For fifty years, Vis remained a Yugoslav military base, closed to foreigners and trapped in time. When the army left in 1989, the island opened to visitors, but tourism never took over. No big hotels, no chain restaurants, no crowds even in August. Vis stayed the way Dalmatia used to be — slow, quiet, and authentic in a way that word barely means anymore.
Distance helps. Vis sits further from the mainland than any other inhabited island in central Dalmatia — ninety minutes from Split by speedboat, over two hours by ferry. The extra time filters out the day-trippers looking for something quick and easy. The people who make it here tend to stay, and the island rewards them for it.
The main settlement wraps around a deep bay on the northeast coast. Venetian palaces line the waterfront, fishing boats crowd the harbour; and the restaurants serve whatever came off the boats that morning. No menus in five languages, no tourist traps — just stone, sea, and food that tastes like it’s supposed to. The ancient Greeks founded a colony here in the 4th century BC. Some of the ruins are still visible on the edge of town.
On the opposite side of the island, Komiža faces the open Adriatic. The village, nestled into a hillside, is renowned for its sardine industry and the wooden boats known as falku’a. The vibe is rougher, saltier, and more working-class than Vis Town. From Komiža, small boats run to Biševo and the Blue Cave — just fifteen minutes across the channel.
The beach garnered international attention when it won the best in Europe award. The tiny cove, tucked away between two massive cliffs, can only be reached by boat or a steep hike down from the road. The entrance gap is barely wide enough for a small boat to pass. Inside, a pebble beach, turquoise water, and sheer rock walls on both sides. Crowded by midday in summer, magical in the morning or late afternoon.
Vis is replete with tunnels, bunkers, and submarine pens, remnants of its long history as a closed base. Tito ran his partisan headquarters from a cave on the island during World War II. Some sites are open to visitors; others are slowly crumbling back into the landscape. The military presence kept development away, which turned out to be the island’s greatest gift.
Custom-built speedboats, professional crew, stunning islands. Just pick a date.
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