We did something we wouldn’t normally do. We booked into a posh hotel. The second-oldest hotel on the Adriatic – the Scessionist-style Heritage Hotel Imperial. Built in 1885, it was originally named after the Belgian princess and Austrian crown princess Stephanie – the Kronprinzessin Stephanie. It’s as close to royalty as I’m likely to get. James Joyce stayed here when he was in town; he features on the wall of famous visitors, with other notables like Albert Einstein and Robert de Niro.
It’s interesting how the timeline of name changes reflects the changing face of politics and power.
Italians changed its name to Regina Elena, as was the wife’s name of king Victor Emanuel III, since 1945 until 1948 hotel’s name was Moscow, after the break-up with Stalin it changed its name to Central. By fall of Ranković and centralism in 1966, the hotel gets today’s name – Imperial.
The plaque outside the main door reminds us that Hungarian poet Lőrinc Szábo stayed there when it was the Regina Elena. George Szirtes translated three of his poems; I think I’d have preferred to breakfast with Joyce.
I was in dire need of a couple of days away from hammers and drills and pounding feet. I wanted to hear something other than ‘Egy probléma, Mary’. I needed to see the sea, smell the salt air, and eat some fish.
Opatija is one of our closest coastal destinations – just under 3 hours across the Hungary-Croatia border.
It was just as I remembered. A carry-over from the Habsburg era, with its stately buildings, gorgeous parks, and 12 km of pedestrian path that hugs the Adriatic.
Ime, our faithful Toyota, limped into town having contracted some respiratory problems about 60 km from our destination.
I was a nervous wreck.
At check in, Ivan and Duska took care of us, promising to call Duska’s mechanic the following day and get her sorted.
They did. Ime was towed away and brought back a few hours later with a new ignition coil.
Impressive service.
Sadly, I didn’t discover the Bloody Mary bar at the breakfast buffet until the morning we were leaving. But I did enjoy my Bellini. Made freshly with fresh peach juice, unlike the disappointing pre-mixed version in the place of its birth.
Judging by the comments of the various tour groups (mainly American) on both mornings, the breakfast was the best they’d seen so far on their trip.
I’ll second that.
From our balcony, we could see the vast expanse of water, the saltwater pool, and the lungomare.
While in no hurry to leave our fabulous hotel room, we had some steps to get in.
We walked. And walked. And walked.
The weather cooperated. The buskers were in fine fettle. And the mid-summer tourists had yet to descend.
It’s a town in two parts. Down by the posh hotels, the shops are all designer boutiques with hefty prices that didn’t do much to deter the Asian tourists.
We looked and weeped (not really – I didn’t see anything I’d have worn, even if I’d had the money to buy it).
Some of the architectural trims I’d happily have taken home with me. I love this copper detail.
Up by the market, though, there’s a much more local vibe. This is where the real people live.
We stopped by the Church of St Jacob on the site of the old Benedictine Abbey. I hadn’t realised that Opatija is Croatian for Abbey. Dating from the early 1400s, it was here that Benedictine refugees set up shop. It would later be the site of the town’s first cemetery and the first school. Many religious orders had a hand in its revolution – Benedictines, Augustinians, Paulists, and Jesuits.
I was struck by the stained glass window of an angel standing behind a child with a football. And the door featuring marine characters. And the stations of the cross, where nasty people have nasty faces.
There’s a curious juxtaposition of old and new. Beside the grandeur of the late 1800s stand more modern builds like the Hotel Admiral. And somehow, they work. I’d almost always go for old vs new (Bordeaux was an exception), particularly in Opatija. Each to their own. I like the history and the who’s who of the hotel register.
You can’t go to Opatija and not stop by Zvonko Car’s 1956 statue of the Girl with the Seagull. It is to the town what the Little Mermaid is to Copenhagen and the Little Princess is to Budapest. It needs two visits – one by day and the other by night. The new statue replaced an older one, Madonna del Mare, which was hit by a storm. It was the work of Austrian sculptor Hans Rathausky. In her day, the Madonna was charged with keeping vigil over the souls of Count Arthur Kesselstadt, who, along with his wife, died in the storm of 1891.
The damaged Madonna can be seen in the Croatian Museum of Tourism housed at the Villa Angiolina (closed on Mondays) and a gold replica stands in the grounds of the Abbey.
Opatija lights up and night. Literally. And it’s lovely. Very whimsical. Poetic even.
It’s a lovely spot. Off-season. May is about as late as I’d leave it, though. And even then, the tour buses disgorged hundreds on any given day.
Where to eat
We’d come for the food. And there are so many restaurants to choose from.
The first night, we ate in the Marina at Grill Restaurant A&D, having walked to a grill house that Google swore was open but wasn’t.
Usually, Marinas scream $$$ but this was a simple place, with good food, and very friendly staff. Himself and the owner got into a new grandkids photo comp 🙂
On our way, we had a cocktail at the Bella Vista not far from our hotel. It was slammed. One waitress was being pulled in myriad directions.
Not the most patient of people on a good day, I was happy enough to wait until she got around to us.
I was by the sea.
Nothing much bothers me when I’m by the sea.
It took 10 minutes to take our order and another 10 to deliver it.
We complimented her on not losing it with other, less patient patrons. If I ever open a restaurant (about as likely as winning a Nobel Prize), I’d poach her.
The second night we ate at Pizzeria Roko, housed in what was once the home of Leo Sternbach. I swear, the valium is still in the walls. I stopped counting when the 32nd person was turned away. Make a reservation or be persistent and hang around until there’s a table ready. Seated outside, on the terrace by the street, we noticed a lone English woman come back for the third time. We shared a glass of our wine with her as she waited. Her patience paid off.
The food is mouthwateringly good. The cold seafood platter has me salivating even thinking about it. And the bruschetta was the best I’ve ever tasted. We were really too full to have the pizza but we took our time and managed it. Despite the queue of people wanting tables, we never once felt under pressure. Valium in the air perhaps. Our waiter was friendly and helpful and happy to talk wines. We were eating in the Pizzeria as the main restaurant (they have more meat dishes) was having some work done. A takeaway/fast food place completes the triumvirate. A fabulous concept with truly excellent food.
If you’re heading to Opatija, book a table.
