I woke to the sound of spades digging into the earth, scraping against rock on the shores of the Adriatic and to the chirping of birds sitting in fragrant cedars and olive trees while farther in the distance was the cry of a few seagulls flying overhead. I stayed on the outskirts from the centre of Trogir where domestic gardens were edged with lemon trees along with flowering bushes that hemmed-in rows of vegetables. Tomatoes were growing erectly against poles whilst bean sprouts barely poked their heads out from the rocky ground. Onions fastly burrowed their hard round heads. Lombardy’s stood tall as they greeted the red-tiled roofs of villas absorbing salty, humid air. Private vineyards intertwined with lattice situated over stairs or paths leading into the heart of home. All was carefully, faithfully attended to with a relaxed feel of time meandering along the narrow lane by the sea between neighboring houses of the townspeople.