Living in a Roman Palace for a Month

Growing up in America, it’s easy to take the age of things for granted.

Few things predate the colonial era, and on the West Coast, the nineteenth century seems old. It’s quite difficult to fathom things lasting centuries, much less more than a millennium. But, here on the shores of the Adriatic, the marks of generations long past still stand. For the last month, we’ve lived in a slice of antiquity itself, within the walls of a former Roman palace. While that might sound glamorous for a moment, 1700 years can make for quite the fixer-upper. The original palace was built in the fourth century by the emperor Diocletian as a retirement home. At the time of its construction, the structure extended all the way to the shore of the sea so boats could dock within the lower level. The residence overlooking the sea took up half of the palace, and the remainder was used as a military garrison. After abdicating the throne, the emperor spent his final years here—mostly in gardens tending to cabbages. Three centuries after his death when the nearby town of Salona fell to Slav invaders, the displaced population took refuge within the former palace’s walls. The site has been continuously occupied since—each era leaving its own mark. 

My favorite time to roam the streets is in the early morning when the light is soft and the crowds have yet to form. The few residents stir, tending to laundry or walking back from the bakery. Electric carts hum and clank through the narrow corridors as city workers collect trash and make repairs. The local cats make their rounds or stretch out in the sun. The Peristyle sits empty. Sometimes, I’ll pick up a cup of coffee and sit before the nearby restaurant sets out their cushions and trays. Occasionally, someone stops to take photos or darts in and out of an alley, but mostly, it’s quiet. It’s strange to take in a sight and see it portrayed the same way in history books or paintings from centuries ago. Little has changed since its inception. I often wonder what the Romans might think if they could imagine what the old city would become one day. That people would come on ships as large as cities—or fly—from all corners of the Earth just to spend an afternoon walking the original stones. They would line the steps of the court sipping coffee and juice and form crowds to share images that could be communicated across continents in an instant. A community that has adapted and spanned the ages grew out of what was intended to serve one man. I can’t help but wonder what from this age will live on?

Walking the empty streets reminds me of walking through a dream of endless corridors—always wondering what’s around the next bend. The corridors don’t always make sense, and what seems like a dead end might just have a narrow passage to somewhere else. In an empty plaza you might find an old Roman temple or just a few tables and a restaurant. The Croatians aren’t the only ones who have called the old city home for centuries; more than a few cats reside here. They like to make their rounds in the early hours, and after a few weeks here, you can expect to cross paths with the same ones. Our apartment is on the 2nd floor (3rd for Americans) overlooking a courtyard with a restaurant. There’s a black and white short-hair who likes to visit our floor a couple times a week before stopping by the café across the street. Occasionally, I’ll see her in the plaza or coming back from the harbor—and once from inside a salon window. Our routines aren’t that different as I tend to drift from café to café and go for walks along the sea. Though, I generally avoid taking food from strangers. On the way back from my walk, I usually pick up a couple croissants and spend some quiet time working before Tori wakes up. When you’re traveling together in tight quarters, it’s good to carve out a little time for yourself each day. 

We’ve spent the most time here out of any place so far. When I told our Uber driver on the way from the airport that we’re staying for a month, he laughed and exclaimed, “I can’t believe it! A whole month! You will actually get to see Croatia. You will be locals. Wow! A whole month! You are my favorite.” He gave me his number so I could tell him what we ended up doing with our time here, and anytime I text him to set up an airport transfer, he replies with something like, “You’re still here!! 🤣🤣” Not many Croatians move away from Croatia, and to him, we may as well be honorary Croatians now—or at least Uber passengers of the year. Croatia may not be the wealthiest nation in Europe, but people know how to live well—especially in Dalmatia. With over 300 days of sun a year, most people spend their days outside. Mountains rise up along the arid coastline, and the sea is never far from view. There’s hiking, swimming, fishing, and a pretty strong running community early in the morning. Old men gather on the harbor to tell tales or sing folk songs and strum a guitar. Occasionally, younger Croatians will stop and sing along, attracting a swarm of tourists if they stay too long. No one seems to take work too seriously, and there’s always time to grab a coffee or go for a drink. The food is Mediterranean with a strong Italian influence and an emphasis on whatever’s fresh from the sea. It seems like it’s easier to live more simply when life is reflected in the clear blue water of the Adriatic.

You can swim in early October. The warm summer days last until the first fall storm brings days of rain and signals the turn of the season. The crowds thin, and tour operators close for the winter. What’s left are locals and expats, a few travelers like us, crisp, quiet mornings by the sea, and usually warm, sunny afternoons. It’s a quieter, slower scene—maybe a glimpse of what it was before the days of Instagram and Game of Thrones. In the light of shorter days, it’s been a little easier to feel the pull of home—to have a cosy place to settle into, to unbox the flannels and scarves and coats and crowd around a fire with friends in the cool night air. Though, it could just be the lack of pumpkin-spice.

We’ve been here for a month now, and even though we’ve figured out our local routine, I feel like I’m only scratching the surface—just now learning where to look. Off the coast, there are hundreds of islands connected by a network of ferries—each ancient town with its own personality. To the north, the cities more closely resemble their Italian, Venetian, and Slovenian neighbors. Across the mountain range that spans the coast, the land turns lush and green. Forests and farmland sprawl, and the winters bring dustings of snow. Lakes cascade into lakes creating a display of waterfalls like few places on Earth. It could take a lifetime to explore the land—which is probably why most Croatians are content to stay. Even though our Uber driver can’t sponsor us for a visa, I’m sure we’ll be back.