesn’t matter. I was there, sitting in a 1700 year old palace, sipping a cocktail, and lost in the moment.
And I was happy.
butterblogger 