15 June 10

Features

Dine Another Day

With a rumbling volcano leaving all our agents stranded, a deadly deadline fast approaching and Istrian food and wine to be scoffed and quaffed, it was down to one journalist, Sophie Black, to tackle the dangerous mission to this picturesque corner of Croatia for food and fun. Photography by Vicki Couchman

I hadn’t left the UK for two cold years so it was the dream phone call. “Do you want to go and stay in a top hotel in the Adriatic for three days, I need a story on Croatia?” It was the editor of Ryanair Magazine.

“Is the Pope Polish?” I said.

“He’s actually German now,” came the reply.

“I don’t know why I even brought him up. Um. Yes. Please.” At first, I had images of sitting by the pool, sipping cold beers and writing really irritating status updates on Facebook. Then I received an email outlining what I was actually going to be doing. When you look at an itinerary that says things like “4pm to 5pm = time on your own” you realise that your jammy little holiday is going to have as much respite as a 007 mission.

“I want you to get to know the real Istria,” it read. “The vineyards, the olive plantations… the beers.” The beers? “Not a priority. And I want to know if this Hotel Monte Mulini is as good as it’s supposed to be.”

“OK. Great. Thanks so much for thinking of me. I didn’t realise I was so high profile.”

“You are, quite literally, my last resort,” said the editor. “Hahahahahaha,” I laughed.

“I’m not joking – all my usual travel journos are stranded because of the volcano and can’t get back in time.”

“Oh.” I quickly learned that I could kiss any pool-side tanning goodbye, and start synchronising my watch. To get to the resort town of Rovinj in Croatia (the Istrian peninsula is shared by Italy and Slovenia too), you can fly Ryanair either to Pula, or Trieste in Italy – it’s midway between the two. With the editor’s mission ringing in my ears (Ryanair’s answer to M), I arrived in Trieste with trepidation. But as we drove through a sliver of Slovenia and over the border into north-west Croatia, I calmed myself. Geographically, this part of Europe is very distinctive and feels borderless – after all, 100 years ago it was all part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

So it was forgivable when one member of our party, after driving past Italian road signs for half an hour, realised that we had actually landed in Italy and not Croatia. “I wondered why the guy at the airport said ‘arrivederci’,” he murmured. Indeed, arriving mid-afternoon in Rovinj, it felt like a mini-Venice. The spire of St Euphemia church rises above the city like St Mark’s Campanile, and the peach-coloured buildings with their shutters and bulging window boxes are reassuringly rustic. I soon realised that Istria is much like Italy – yet with the charm and eccentricity of Croatia thrown in and the restrictive euro exchange rate taken out.

The Hotel Monte Mulini (www.montemulinihotel.com) had all the bling of a Bond location. A floor-to-ceiling glass window in the lobby boasts a jaw-dropping view of the bay, while the staff are so intuitive you wonder whether your inner thoughts have been bugged. My room had the same breathtaking views of the ocean, and the temptation to explore was too much to resist. So, taking advantage of “4pm to 5pm = time on your own”, I asked reception if I could hire a bike.

A complimentary one arrived within minutes. Disappointingly, there was no ejector seat, but I headed off regardless on a cycle route through the Zlatni Rt (Golden Cape) park – a protected wooded area next to the hotel filled with pine trees, tiny coves for secluded swimming and places for rock climbing. The sweet smell of the pine and the salty sea air was enough to allay any fears of disappointing my uncompromising taskmaster M, and I fell a bit in love with the place. The sea was so clear you could actually make out individual pebbles on the seabed all the way from the coastal path, and it was so enticing that bathers had decided to ignore the early spring chilliness and were diving in.

But the real lure of Istria is the food. This is where the Italians go on holiday, after all. You can brave the mosquitoes as I did (007 eat your heart out) and go on a truffle-hunting tour organised by the hotel (€120 an hour or €350 for half a day and you get to keep the truffles afterwards, most of which are highly valued). The landscape is also dotted with vineyards and olive groves, at which you can sample the finest wines, grappa and olive oil.

The only downside is that the Istrians are so proud of their food they give you a lot of it – I ate six-course meals every day! On day one it was a novelty. On day two I was starting to feel like I’d been sedated, with visions of waking up chained to an elaborate execution device. By day three, I awoke to find I had been invited to a six-course lunch, an olive oil tasting, a wine tasting and another six-course dinner.

The lunch at Zigante outside the hilltop village of Motovun was exquisite – probably the best I’d had all trip (every course was truffle-based). But I was starting to lose my stamina and I’d only just started. The oil at Ipsa was perfect (I took home several bottles), but a shot glass of olive oil isn’t the ideal digestif and I was starting to dream of elaborate execution devices.

By the time I arrived at the Benvenuti vineyard at Kaldir even the youthful good looks of the brothers who were running the place couldn’t revive me from my stupor. Five six-course meals in three days may sound like fun, but try telling that to a foie gras goose. Arguably, the difference between myself and a foie gras goose is that I could have declined. But you didn’t try the black truffle tagliatelle or crisp white Malvazija wine. If you had, you’d have gone goosey too.

For those of you who don’t fancy doubling your own body weight, there’s plenty else on offer. For €200 you can take a flight with Aeroadria from nearby Vrsar over the Brijuni, a group of islands that former Yugoslav leader Tito once used as his state summer residence. Our pilot was called Rajko (better known as “Raymond”) but actually deserved Tom Cruise’s Top Gun call sign Maverick a little more than Tom did. A tip: don’t tell him you’re a nervous flyer – it amused Rajko considerably to watch one passenger’s face as he lurched the plane downwards as if we were losing altitude. OK, so it was quite funny. From the air, you can also see the Limski Fjord, where for about €40 you can have an unforgettable day on the water with Istrian Kayak Adventures.

Despite returning home about half a stone heavier, I had a wonderful time. If you want a quiet week away to eat, swim and be merry for considerably less than inside the eurozone, then Istria in Croatia is the perfect choice.

There are a few top-class hotels being built in and around Rovinj, as well as plenty of campsites and budget options. And you can see why – you can visit Venice on a day trip (less than two hours away by boat) and still stay in the relative quiet of a beach resort.

Many of the people I spoke to were proud of this new-found five-star status. When I told one woman I was staying at the Monte Mulini, she beamed: “That’s the best hotel in Croatia.” But they don’t need manicured pools and spa treatments as validation – the food, wine and clear blue sea speaks for itself. As for my mission, it may not have ended in the arms of a beautiful stranger, but when my mobile rang during a moonlit walk through Rovinj harbour I discreetly binned a call from M.