Two nights in Sumartin, Brač Island, Croatia

We knew that between the tourist hubbub of Split and Dubrovnik we'd want some downtime in Croatia. Our island-hopping tactic is a tried and tested route for many people coming to the archipelago, but most who venture to the Dalmatian coastline in the south head over to Hvar (the 'party island') or else to Miljet, a nature reserve. We opted for Brač, an hour's ferry ride from Split and famous for its white limestone, which was used to build the likes of Diocletian's Palace in Split and the White House in the United States.

As we offloaded from the ferry in Supertar, coaches lined the nearby bus station, transporting hoards of tourists off to their big hotels, busy beaches and parasol-lined roads in Bol on the south side of the island. Meanwhile, we clambered onto our own, nearly empty bus, with a curious array of local passengers, including men in dusty hats carrying shopping bags and a pair of elderly nuns. Soon enough our bus started its winding route through the centre of the island to Sumartin on the east side of the island.

The gentle trundle of the bus calmed my nerves as we wound round the coastline on some quite hairy-chested stretches of road with sheer drops into canyons below. Piles of unpolished rocks are dotted everywhere across the island, the work of women and labourers over many centuries as they cleared the land for cultivation. I read somewhere that when the Venetians ruled the island, a man from Brač would be expected to plant 100 olive trees before he could marry. Hundreds of years later these labours of love - mounds of rubble - lie as far as the eye can see.

^ Sumartin is a sleepy rural fishing town. Little boats bob in the clear blue harbour, locals relax outside coffee shops reading papers and chatting to their neighbours. The Church of St Nicholas stands protectively over the village, the bells tolling every half hour in steadfast reassurance. Croatians are deeply religious I've found. Crosses over doors, rosary beads wound round door handles and pictures of the saints placed on bedside tables.

^ Karlovacko beer became a familiar friend, a large bottle costing less than a glass of Coke. We spent many an afternoon perched on the edge of the quaint little harbour sipping cold drinks and chatting as the sun glittered on the water.

^ A platter of Dalmation smoked ham, local olives, salted anchovies, hard cheese, sardine pate and fresh bread made for a triumphant lunch when we arrived.

^ Our apartment was a clear 20 second walk from the ocean, and beautifully secluded so you could jump straight into the water from the rocks. No sooner had we dumped our bags, we shot out of the door to the sea, despite it being nearly 7pm. There was no one for miles around as we dipped a toe into the warm Adriatic sea and ventured in, supervised only by the mountains and the fish.

^ As the sky darkens, the water, which is the clearest blue during the day, turns inky, glistening like oil. The sky turns peachy, and even transforms the mountains of Makarska pink across the water. Surely this is what paradise looks like.

^ Another delicious lunch, this time chicken salad from one of the local coffee shops. Some of the best food I had in Croatia was from Sumartin.

^ After a bike ride round the little stone village, spying olive trees, grape vines, crumbling stone walls and wonky houses, we headed back to our little paradise on the water, this time for some kayaking. The mountains were secluded in mist but the water was oh so clear.

^ The harbour in downtown Sumartin lit up with the soft glow of the village's few restaurants. We sat drinking a beer and watching the world (and his cat) go by. A large ship had pulled in that afternoon, carrying a group of men from the Czech Republic. They sang sea shanties in harmony as we wiled away the evening.

^ The pace of life here is slow, and the sunsets even slower. This day marked our one year countdown until our wedding day. I couldn't have wished for anything more.

Follow me on bloglovin' | twitter | instagram | pinterest | facebook This site contains links to outside sources including paid affiliates. Queenie and the Dew is not responsible for the content of any third party website.