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“This better be worth it,” my photographer friend Dave says, as we descend a long set of steps in search of a cove I’d discovered about three minutes earlier on Google Maps – a last-minute find to kill time before dinner. We emerge through a clearing in the trees, the sound of lapping water growing louder. Time for the reveal. We’re met, to my relief, with a Dalmatian paradise: a tucked-away bay with pine trees clinging to steep slopes, their branches almost touching the water below. At a small shed – a beach bar – overlooking the scene, our arrival interrupts the only three people here mid-conversation. They look surprised. One of them calls out to us in Croatian.
“Engleski,” I respond sheepishly.
He places his beer bottle on the table, pushes his chair back and walks towards us.
“We’re closed,” he says firmly.
Dave and I begin to swivel on our heels.
“But I can grab you a beer. We’re not used to seeing tourists out here away from the city – what brought you?”
After filling him in on our trip and the itinerary we’ve got lined up for the next few days, he asks what flight we’d arrived on. “I came over from Manchester,” Dave says.
“Oh, I was on that plane too,” he replies.
A pause.
“Actually… I was flying it.”
He grins and turns back towards his friends. “Well, you’ve picked a good place. Enjoy your trip – you’re going to love it here. Trust me.”