On Grey New York Days, I Dream of Korčula

During a bleak stretch of New York winter 2023, I carefully mapped out a two-month solo journey through the Balkans for the summer. When I travel like this for weeks on end, I often willingly trade sleep for experiences. It’s invigorating but requires pauses to catch my breath along the way.

I scheduled one on Korčula, a long island in the Adriatic, just off Croatia’s southern coast. Colonized by the Greeks in the 4th century BCE and later inhabited by Romans, Byzantines, and many others, today, fewer than 15,000 people call the island home. Unlike Dubrovnik or Split, where I arrived with an armful of recommendations from countless friends who have been, I knew almost no one who had visited Korčula. And, as my ferry dropped a throng of passengers off on the island of Hvar on our way, I quietly worried I had misjudged.

An hour and a half later, we pulled into the dock on Korčula and in the midday heat, I set out to find the room I had rented up a steep hill, which I silently cursed as I lugged my suitcase behind me. But, the view when I arrived—of red roofed homes, green-silver tops of olive trees, and deep blue waters in the distance—reminded me that hills often bring rewards.

I strapped on my sandals and found a narrow walkway hidden between rows of homes and their gardens that led me to town. I stopped swiftly when I spotted a gelato shop and, with a single scoop of nutty hazelnut, I continued over to the petite medieval walled town. Weaving up and down stone streets, I found the coastline and its welcome afternoon sea breeze at the end of nearly each one.

Eager to dive in, I retraced my steps, threw on my bathing suit, and walked down a steep staircase to the sea for a sunset swim. In place of sandy beaches, there are large rocks from which you can jump into the sea here—as there are across much of Croatia. The Adriatic is salty enough that you practically bob up and down like a wine cork. And swimming in the strong current alongside the old town is a wonderful and playful challenge. I knew by then that Korčula was a place where I could easily pass an entire summer.

I spent most of my time over the next few days in the sea or on water taxis that shuttled me to swimming holes and nearby islands that are only inhabited in the summer. On one called Vrnik, I stumbled across a dream home: the old stone house with bright blue shutters sits between a gravel pathway and the sea. It’s covered on one side by flowering trees and bushes and there’s a wooden dock out back for a tiny boat.

Meanwhile, the nearby island Stupa Vela has no homes, just a small restaurant by the dock. Once past it, I was free to explore a dirt path through the grasses. There’s also the Franciscan Monastery that was built in the 14th and 15th centuries on Badija, a short boat ride away.

At night, sea- and sun-soaked, I would return to Korčula for a bowl of chewy Žsrnovski makaruni, a traditional local pasta, or a plate of cured meats and slices of summer tomatoes. And there were trips back to the gelato shop for scoops of rich pistachio and tangy raspberry.

As I prepared to board the ferry back to the mainland, I felt that rare melancholy I’ve only ever encountered on the road, when you have to leave a place you’ve fallen for to discover what lies ahead. Before I left, I took mental snapshots of the island to revisit on grey winter days in New York. I don’t know when I’ll be able to swim in Korčula's waters again, but in my mind, I’m already there.

By Devra Ferst