We knew there would be historic cities and beautiful landscapes. But the truth is that we had no idea just how overwhelmingly stunning those landscapes in Croatia would be, or that we would be assaulted by mouth-wide-open views that simply never let up.

Possibly the biggest surprise was Croatian gastronomy. We really didn’t know what to expect. What we found was a culinary tradition that, for us, surpassed areas which normally have travel bloggers salivating over their keyboards (I’m especially thinking Morocco and France).

Croatia had it all, putting it right up there as one of our favourite gastro hike destinations

Walking in Dalmatia – A land of emerald lagoons and flamboyant insects
We’ve enjoyed more challenging walking and more dramatic terrain than we experienced in Croatia. However, often it felt like walking in an unspoilt paradise – a Garden of Eden. I’m not sure how much of a reputation Croatia has as a walking destination but in mostly perfect walking weather in May we rarely met any other hikers.

On Hvar, we strolled through olive groves and past tiny historic hamlets, mysterious stone mounds and fields of wild flowers where the scent of wild orange jasmine was borderline orgasmic. One trail emerged at a small farm by the perfect Adriatic Sea and we were treated to a home grown feast during an afternoon so idyllic, it will take some beating.

On Mljet our routes traversed dreamy lakes and dappled forest paths where a flighty army of butterflies and the most exquisite looking insects I’ve ever seen added explosions of colour to the rich green landscape. At one point we caught a boat to an island within an island. At another we emerged at Roman fort beside a picturesque lakeside town and listened to the woes of a woman tending a goat with anger management issues.

Each walk was full of beauty and interest. There was often a tangible feel of walking in the paths of people from great ancient civilisations.

We’re also big fans of city hiking and Dubrovnik and Zadar offered two destinations that were ripe for exploring on foot. Dubrovnik’s streets can be a bit manic, but an escape to the walls both acted as a breather and stole our breaths away. Captivating Zadar didn’t have the same level of tourists but was the huge surprise of the trip that we would have overlooked completely if wasn’t for the fact that Ryanair made it a cheap option to fly there.

Our memories of all those places are filled with warmth, big smiles and a sense of discovery.

Wining & Dining in Dalmatia
From our first meal in Zadar, a world-beating seafood risotto and sensationally savoury cheesy gnocchi, our tastebuds were whooping with joy throughout our time in Croatia (save for two truly bad meals in Dubrovnik).

We were constantly impressed with the diversity of what was on offer; from light Mediterranean pastas and fish and seafood dishes to rich stews (pasticadas) and herby sausages. Traditional Croatian konobas with rustic designs and cosy courtyards were our favourite places to enjoy a varied cuisine that should keep all palates satisfied. Even the accompaniments to the main dishes scored high marks; creamy polenta instead of potatoes or blitva (Swiss chard, potato and garlic), a seriously tasty side dish that’s good enough to eat on its own.

When it comes to wine, Croatia’s is still a bit overshadowed by other European countries. But it has been a wine producing country since Roman times and the peppery, fruity reds we downed enthusiastically were right up our street, especially the Plavac Mali.
What made Dalmatia and other areas of Croatia a dream destination was the huge generosity and infectious humour of the people who offered us drinks at the slightest opportunity. I’ve lost count of the number of free grappas we were plied with – usually a throat stripping one for me and a softer, sweeter variety for Andy. The grappa highlight was at Konoba Lambik on Hvar where they even had a grappa experimental lab.

We were totally smitten by Croatia; its people, landscapes, towns, cities, food and wine. It was one of those places that had all the ingredients that ring our travelling bell.
It is an extraordinary gastro hike destination and we can’t wait to return to explore, and eat, more.

Jack is co-owner, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to lots of other places. Follow Jack on Google+

On long walks, taking time out for lunch isn’t always practical and on these occasions we have to make do with a picnic. I love al fresco dining but if I never see another gum-shredding baguette filled with ham and cheese again, it’ll still be a day too soon. There must be a European wide rural hotel guidebook which states ‘if a guest asks for a picnic, it must include a ham and cheese baguette.’ Thankfully, there are exceptions to this rule.

These are some places where we’ve enjoyed some tasty lunches on the trail.

Tabernas on Symi

Hardly hardcore walking, but the trek up the Kali Strata from Symi Town on the Greek sland of Symi to head to one of the island’s many dream beaches can work up a sweat and a thirst. Greek tavernas remain my favourite establishments to while away the time drinking retsina and munching on mezes. The Greek heat, unbelievably turquoise sea, heady aroma of honeysuckle and wild herbs, creamy dips and sweet wine is an intoxicating mix (and not just because of the retsina). These aren’t lunches to be taken mid-walk. Thankfully you can catch a water taxi back to Symi Town.

Picnic in Provence

Sure there are plenty of quaint bistros serving food so good it can elicit involuntary moans of pleasure. But one of the best mid-walk lunches I’ve enjoyed was at a picnic table beside a stream near the moss covered ruins of the Prieuré de Carluc near Rellaine. It was a simple lunch consisting of chunky fresh bread and ripe Banon cheese, melted by the sun’s rays. Simple, but as sweet as the fresh spring water gurgling in the brook beside our table.

Konoba Lambik on Hvar

If an experience exceeded that of losing time in a Greek taverna it was an afternoon at Konoba Lambik on Hvar in Croatia. The walk to reach Konoba Lambik included wild flowers, olive groves, wild boar towers and English aristocracy. All juicy ingredients themselves, but the food and drink, all created, caught and distilled by the owners, erased memories of the walk and replaced them with an extra special experience. It was the first place I’d ever truly appreciated how good artichokes really were, thanks to a life-changing artichoke and broad bean stew.

On the road in the Atlas Mountains

En route to to Tachdirt in the High Atlas Mountains I lay in the sun on a hot wall beside a dusty track whilst our guides washed peppers and tomatoes in a mountain stream, which also provided the water to boil rice and make sweet mint tea. The salad they created was a mish mash of ingredients, including tinned sardines, olives, chopped pork, rice tomatoes, green pepper and red onion with some fresh bread. It tasted as good as any salad I’d eaten in a gourmet restaurant. That dash of al fresco seasoning just can’t be matched indoors.

Mountain Hütte in Salzkammergut, Austria

Austria and Germany’s hinterland is riddled with hüttes, perfectly positioned at some of the most scenic spots on mountain trails. Both countries are as good as anywhere we’ve been for being dependable when it comes to finding somewhere to have lunch mid-walk. The only problem is that many of the dishes on hütte menus are hefty affairs and lie too heavily on my stomach to be taken when there’s still a long way to go. Such was the case above Gosausee in Salzkammergut where, as everyone around us tucked into warming soups, we settled for belegte brote, a type of open-topped sandwich, with speck (cured ham) onions, gherkin and tomato. Another basic dish, but the accompanying views of the snow-capped Dachstein Mountains and a musically clanging cow bell soundtrack raised it way above the average mid-trail sandwich.

Lakeside Hütte in the Black Forest

Rarely have I been so pleased to see a lodge/hütte/taverna/pub as I was to see Vesperstube Unterkrummenhof on the banks of Schluchsee in the Black Forest. Despite having wind-proof gloves and a hat a bear would eye enviously, the icy sleet which stabbed at exposed skin for hours as we’d walked around the large lake had robbed all feeling from fingers, feet and legs. The hütte was warm and welcoming and, despite there being a third of the route still to complete, we pigged out on currywurst and chips. It did exactly what a good hütte/taverna/tasca should do – act as a sanctuary for cold and hungry travellers

Lunch in a Cave in the Canary Islands

One of my favourite walks anywhere is in the Anaga Mountains on Tenerife, a place which is the antithesis of what many people think of when the imagine Tenerife. The route to the cave village of Chinamada is uplifting – ancient laurisilva forest, hamlets and narrow agricultural terraces clinging to hillsides, jagged peaks, tiny hamlets, goats, the odd hen and killer views. The cave village lies halfway along a circular route so perfectly placed for lunch in La Cueva. Ironically, most people choose to eat outside the cave part. The food is basic Canarian with the signature dish being a messy splodge called escaldón (basically stock mixed with gofio flour). I love it because it is the real Tenerife.

Ham and Cheese Overlooking Lake Iseo

Everything tastes fabulous around the Italian Lakes. I can’t recall one mediocre meal. However, we didn’t always meet with success finding places to eat along the trails we walked. On one route we planned to eat in a bar/restaurant halfway along the route. It was shut… for lunch. On the largest lake island in Europe, Monte Isola on Lake Iseo, we were introduced to a classic Italian snack in a nondescript café with a sunny terrace overlooking this most dazzling of lakes; the piadina – basically a flat bread sandwich. I only ordered it because I saw another luncher eating something that perked my interest. They only did one type filling, ham and cheese. I loved it.

Trust the Italians to make even a ham and cheese sandwich seem gastronomically interesting.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

On the table were four glasses filled with a whitish gooey substance; toddy – the local fire-water.

When a guide had told us that toddy wasn’t sold to foreigners as it could kill them, as it sometimes did the locals, we thought there might have been a bit of poetic license going on. But it did make us a wee bit nervous about actually drinking some of the stuff. The tiny amount of toddy in our glasses was diluted with Coca Cola; one of the few times I was glad to see an American import in places where the sight of instantly recognisable images such as Coca Cola’s or the golden arches just jarred.

The toddy was disgusting, but there were no ill effects. However, we know now that the guide hadn’t been exaggerating. Unfortunately fatalities from drinking toxic, cheap alcohol aren’t uncommon.

In most places drinking the local hooch isn’t akin to participating in an alcohol version of Russian roulette, but often it does result in involuntary gurning thanks to one factor which is common no matter where you are in the world.

It usually tastes disgusting.

Raki in Greece
Friends raved about wild times on the Greek Island of Crete fuelled by something called raki. Basically raki, apparently known as tsikoudia in other parts of Greece, is made from the bits left over during wine making (to me that sounds like the bits that should be thrown away). Our friends claimed they loved the drink, it clearly had a strong association with partying and good fun, and returned from the islands as would be Greeks bearing gifts – in this case raki.
It was retchingly disgusting. I’ve read that some raki makers infuse it with herbs, or add honey. There was no such sophistication here. It was the cheapest of the cheap and tasted like it. Away from dreamy olive groves and seductively lapping seas, the raki clearly lost some of its appeal for our friends and one of their prize bottles lived, untouched, under their kitchen sink for the following  decade.
The next time we visited Greece we gave the raki a miss and stuck to retsina and ouzo instead.

Feni in India
Why, in a  country where things are cheap, opt for the cheapest drink on the bar menu? You know what you’re going to get. Even though we were in a top hotel in Goa, a glass of feni cost only a few coins. We ordered a couple each as there were two varieties – cashew and palm.
One was nearly undrinkable (the palm) which made the second seem almost palatable. After two small glasses we were drunk (there might have been some mainstream alcohol taken leading up to the feni testing) and lurching on the border with hallucination land. We never touched the stuff again.

Grappa in Croatia
Actually, although it’s unlikely that I’ll knock back a glass of grappa and make satisfied ‘mmm’ noises, I grew to quite enjoy the post-meal shot in some Croatian restaurants, although I was a bit envious of the smoother, sweeter version that was sometimes given to female diners. My favourite grappas were at a makeshift grappa ‘experimentation lab’ (a shed and table in the garden of a konoba on Hvar) where the normally throat-stripping drink really did have some subtly seductive flavours.

And so it goes on: home-made schnapps from a still here, an eye-widening glass of something wicked with a vague hint of banana there.

All variations on a cheap alcohol theme, all of them with the potency to fuel rockets.

Unless you’re a local who’s developed immunity or you’ve an asbestos throat, you have to be loco to drink some of the concoctions that are offered when you travel.

So whilst we will continue to seek out the local culinary oddities, we’ll try to be more cautious when it comes to rough ‘n’ ready local hooch.

In truth what’s likely to happen is that when offered a glass of something uniquely local, we’ll look it for a second, as the good angel on the shoulder tries its hardest, before replying:

“Why not…”

Well, when in Rome… or even a clearing in a jungle somewhere.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

Bad Decision No1. Catch the ferry that sails to the Sucuraj end of Hvar when we’re staying in Hvar Town at the opposite end of the island.
Bad Decision No2. Go for lunch in Sucuraj in order to let all the campers get to where they were heading to before we took to the road again.

We knew there was only one road connecting one end of Hvar with the other. We didn’t know that it was known as the ‘road of Hell thanks to its narrowness and history of bad accidents. Neither did we know that roadworks meant that for miles and miles there was no tarmac, only a dirt track filled with sharp rocks that snapped and pinched at the car’s tyres, threatening to bite through the rubber.

The other thing we didn’t know was that the road workers timed their break to coincide with ferry traffic, starting again when all the traffic had passed. All the traffic except those dumb enough to take a lunch break in Sucuraj. By the time we reached the place where work was actually taking place, a JCB was completely blocking the dirt road. There wasn’t even space for a bicycle to get through. We were trapped on Hvar’s road of Hell. Trapped until the workmen decided we’d waited long enough.

In truth, apart from the rocky surface, the road wasn’t that bad. The hell part was not being able to get to our hotel until late afternoon.

We lost a lot of time on that road.

Jack is co-editor, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to online travel sites and travel magazines. Follow Jack on Google+

We had no idea it was a favourite haunt with the rich and famous and the likes of Bill Gates and George Clooney had strolled across Hvar Town’s old cobbles.

In fact, we had no preconceptions at all about the Croatian island and town of the same name that over the centuries had been under the control of the Greeks, Romans, Venetians and Austrians.

On a warm spring day in May it didn’t look or feel like a place that had gained a reputation as a summer party town for the yachting fraternity, it just seemed like an enchantingly beautiful Croatian harbour town with a fragrant seafront and teasing alleys that demanded exploration.

Spanjola, the Spanish Fortress

A good way to arrive in Hvar town is from above. A path from the 16th century Spanish Fortress on the hill above the town winds its dappled way through ancient fortress walls, cypress trees and wild flowers to emerge on the narrow and leafy back streets. Apart from having wonderful aerial views of Hvar and its harbour it also gives you the opportunity to clock some ‘hidden away’ konobas like Menego’s – good food with more charm for less kunas than the ones around the main square.

Hvar Cathedral and Pjaca

The pjaca (main square) is a breath-stealer, immaculately clean as though bleached by an ever-smiling sun. It is bordered by smart bars and restaurants whose modern chic tables and chairs compliment rather than clash with the old stone façades behind them. At one end of the square is Hvar Cathedral which took nearly 200 years to build between the 16th and 18th centuries. It’s the sort of place where you instinctively slow your pace to a slow stroll, absorbing the sights and atmosphere.

Luggage Carts

Whilst everyone slowly struts their stuff in the pjaca, the only things zipping about are Hvar’s version of delivery vans, transporting luggage, fruit, veg and sometimes even people cadging a ride.

The Harbour

At the other end of the pjaca is the harbour, a veritable picture of postcard prettiness if ever there was one. Head one way and the harbour side is lined with sleek, decadent yachts and converted schooners acting as floating pleasure palaces. Saunter in the other and the scene is more traditional, with the obligatory little bobbing fishing boats that no self respecting quaint harbour should be without. Consistent all round is the sort of sparkling jade water than never fails to hypnotise no matter how many crystal clear, turquoise seas you’ve gazed upon.

Lavender Stalls

Whilst the countryside outside of the town is at its lilac-coloured best in June and July as lavender fields fill the landscape with an explosion of loveliness, the lavender stalls lining the harbour add fragrance and colour to Hvar even outside of blooming season. Combined with the pure and salty sea air, walking along the harbour side is like strolling through one big open-air aromatherapy shop.

The Loggia

The Loggia looks appealingly inviting during the day and night.  If you’re like me you’ll be thinking ‘what is a loggia’. It’s a gallery or room with one open side. This one consists of an arched porch that used to be part of the Governor’s house.

The Arsenal and Theatre

An historic building with a split personality beside the harbour. The arsenal was built between 1579 and 1611 whilst the theatre was added in 1612. It is the oldest public theatre in Europe and not the sort of place where you particularly want to see an explosive performance.

The Mysterious Monk

The mysterious monk, seen in a couple of spots around Hvar, is intriguing. He looks anguished, as though he’s praying for forgiveness for some terrible crime. Thing is, he’s not a monk at all, he’s Hannibal Lucic, a renowned Croatian poet and playwright. It’s still a mystery why he looks so distraught.

Hvar might have the reputation as a playground for ‘hooray Harrys’ but the Hvar we experienced was a beautifully preserved, historic town populated by some larger than life local characters.

Hvar totally charmed us and we didn’t spot one celebrity.

Jack is co-owner, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to lots of other places. Follow Jack on Google+

Croatian official paperwork appears to be an insurmountable object, holding fast against sporadic attempts to legitimise, repelling all boarders. Defeated time after time, assailants retreat and skirt its edges, surreptitiously continuing their journey on the road to enterprise and gathering strength for the next assault.

It’s in between such bureaucratic forays to try to attain their licence that we find ourselves at the gates of Konoba Lambik Restaurant behind the beach in Milna on Hvar island. Undeterred, our guide and manager of the Hotel Podstine in Hvar, Sime, leads the way along the path through Eden, every step accompanied by the scent of orange blossom, lavender, wild thyme and oregano. As we walk, the sun filters through the profusion of olive trees and eucalyptus, lighting the faces of roses, lilies and geraniums and creating fleeting spotlights on the path to point the way.

Standing in the doorway of their stone cottage from which they run the rustic restaurant, Mate and Mihaela greet us like old friends, leading us into their home where the aroma of lunch enters our nostrils and sends our brains reeling in culinary expectation. While Mate begins to lay out our courses, Mihaela takes us out through the back door into the garden where the air resonates with the afternoon heat and the sound of the crickets in the branches of the silver leafed olive trees. Beneath their bows stands the wooden hull of a small fishing boat which has exchanged its watery medium for a grassy meadow. To our right, straight-backed cane rods support tender shoots of tomatoes and beans flanked by rows of lettuce, potatoes, rocket and assorted greens.

Between neatly stacked branches ready to fire the barbecue, a wooden table is cluttered with vessels of differing shapes and sizes – jam jars, demijohns, plastic jugs – each holding mysterious seeds, petals and fruits in various stages of fermentation.
“This is my laboratory,” says Mihaela, resisting the urge to add a comedy evil laugh. “It’s where I experiment with different ingredients to make grappa. This is my latest.” She holds up a jar and removes the lid for us to inhale. Rose petals. Thousands of them crushed and trapped inside the jar. When the lid is removed, a tiny essence escapes bringing a sea of rose bushes in its wake.

In the flower-filled garden at the front of the house we take our places on wooden benches beside a wooden  table as Mata and Mihaela’s son, Marcos, brings plate after plate of aromatic, succulent, orgasmic, organic goodness and places them before us. Freshly baked bread with green olives and sea-grass; olives left on the tree long after harvest until their skins have turned taupe and their flavour grown rich, then baked and salted; the thinnest tuna and swordfish prosciutto interwoven with sheep’s cheese, lain on a bed of rocket and sprinkled with capers; a creamy salad of wild asparagus, rocket and hard boiled eggs, and finally a steaming hot bowl of fresh artichokes with broad beans in a savoury stew.

For a couple of hours we sit in the warm dappled sunshine of that garden in Paradise, “ooh”-ing and “aah”-ing over each successive dish; draining our glasses of Mate’s fruity red country wine time and again, letting Mihaela’s rose grappa slip down our throats in a trickle of perfume and chatting endlessly with Mate and Sime about Croatia, Hvar and the world at large.

Sated and mellow, I never want to leave here. I want to stay and help Mate and Mihaela work the land, pick the olives and press the grapes. I want nothing more than to rise each day to the beauty of the garden, the tranquillity of the village and the flavours of the land.
But Paradise is not open today, so we bid our farewells and amble away towards the beach and the homeward walk.

Konoba Lambik (Milna, Hvar, 00385 21 745 204) is open every day by prior reservation – 12noon-2pm, 5pm to 1am; walking groups & children welcome.

Andrea (Andy) Montgomery is a freelance travel writer and co-owner of Buzz Trips and The Real Tenerife series of travel websites. Published in The Telegraph, The Independent, Wexas Traveller, Thomas Cook Travel Magazine, EasyJet Traveller Magazine, you can read her latest content on Google+

The waiter’s opening line stopped us in our tracks. It was a first. We’ve never been in a restaurant where they already knew what we’d eaten for lunch.

Hvar in Croatia is a small island but we didn’t realise it was so small that people already knew who you were and what you’d eaten before you walked into their restaurant.

In truth, it wasn’t that amazing. We’d asked Sime Fio, manager at Hotel Podstine, to recommend some places that served authentic Croatian food and Sime had immediately suggested Konoba Menego. We’d already marked it down as an interesting looking restaurant during an explore of Hvar Town, so Sime’s recommendation sealed the deal. Being friends with just about everyone, he’d mentioned we might be popping in.

Konoba Menega is tucked away up a narrow side street leading from the harbour in Hvar Town to the fortress on the hill. I know, I know – all authentic restaurants are tucked away up side streets.

Dinko, the owner, and his staff wear traditional costume. Sime assured us this wasn’t a tourist thing, he just likes to wear traditional costume. Dinko isn’t into doing things just to please others, try asking for Coca Cola with your meal instead of wine if you don’t believe me.

Konoba Menego is located in an atmospheric old town house with dining areas that are cosily small.
It’s intimate but not in that way that means you’re on top of other diners. There’s an infectious, relaxed atmosphere about the place which is partly down to Dinko and his waiter (I didn’t get his name) who is one of those people who has a genuine smile fixed to his face all the time.

He was the one who knew what we’d eaten and how much  we’d eaten (a lot) so suggested a Croatian platter consisting of paški cheese with herbs from Pag, sheep cheese matured in sheep skin and olive oil, pancetta (Dalmatian ham), prsut (cured ham) and olives.

Some of the menu descriptions were so appealing that, despite still feel stuffed from a feast of a lunch, we had to try some Dalmatian pogaca (bread stuffed with tomatoes, onions and anchovies) made to Grandma’s secret recipe. There are a lot of secret recipes on Konoba Menego’s menu.

It was the perfect combination, like a Croatian version of tapas, and we were able to take our time picking at the fresh local goodies whilst sipping some of Menego’s own wine (a litre to be exact).

Apart from the good local fare, one of the big appeals of Konoba Menego is its easy ambience. I don’t normally strike up a conversation with people around me in restaurants but in Menego’s it felt like the natural thing do do. It was prompted by the food.

When you hear someone ordering ‘drunken figs’ you’ve just got to ask what it is. And so a conversation about drunken food bounced between us, a British couple from a wooden cruise ship in the harbour and an immediately likeable American couple who were clearly relishing the Menego experience.

Subsequently it was drunken figs all round –  something called drunken figs simply demands to be tried.

The drunken figs were washed down with a complimentary round of grappa.

Drunken figs let me introduce you to slightly drunken diners – it was a good match.

Konoba Menego ticked all the right boxes. Dinko and staff were genuinely friendly; I got the impression they were just being themselves. The decór was atmospheric making the restaurant the sort of place you feel completely at home in. And the food was exactly what we were looking for – authentic Croatian home cooking. Put them all together and you end up with what we had – a most convivial dining experience.

Konoba Menego; Kroz Grodu, 26; +385 21 717 411; www.menego.hr; open daily 10.30am to 2.30pm and 5.30pm to 10.30pm, platter around €17, main courses average €12

Jack is co-owner, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to lots of other places. Follow Jack on Google+

Within an hour of arriving at the Hotel Podstine in Hvar we are sitting in the sun, overlooking one of those perfect rocky coves that Croatia does so well, clinking beers with Sime Fio. Sime (pronounced Shee-may) is possibly the most affable hotel manager I’ve ever met. No, let me re-phrase that, Sime  is one of the most affable people I’ve ever met.

After spending time in Zadar, Krk and Plitvice we’d already come to the conclusion that the Croats had a directness, passion, friendliness and mischievous sense of humour that was right up our street.
Being a Scottish islander I have an inbuilt reserve that means I rarely click with people immediately. The people we met in Croatia turned this trait on its head. Sime Fio exemplifies this.

The second time we meet him, on the way to breakfast the following morning, he calls us across to reception.

“I’ve spoken to the tourist office in Hvar Town, they’ll put together some information for you. Then, when you come back, I’ll take you on a walk into the hills and we’ll have lunch at a friend’s bar. After that we’ll go and taste some wine,” a beam splits his face. “I’ve hi-jacked all your plans haven’t I? Don’t worry, it will be good.”

We don’t have any say in the matter and what’s more, we don’t care. We’ve already sussed that Sime is a man who has a passion for Hvar and who seems to have connections with everyone. He is the sort of dream person you want to meet when you travel.

He is also a spellbinding teller of stories; each one accompanied by a wide grin so that we are never quite sure whether there is a bit of poetic licence going on. He insists each tale is 100% true.

Driving into the hills we pass terraces dissected by a strange patchwork quilt of broad stone dykes.

“What are those?”

“Hmm,” Sime frowns. “Everyone asks that.  I don’t know.” Then he laughs. “Farmers pile them up when clearing their fields. You wouldn’t believe how many stones are in one pile.”

He goes on to tell us how he offered to clear a pile of stones for his father in exchange for something he wanted. He thought it would take a couple of hours. It took a week. His father got the better of the deal.

We stop at the last remaining lime kiln on Hvar and start our descent to the coast with Sime regaling us about life and politics on the islands.

When we talk about a map we saw detailing the winds that blow over the islands, Sime tells us all about one that makes you so crazy, there’s a law that politicians aren’t allowed to vote for anything when it blows.

Asking about metallic green beetles we saw in Hvar town, Sime says he used to tie a string around them as a child, explaining “we were too poor to have balloons.”

Passing a raised platform on the hillside he informs us it’s for spotting wild boars. There are no wild boars on Hvar but some swim across from the mainland.

“A friend who was diving for fish once saw a pair swimming above him. He managed to harpoon one but the other escaped.”

The idea of a scuba diver emerging from the sea with a harpooned wild boar slung over his shoulder is wonderfully surreal.

The walk takes us through olive groves and past half forgotten hamlets; one, so the story goes, which was once the abode of a Tudor, the beginning of Hvar’s relationship with the British.

The midpoint of our route is Konoba Lambik where Sime’s good friend Mate (surname Tudor as it happens) and family present us with a feast of food and and alcohol. There’s no-one else except us and we’re treated like part of the family.

Over lunch Sime and Mate do what people do all over the world, they shake their heads at political follies – putting their world to rights – and reminisce about old times. Old times for Sime and Mate’s generation includes the Croatian War of Independence. It’s a personal subject. It’s private. It reinforces how lucky we are not to have grown up in a country that experienced such conflict.

Sime tells us about Mad Jack Churchill, the only British soldier to kill a German soldier by using a longbow. Jack and his small band of commandos were based on Vis, launching attacks on the German garrison on Hvar with the help of the local resistance. On one occasion, now firmly entrenched in Hvar folklore, Mad Jack marched into battle waving a claymore and playing the bagpipes.

The locals loved him.

“Crazy Scottish,” Sime laughs.

And then both Sime and Mate start talking about Braveheart.

“We like the Scottish… and the Irish,” Mate puts his hand to his heart. “They are like us, they have passion.”

That explains the sub-conscious connection then.

Sime leaves us after a long lunch to return by car for a meeting back at the hotel whilst we amble leisurely through the groves and pines that decorate the coastline; our heads full of stories of Hvar and its people.

It has been the most enjoyable hi-jacking.

Many people know Hvar only as an island that attracts the rich and famous or as one that is popular with the partying yachting fraternity. Thank to Sime and friends, our lasting impression of Hvar is something quite different altogether.

Jack is co-owner, writer and photographer for BuzzTrips and the Real Tenerife series of travel websites as well as a contributor to lots of other places. Follow Jack on Google+