By day, the marina empties as Vis’s spirit of “pomalo” returns. With our planned trip to the Blue Cave canceled because of choppy waters, we hire some mountain bikes and take to the road. After a lung-busting cycle up the hills above Vis Town, we find ourselves on a road that unfurls onto the island’s central plateau, a rolling arcadia of vineyards spread across undulating acres of yellow sand.
Up and down the crinkle-cut coastline we go: past Rukavac with its twin-bays; Srebrena with its huge, chalk-white pebbles; Stiniva with its horseshoe cove. The latter is a favorite of those Croatian tourist board advertisements, though when we arrive there’s not another soul to share it with.
“The Mediterranean as it once was.” Does anywhere deserve the compliment as much as Vis?
On our final evening, as I sit in the stone courtyard of Pojoda restaurant enjoying a glass of Lipanovic, from a winery that matures its barrels in the military tunnels that previously defined the island, it seems unlikely. For here the island’s martial past has become an advantage, leaving behind an atmosphere just like this wine: pure, unsullied and uniquely Croatian.
Text: washingtonpost.com
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