Most of the people, by what I could hear, were German tourists. Their language a familiar comfort. The ease at which they ambled through the town and their sun-kissed skin hid their foreignness. This was a second home to them. After being in the heavy cool dampness of Hamburg, the air felt lighter on my skin, fresher in my lungs and still. A stillness that made me more aware of the energy that was Krk; a pleasant tranquility shared by many beachside towns. However, Krk lacked the stereotypical hammock-swaying-sandy-vibrant-colored beachside getaway.
Stone roads merged seamlessly into stone walls. House and shops could only be told apart by their openness of doors inviting you to view their treasures. No vines or shrubbery grew on stones. There was a bright white cleanliness about Krk, which hid the true age of its' stone structures. While meandering through the maze of stones we found the perfect treat in the summer heat. Handmade gelato from a bronze cart intricately woven together by pieces of carefully crafted metalwork.
The heat itself was perfect; hot enough to indulge in ice cream and dips in the ocean but not unbearable. We had to purchase stripped towels from the thin strips of convenience shops; the only modern steel buildings in Krk. The beaches were pebbles that hurt my bare feet, not enough to hinder my desire to splay out on the beach and absorb the summer sun. Kirk is the perfect stone summertime hideaway.