Although only a small channel separates it from the mainland, Trogir’s architecture and ambience more closely resemble those of Croatia’s offshore islands than the mainland. Redolent with Venetian influence and almost entirely pedestrianized, its Old Town is perfectly self-contained on a small island connected to the mainland by one bridge and the much larger (and less interesting) island of Čiovo by another. Conveniently, both the bus station from which the half-hourly #37 (taking 30-45 minutes) runs to Split and the town’s market flank the mainland side of the bridge.
Sedate, quiet, and understated, Trogir is a perfect counterpoint to Split. Indeed, it’s amazing that only Kaštela, the collective name given the former rural fortresses of local nobility (and the towns that have superseded them) divides the two. While Venetian rule left a relatively small imprint on Split, you could be forgiven for thinking you’re in 16th-century Italy rather than 21st-century Croatia navigating Trogir’s almost exclusively pedestrianized streets. Although apparently overrun by tour groups in summer, I found it tranquil in March and it apparently is also relatively undisturbed on summer nights.
Trogir’s timelessness comes from its layout, essentially unchanged since its foundation by Greek settlers from Vis in the 3rd century BC, and the near-perfect preservation of its buildings, on account of which it is a UNESCO World Heritage sight. Although it takes barely ten minutes to cross on foot, it’s easy to get pleasantly lost in its narrow lanes, whose combination of preservation and almost manicured decay seems somehow fitting. Besides the garish tourist sign at restaurants along the town’s fringes and near the main square, a very attractively positioned football pitch at the town’s edge seemed to me to be the only thing out of place.
Sights, rather than sensuousness, are what draws the crowds, and if you’re in a hurry, there are several buildings you shouldn’t miss. The most famous is the Cathedral, which dominates the main square. Its renown owes to its West Portal, intricately carved with allegorical scenes by the Slav mastermason Radovan in 1240 and cruelly covered by scaffolding at the time of my visit in 2005. Directly opposite the Portal is the Čipiko Palace, the prettiest of the town’s noble residences and the former seat of one of the most powerful families in provincial Dalmatia. The beautiful 15th-century Town Loggia and its clock tower are on the south side of the square. The Lion of St. Mark (symbolizing Venice), which once adorned it, was blown off by anti-Italian activists 1932 in a relatively pointless gesture: they’re ubiquitous throughout Dalmatia. It’s the only thing amiss in the assemblage.
The attractive Riva is rather touristic by day, but at its west end stands the delightful octagonal Kamarlengo Fortress, where the eponymous Venetian official spent his year’s term. Nearby is Marmont’s Gloriette, a small gazebo built during Austrian by locals to honor Marshal Marmont – the much-beloved Napoleonic governor of the Illyrian provinces. It’s perhaps the world’s only monument honoring a wartime occupier!