Aye-aye to the Adriatic - Telegraph.co.uk 2007-11-02

Taken from The Telegraph

Confirmed landlubber Stephen Cooperhad big misgivings about a sailing holiday up and down Croatia's jagged coast, but with an experienced skipper to show him the ropes, he and his
family soon found their sea legs.

''Don't worry, you sail with us, you'll be happy,'' said Luka Grubor, the owner of SailCroatia at his Fulham office.

I don't have a nautical bone in my body, which explains my wobbly sea-legs. My sons, Sam and Ben, once learned to sail dinghies and turned the colour of seaweed. Only Sarah, my wife, boasts sailor's wellies and a strong stomach to match.

George Bernard Shaw wrote: "God ... created the Kornati islands out of tears, stars and breath.''

Yet here we were, booking an Adriatic sailing holiday off the Croatian coast. Regaled by friends with photos of their Turkish gulet trip, we were green with envy for the blue waters and white sails, tales of calm seas, tranquil berths and seafood feasts.

One small objection reared its ugly head: my scariest experience had been emerging from the River Deben, plunging between sandbanks in a force five, with a skipper laughing maniacally, like Captain Ahab on a drug trip.

I expressed my fears. "Unless you are a qualified RYA Dayskipper with VHF licence, you get an experienced skipper,'' reassured Luka. "If you want to sail a little, that's up to you. The Adriatic is gentle and the weather good from June through September. Like every sea it has
unpredictable moments and you have to know your way around,'' he told us, masterfully calming nerves.

We would sail "island to island'' with land ahoy each evening. It was easy to trust
Luka, a confident giant who won an Olympic rowing gold for Great Britain and is equally at ease with oar and spinnaker. Croatian-born, he is very well-connected: "Your skipper will be Ivor, who is on the Croatian national team,'' he announced, clinching the deal.

By the time we flew into Split, our reassurance was complete. In the consultation which is part of the deal, you plan your itinerary in advance. The Croatian coastline looks like an unfinished jigsaw - 718 island pieces and not a straight edge in sight. We pointed to shapes we liked, Luka put them in sailing order, then faxed it to Ivor.

The spectacular Krka falls

Our yacht was moored in Kastela, 10 minutes from Split, so no annoying transfers. The boys' verdict was "cool!'' as we spied Pride, our floating home for two weeks, a gleaming 42-foot Benetteau Celebration.

Sarah murmured similar appreciation of the tanned six-foot Croatian at the bow. Ivor would become part of our family. He'd skipper, teach us to sail and eat with us every night. He was locally born, a skilled yachtsman and MBA graduate, and his knowledge appeared to have no
limit. He illuminated our daily voyage and overnight stops as only a native could. He proved an instinctive manager of boys, awarding Sam the rank of First Mate and Ben the prized Jack Hawkins role as Cabin Boy.

The Pride had six berths, two loos, CD player, fridge and all the nautical gizmos, including VHF, GPS, autopilot and plotter. We loaded basic staples like bread, milk, ketchup and Coke, and set sail to the sound of sheets creaking in winches and piratical
growls of "Aaarrgh, me hearties'' from the Cabin Boy.

Daily routine was quickly established: breakfast, sail, deck duties, a simple lunch underway, reaching our berth by late afternoon for swimming and dinner. Ivor patiently let us check the weather forecast, plot the day's course and decide where to swim. He read us like a book: sensing my decline as family role model, he neatly restored the balance by giving me first turn at the wheel. The boys raised and lowered sails, and learned to tell a rope from a sheet.

Ivor imparted his insider's knowledge of every islet, bay and port. Not least, he became our interpreter, teaching the boys Croat essentials like molim (please), sladoled (ice cream) and moj brat je debeli idiot (my brother is a fat idiot).

Each stop brought new experiences. From Skradin, we hiked to the spectacular Krka falls and corrugated our skin under the pounding waters. A quick supply raid on the market, then back onto the boat to Kornati. George Bernard Shaw wrote: "On the last day of Creation, God desired to crown his work, and created the Kornati islands out of tears, stars and breath.''

This archipelago of 149 islands, a largely uninhabited national park, is sailing heaven. We moored at a Vruje seafront restaurant. Ante, our host, a wrinkled leathery vision in Speedos, was the local expert on underwater spearfishing, who barbecued his catch before our eyes:
sea-fresh squid, followed by juicy figs (though the boys squeamishly elected for Croatian meatballs).

After a week, Ivor could see telltale signs of cabin fever in a family unaccustomed to living so close. He skilfully varied activities and sailing time to avoid clashes. Southwards then to Vis, its protected waters rich in wrecks. Ivor arranged my first wreck-dive with the local dive-school, while the boys snorkelled furiously, and Sarah lazed on the sundeck.
Inside the Blue Cave, sunlight bounces off the seabed silvering the water's surface. Hold your breath for 30 seconds and you can swim under the cave wall to the sea. Sam and Ben did so until they turned bright pink.

Fisherman work on the Dalmatian coastline

On Scedro, we shared a glass of red with fisherman Toni. In perfectly accented Croatian, Ben confided: "Moj brat je debeli idiot!'' Toni cackled, dashed inside to emerge with a red, fat-cheeked scorpion-fish from his stash and invited us to dinner. In Croatia no sauce smothers the fish, which comes grilled, boiled or baked. Toni grilled it till crispy and served bread, salad and more red. All apparently spontaneous, but undoubtedly stage-managed by Ivor. But who cared?

The evening was washed down with a rousing Anglo-Croatian serenade of "Je li ovo cesta za Amarillo?'' At Korcula, home of Marco Polo, its red-roofed Venetian architecture was a brief taster for Dubrovnik for which we sadly had no time. Mljet, too, where Ulysses dallied with
Calypso on his way home to the wife and Saint Paul was shipwrecked en route to Rome, would have to wait another year.

Not once did we see a "tourists welcome'' sign, yet welcomed we were, in a manner that belonged to an older Mediterranean, before package days. Thanks to Ivor, we were also experienced seafarers, if not fully qualified pirates, as Ben insisted at passport control.

Adriatic basics

SailCroatia (020 7751 9988; www.sailcroatia.net) offers The Benetteau 411, sleeping six and including skipper, transfers and planning consultation, from £2,410 a week.