detail from: Krk.art@designe

Stone Town

By Sonja Škobić

In the deep blue of the southern sea, in the quiet of a sheltered bay where the sun has played its shimmering game across the endless horizon for centuries, two small and beautiful islands live their lives: one natural, adorned with the green of pine trees, the other built by human hands from white stone. According to tradition, on a certain day each year, the townspeople would bring stones in their boats and drop them into the sea. Over time, through human effort and a gentle rivalry with nature, the white stone island emerged.

The view of the islands opens from an ancient town where every house is a monument to another age. Long ago, sea captains lived there. Sailing the world’s oceans, they brought back treasures and precious objects, building magnificent stone palaces crafted by the finest masters of their time. Within those walls and behind the open shutters, the culture and wealth of an era were reflected. If one were to open a single chest from those past days, it would be full of stories and legends.

One of those legends is tied to the two islands. During one of the many wars that swept through these lands over the centuries, a foreign soldier received the order to fire from the island toward the stone town where his beloved lived. His volley ended her young life. There was no return from that. He removed his uniform, turned the gun on himself, and followed her into death. His last wish was to be buried beside her, on the pine-covered island, next to the small church.

Their tragic love inspired a song about the two islands and the two lovers. I often sang that song at my father’s request. It was special to me — a hymn to the place where I was born. Even when I was among people who loved klapa singing, I would always return to my own song — about two islands like two eyes shining beneath the sun.

For decades, the stone town was “dead,” though only the true connoisseurs could feel and recognize the beauty and mystery of its narrow streets and small squares. A path along the sea led through it toward another old town — larger, more populated, yet equally full of the spirit and beauty of distant, glorious times.

With the years, the little stone town began to awaken. New people arrived — those who recognized its timeless beauty and worth. Houses and streets were restored, one by one. Slowly, the town came back to life. Terraces filled again, shutters opened after long silence. New life entered within, and the old stone shone with a renewed glow.

After many years, one evening I found myself there again. In the town that stirred something special in me, calling forth the scents and colors of times I had carefully recorded in the scrapbook of my life. I had known its streets before, but this time I was struck by their new radiance.

Walking along the narrow seaside path, the islands appeared in a magnificent view, lit by the romantic flicker of candles on restaurant tables. Twilight fell upon the wondrous blue — a twilight painted in a million shades and reflections. Everything felt like a fairy tale.

From the square came the sounds of klapa singing, blending with the beauty of the old bell tower under which the songs of this region are sung, to save our tradition, heritage, and customs from oblivion.

The green crowns of palm trees reflected on the sapphire-clear sea, the oleanders… Every corner called the visitor, the wandering traveler, to pause, sit, and enjoy the beauty of the stone town — the magic of sea and salt, the view that nothing can replace. A view of the enchanted islands in the distance, each ready to tell its own story. A story that continues…

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