Split

Split began as a retirement home. In 305 the emperor Diocletian, tired of ruling and of Rome, built himself a fortified palace on the Dalmatian shore to grow cabbages in, and when the empire fell the neighbours moved in — into the halls, the corridors, the emperor's own mausoleum, which became the cathedral of the saint he had martyred. Seventeen centuries later, three thousand people still live inside the walls, hang their washing on Roman columns and drink coffee in the Peristyle. Outside them: the Riva promenade under its palms, the pine hill of Marjan, the beach where the city plays picigin in the shallows, and the ferries to the islands leaving from the port every hour.

The traveller enters through the cellars — the emperor's basement, sold as a bazaar now — and comes up into the Peristyle; climbs the bell tower for the roofs, the sea and the islands; sits in the Peristyle at night when a klapa choir sings in the vestibule; walks the Riva at the hour of the passeggiata; buys figs and cheese at the pazar outside the east gate; climbs Marjan through the pines to the viewpoint over everything; swims at Bačvice; and takes a morning ferry to Brač for Zlatni Rat, or a slow one to Hvar or Vis, and comes back on the last one, sunburnt and content.

The Guide's honesty: Split is a working port and a proud city first, and a resort second — the palace lanes belong to the residents at seven in the morning and to the visitors at noon, so choose your hour —; the summer ferries fill: buy Jadrolinija tickets ahead and be early to the queue; the palace's 'Roman' guards at the Peristyle are theatre for tips; the beach at Bačvice is sand and shallow, rare on this coast — the rocky coves along Marjan are the locals' choice —; and Salona and Klis, an emperor's capital and a fortress in a mountain pass, are half an hour away and nearly empty. Go.