Milo, there is a voice message from Boka Bay sitting somewhere between us, unsent. I recorded it; I meant to send it, but… You came to Boka Bay. I went to Croatia. We swapped coastlines without telling each other and missed each other completely.

Now, this Balkan Summer, Beyond the Obvious being live reminded me I still haven’t picked up my magazine copy from Marija. And that there is another unsent voice message for you.

So at least one sends-now button will be pressed this time.

Milo, Croatia hits differently when in full summer swing: heat is here, the will to discover new barely exists, but Croatia Full of Life really lives up to the tagline. I was in Šibenik a few years ago and left less impressed than with Zadar, for example. I said it out loud at the time (and a few more times, so I got backlash from several friends) and now must publicly withdraw. Šibenik is one of those places that need better timing and a second chance.

But before talking about Šibenik, there is this small town, Vodice, that has been on my top list to visit or stop by since the first day I saw it. I spent a considerable amount of energy torturing my friend into agreeing we should base ourselves there this time, and I regret nothing. Nor does my friend Ana.

What sold Vodice to me was never the beaches, though they are easy to get to. It was the food and the people—the warmth of being greeted on the street by someone who has no reason to greet you. The old town with its small shops and old-style restaurants, all of it laid out in a way that makes you want to eat things you have no business eating. Unfortunately, you know you cannot try everything. Fortunately, you can come back as much as you want.

In all those revisits, there is one address I would not miss: Strikoman’s Bistro. While the promenade view is lovely, the food here is out of this world. You must come for the local pasta called pljukanci with truffles. Like many small Mediterranean places, here you may struggle to find restaurants open all day. Luckily, the one with a lovely garden and sometimes lovely, sometimes less parrots, Santa Maria, will serve lunch as well. One of the first restaurants in Vodice, Restaurant Tri Piruna or konoba as locally called, is Michelin-recommended. Meals here are prepared according to traditional recipes, but in a modern way. Mark my words: you will want to come again, both for amazing olive oil paired with local cheese and for desserts that leave a long-lasting taste.

Aside from food and amazing wild but still calm beaches, what Croatia does, and why I keep choosing it, is being modern and authentic at the same time, without either one apologising for the other—calm feelings and adventure in the same trip. And most importantly, it lets you take both at your own pace while evoking nostalgic, kind of retro vibes.

Šibenik improved its record considerably. We walked the old town in heat I would describe as ambitious, and it was worth every degree and steep step. Šibenik is the oldest native Croatian town on this coast. Not founded by Greeks or Romans like Zadar or Split, but by Croats themselves, first mentioned in 1066. Everything else along this part of the Adriatic coast was built by someone who arrived.

The stone, the narrow streets, the way the town climbs are so charming. And the Cathedral of St James, UNESCO-protected, built over a hundred years entirely from stone with no binding material at all, makes it even more special.

I know we often discussed that all old towns in this part of the world resemble each other. That is not a criticism. They resemble each other the way family members do. Same bones, different faces. But this one has something the others do not. And this is what sold it to me.

Above it sits St Michael’s Fortress, mediaeval, climbing from the old town up the hill, with views over the islands scattered across the Šibenik area. I have been reading about this place for years and finally came to see it. The climb up takes a piece of your soul; I will be honest with you. The graveyard is on the right, if needed. Jokes aside, once you are up there, you are reincarnated. The sunset view is out of this world, and I have a photo to prove it.

But the main reason we climbed was the Skunk Anansie concert. You know, concerts are always yes, yes, and yes for me, but listening to a band I was hooked on in high school, inside a medieval fortress above the Adriatic, is a different kind of memory lane. Skin on that stage, the stone holding the sound, the sea behind all of it. Nothing beats a good concert, and nothing adds to one like the right venue. This fortress was exactly that and more. Grove, the support act, turned out to be my discovery of the trip. Completely new sounds, new beats, a band now added to the Spotify playlist of our let-me-confuse-you-even-more game this year.

The night would not have been complete without the World Cup final afterwards, watched in a small kavana with local people, all of us shouting at the same screen. That was the real wrap-up. A crowded café, strangers pulling a chair over to their table for us without being asked. Everyone cheering for Spain except one man cheering for Argentina, entirely alone in his position and entirely committed to it. We felt sorry for him. We did not feel sorry for Argentina.

Did I tell you about the amazing Ayla Dalmatian Kitchen Lab before lunch? A fusion of Dalmatian and Asian kitchens? I also forgot to mention the supermarket hunt for local pasta, risotto, olive oils and matching Dida Boza jams and cheese.

Anyhow, the Croatian coast never runs out of reasons to give you a reason to visit. Preseason, peak season, off-season, it does not matter. There is always another island, another small town on the road to somewhere else, another fortress you did not know about.

No matter how crowded it gets, no matter how deep into July or August you go, you always find a place for yourself—a corner of a beach, a table, a stretch of water with nobody in it. The coast somehow absorbs everyone and still leaves room. I have never once felt cramped here.

It is endless in a way that feels almost unfair. And here my Montenegrin jealousy speaks out loud.

So, this is a sorry-we-missed-each-other message. And a gentle reminder to put Skunk’s Hedonism on.