It was an absolutely inspired idea, though I didn’t really know it at the time, to start this trip in Venice. The Adriatic was Venice’s world for centuries, despite the efforts of various smaller cities to establish their own independence, and it shows in the architecture, art and culture of Dalmatia. Each of the cities we’ve visited along the Dalmatian coast–Senj, home of the Uskok pirates in the 16th century; Pag, at the foot of an incredible sheltered bay on the island of that name; Nin, a tiny walled town on a little island, once Roman Aenona; Zadar, once the great fortress of Zara; and now Trogir–is in some ways like a mini-Venice, with the great difference that the Serenissima herself never felt the need for walls, while these cities are all fortresses. The series will culminate with Ragusa (now Dubrovnik), the greatest of Dalmatia’s city-states and the only one never to be subjugated to Venice. So, to begin with a night in Venice itself, which felt so familiar finally, was the perfect start to this part of the trip.

Each of these towns–some tiny, some not quite so, Zara (now Zadar) being by far the largest and, on the evidence of its magnificent museum of Christian art, once very rich indeed–has a very similar feel, to the point that the details begin to blur. In a way that’s not such a bad thing, it’s a lesson in itself: this part of the Adriatic, Dalmatia, is a world unto itself, with a coherence of urban form and feeling that unifies the scattered settlements marking the dramatic, largely empty coast. Red tile roofs, white stone walls, narrow, winding streets–the place we stayed in Zadar for two nights was down an alley one could reach across with one arm–and above all, highly defensible sites.

Senj alone is on the mainland, in a tiny valley on the coast, just before the Velebit range rises straight from the water for the next 80 km or so. The town and its tiny port are dominated by the fortress of the Uskoks–at least, that’s who I think built it, I’ll need to check–today it’s the museum of the Uskoks, more or less, since the town is devoted to its pirate heritage, so that was what I came away thinking.

Pag itself is an island, though a large one. We got there on a traget, a ferryboat that goes back and forth between the coast at ?? and the island’s northern end. Note that although this ferry seems to run all day, even on Sunday, and is a service of Jadrolinija, the national ferry company, there was absolutely no information about it obtainable online or in print from the US. It cost us about 90 kuna for a car with two people, and took 11 minutes. The ferry was about to leave when we arrived, and as we crossed to Pag, another ferry was going in the opposite direction.

In fact, I tell a lie: our map, from the German map-maker ??, had the ferry route marked. So, if I had had that map when I planned this trip, I could have planned for the ferry. As it was, we made it without the slightest difficulty, and it made our day much more enjoyable. Not only was it convenient, but there’s something about a boat, even a rather humble ro-ro ferry that just goes back and forth over 11 minutes worth of sapphire Adriatic, that makes life seem more, well, lively.

But I digress. Pag town is not only on an island, but surrounded by water on two sides: its bay to the northwest, and salt pans to the southeast. Zara is on a peninsula that sticks up from the mainland like a tiny thumb on a giant mitten. Nin is perhaps the most perfectly situated so far: on a tiny island in a great, wide bay, with the sea on three sides and a lagoon separating it from the shore. Even today there is only a narrow bridge, one car wide, to link the walled town to land. Trogir, where we are now, is in the oddest spot: on another tiny island, this time between the mainland and another, large island, Čiovo, with a narrow channel on either side. One gets an overwhelming sense that these were cities that needed to defend themselves, again and again, all through the centuries.