Contributor Tim Neville has spent years on the road finding off-the-grid destinations to write about for 国产吃瓜黑料. So when he says these are the most memorable meals he’s eaten after a day of adventuring, that’s really saying something.

Mestia, Republic of Georgia

What: Dumplings and bazhe salad
国产吃瓜黑料 pairing: Paragliding

After a day of soaring around the Caucasus Mountains above Mestia, I made my way to the and ordered the khinkali meat dumplings and a salad with bazhe sauce, a miracle paste of crushed walnuts packed with blue fenugreek, coriander, and marigold. A guy at the next table started to sing, and soon everyone else joined in. Nothing strange in that鈥擥eorgians love to sing at dinner.

Pyeongchang, South Korea

What: The buffet
国产吃瓜黑料 pairing: Skiing or hiking

Shortly before the 2018 Winter Games kicked off, I spent a week skiing and exploring the region鈥檚 temples and barbecue joints. But it was the buffet at the that I would return for. Picture a room the size of an airplane hangar, with dozens of stations displaying spicy kimchis, rich sundubu-jjigae (a tofu stew), hoeddeok (sweet pancakes), and so many crocks of fermented veggies that I think I overdid it.

Vis, Croatia

What: Lamb peka
国产吃瓜黑料 pairing: Scuba diving

A few years ago, I visited this island in the Adriatic to dive among the ancient amphorae that dot the seafloor. Still wet, I drove to a spot between the towns of Vis and Komiza and found , a winery and family restaurant in a gorgeous stone building. I sat under a colossal tree and devoured a bowl of peka, a rich lamb stew with spices and carrots that鈥檚 slow-cooked over an open fire at an outdoor kitchen.

Egypt

What: Ful mudammas, falafel, labneh
国产吃瓜黑料 pairing: Cruising the Nile

In 2016, a few years after the Arab Spring rocked Egypt, I went to see whether tourism was bouncing back. It wasn鈥檛. I stuck around and ended up aboard a luxury Nile cruiser, the , which traveled between Luxor and Aswan. Every morning I鈥檇 sit on the top deck and eat a plate piled high with falafel, ful mudammas (a fava bean stew), and creamy labneh (strained yogurt), watching kids play in the river and the ancient villages and temples coming into view. I could eat that meal three times a day.

Ryukyu Islands, Japan

What: Umibudo
国产吃瓜黑料 pairing: Island hopping

The Ryukyus stretch southwest from Japan toward Taiwan, and at the northernmost part of the chain is Okinawa, which is something like the Hawaii of Japan, with a different culture, music, and culinary tradition than on the mainland. Here you order umibudo, a type of sea-grape-looking seaweed that鈥檚 crunchy, bright, and salty. It鈥檚 the closest thing you can get to taking a bite out of the ocean.

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Game of Thrones may have one of the most beautiful and sprawling worlds in fantasy, but the colossal realms of Westeros and Essos as depicted on the television show are within relatively easy reach. Just book a ticket to Iceland, Spain, Croatia, or Northern Ireland and be ready to explore.

Itzurun Beach, Spain

Dragonstone is House Targaryen鈥檚 ancestral seat, but their castle鈥檚 real-world stand-in is actually perched over Itzurun Beach on the Basque Coast. Grab a board at in the town of Zumaia and surf or SUP the left-hand and right-hand breaks along what locals call the Flysch, a five-mile spine of sedimentary rock. Then take in 60 million years of geologic and cultural history on the three-hour guided tour of , or hike nine miles of coastal trails from , where you鈥檒l walk among ancient rock formations and tour the hermitage of San Telmo, named for the patron saint of fishermen. Stay at , a rustic boutique hotel just outside Zumaia, and dine on veggies grown in its large organic garden (from $51).

Kirkjufell, Iceland

In season seven, when Jon Snow and company head north of the Wall in search of an arrowhead-shaped mountain鈥攚here a vision says the army of the dead awaits鈥攚hat they are really looking for is Iceland鈥檚 Kirkjufell. The massif, located just outside the tiny town of Grundarfjodur on the Saefellsnes Peninsula, is the country鈥檚 most photographed peak. You can snag your own vision of the mount at (from $112), which looks across the fjord to Kirkjufell, before tackling the half-mile, Class 3鈥�4 scramble it takes to summit. The Kirkjufellsfoss (the stunning stacked waterfall at the massif鈥檚 toes) and the surrounding beaches are worth exploring before you head back to the 24-hour sauna and hot tub in your digs.

Krka National Park, Croatia

from Split, Croatia鈥檚 second-largest city, to Westeros鈥� Riverlands, a 42-square-mile expanse of emerald cascades also known as . If you鈥檇 rather stick to solid ground, rent a 29er from in Skradin, the small town at the park鈥檚 entrance, and you鈥檒l receive a map and local beta for exploring Krka鈥檚 seven waterfalls, including the multitiered pools of 150-foot Skradinski Buk and , where whitewater tumbles 50 feet down the Krka River. Stay at in central Skradin, an easy walk to the marina where you can catch a boat into the park and sip walnut brandy on the terrace (from $40).

Reynisfjara, Iceland

The Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, where the Night鈥檚 Watch guard the end of the Wall, is better known in Iceland as , a black-sand beach on the South Coast. But the real-world location is steeped in just as much legend. Local folklore says the towering sea stacks, columnar cliffs, and crashing North Atlantic waves are where giant trolls once pulled ships in from the sea before turning to stone. Amble along the beach to Halsanefshellir Cave, tucked among the basalt rock columns, or walk up the 1,000-foot Reynisfjall for commanding views of the stone trolls, black beach, and boundless sea.

Bardenas Reales, Spain

The badlands of , an hour south of Pamplona in northern Spain, are familiar as the Dothraki camps where the horseback hoard held Daenerys Targaryen captive. The 104,000-acre UNESCO Biosphere Preserve is best explored by mountain bike to take in the wrinkled sandstone canyons, dry riverbeds, and barren plateaus. Bike from in Tudela and pedal the 20-mile , with a stop at Castildetierra, an iconic, isolated rock hoodoo. Or ride the one-way haul down the 42-mile , a north鈥搒outh track with 1,700 feet of climbing and a challenging descent.

Glens of Antrim, Northern Ireland

Remember when Sansa and Lord Royce watch Robin Arryn training in the Vale? The Irish know this verdant spot as the Glens of Antrim, an 80-mile swath of rugged cliffs and deep, green valleys. Grab your rucksack and will lead you on a three-day, 32-mile trek over the hills and along the coast between Ballycastle and Portstewart, with stays in quaint guesthouses along the way. Climbers should stop by Fair Head, the cliffs where Jon Snow and Daenerys first meet and where steep corners, crack lines, and massive boulders that boast more than 50 test pieces beg to be scaled.

Thingvellir National Park, Iceland

You鈥檒l find the pass to the Eyrie and the setting for Brienne of Tarth and the Hound鈥檚 in Iceland鈥檚 lava-strewn . Hike to Oxararfoss Waterfall, also seen in the show, then pitch your tent on an abandoned farm at the Vatnskot campground on the shores of Lake Thingvallavatn. Don鈥檛 miss the opportunity to ride between the North American and Eurasian tectonic plates on Bike Company鈥檚 two-wheeled , or go deeper with and scuba dive the continental divide at the Silfra, a fissure filled with crystal-clear glacial water and created by the two continents鈥� slow drift apart.

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Summer in Croatia听from nineteen-year-old filmmaker documents his visit to . As the longest inhabited city in the country, it's rich in history, culture, and activity. Situated along the Adriatic Sea, it's best photographed from the water. Find more from LXFilms on and .听

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Europe is the birthplace of the bicycle, though exactly where it was first invented is up for debate (the French contend the inventor听was a Frenchman, the English say he听was one of theirs, and the Scots throw in a claim, too). Cycling culture runs deep in Europe, making it one of the best destinations for a two-wheeled tour.听The locals will not only respect you on the road, they鈥檒l also embrace you in the pub,听taverna, or听caf茅 for taking the time to explore their countries听in such a civilized manner.

The trips listed below are fully supported, meaning they include vehicles en route to pick you up if you need help and听mechanics to fix your bike if it breaks. The tour guides have extensive听knowledge of the area and can,听if necessary, offer encouragement during听a long day. Here are six trips to put on your calendar.

The Napoleon Expedition听

Paris to Moscow:听Ride & Seek Bicycle 国产吃瓜黑料s

This epic from Ride & Seek Bicycle 国产吃瓜黑料s听roughly traces Napoleon鈥檚 1812 Russian Campaign.听It begins in Paris with a spin down the Champs-脡lys茅es, followed by aperitifs under the shadow of the Arc de Triomphe听before departing for Germany, Poland, Lithuania, Latvia, Estonia, and Russia鈥攖hrough rolling vineyards, deep forests, medieval villages, and historic cities. As you enter Moscow on the last day, know that you鈥檙e guaranteed a much warmer welcome than the diminutive Corsican received when he triumphantly ended his march听in Red Square. Note: If 45 days are more than you can commit to, the tour is composed of six one-week stages, so you can do as many (or as few) as you like.

Details: $14,745 for entire tour, $2,605 for each stage;听prices based on double occupancy. Fully supported/guided. Includes breakfasts, some lunches, and most dinners.

l鈥橢tape du Tour

France:听Trek Travel

Each year since 1993, more than 10,000 cyclists have registered for l鈥橢tape du Tour, a one-day event that allows amateurs to ride one of the mountain stages of that year鈥檚 Tour de France while the pros have a rest day. On this five- or seven-day guided tour from , each day features routes that were stages in previous Tours, culminating in a guaranteed spot in l鈥橢tape du Tour, which in 2015 will be a 87-mile day听climbing Col de Chaussy, Col de la Croix de Fer, Col du Mollard, and a summit finish at La Toussuire. This year, Trek team rider and 2010 Tour de France winner Andy Schleck will ride along with guests for the entire week.

Details: $4,699 for seven听days, $4,199 for five days per person; prices听based on double occupancy. Fully supported/guided. Includes breakfasts, some lunches, and most dinners.

Land鈥檚 End to John O鈥橤roats听

United Kingdom:听Peak Tours

Starting from the very southwest tip of England and ending almost 1,000 miles away in the northeast reaches of Scotland, this 14-day ride from听听rolls through patchwork-quilt farmlands in the south, craggy mountains and pristine lakes of the Lake District, and the barren moors of northern Scotland. Whenever possible, the route avoids main roads in favor of lovely flowered country lanes and quiet back roads that lead to out-of-the-way听villages and centuries-old inns.

Details:听$2,400 to $3,486, depending on choice of听accommodations. Fully supported. Includes all breakfasts and lunches; dinners are on your own.

The Danube听

Germany, Austria, Slovakia, Hungary:听Experience Plus

There鈥檚 a good reason the Danube River听is one of听the most popular rides听in Europe: Almost anyone can do it. There are no hills to speak of, and most of the riding is on a network of paved paths that follow听the river as it passes through the Eastern European countryside and two of Europe鈥檚 most storied capitals, Vienna and Budapest (there鈥檚 a rest day in Vienna). This 13-day, 526-mile ride (named by National Geographic Traveler as one of the 鈥�50 Tours of a Lifetime鈥�) from 听begins in Germany and winds past impressive Bavarian monasteries, verdant Austrian vineyards, and pristine Hungarian villages before ending in the imperial gem that is Budapest.

Details:听$5,500. Fully supported/guided. Includes use of a 27- to 30-gear titanium bike or an听aluminum tandem with e-bike option, all breakfasts, and half of your dinners.

Sacred Sites of Greece听

Peloponnese:听Cycle Greece

鈥檚 eight-day tour (one of Bicycling magazine鈥檚 鈥渂est tours鈥� in 2009) travels through arguably the most beautiful part of mainland Greece听and offers听both long (358 miles) and short (237 miles) options. Stretches in the saddle are broken up by stops at some of the Greek鈥檚 most famous sites, including the Olympic grounds where the first games commenced in 796 B.C. Also included are tours of Epidavros, the most famous healing center in the classical world, and the ancient city of Mycenae.

Details: $2,340, based on double occupancy. Fully supported/guided. Includes use of a Specialized 27-gear road bike,听entrance fees and private tours of several sites, and听all dinners (with house wine).

Dalmation Coast听

颁谤辞补迟颈补:听Backroads

鈥淭he Mediterranean as It Once Was鈥� has been Croatia鈥檚 tagline for years. The country听touts its beautiful beaches, lavender and olive groves, and mashup of Roman, Byzantine, French, Ottoman, and Slavic architecture. 鈥� six-day tour island听hops from Brac to Hvar (the Cannes of Croatia) to Korcula.听The leisurely length (106- or 192-mile options) means there鈥檚 plenty of time at the end of the day for a dip in the gorgeous blue-green sea. The final day is spent in historic Dubrovnik, the 鈥淧earl of the Adriatic.鈥�

Details: $3,998 to $4,598, depending on dates;听based on double occupancy. Fully supported/guided. Includes all meals except two lunches and one dinner.

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Heavy storms and a听听battered the Balkans in May, but by the end of the month, the sun appeared and I was bound for Slovenia and the northern head of the new听听hiking trail, which follows the听, a听620-mile string of peaks spilling south and east from the Alps proper.

My goal: to walk several sections of the route, which, like the range, parallels the Adriatic Sea and connects countries down the length of the Balkan Peninsula. The main artery of the Via Dinarica鈥攏amed听国产吃瓜黑料鈥檚听Best New Trail for 2014鈥攊s called the White Trail. It crosses, in geographic order, Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Montenegro, Albania, and Kosovo.

For countries along the Via Dinarica, the hope is that this megatrail corridor鈥攁 project funded by the European Union, the United Nations Development Programme, and the U.S. Agency for International Development鈥攚ill eventually showcase an underutilized mountain range to a global audience. The route would act as a vehicle to highlight the breadth of the region鈥檚 outdoor adventure possibilities and often-overlooked Old World culture and promote environmental awareness. With any luck, it could also ignite and galvanize camaraderie among the range鈥檚 historically contentious neighbors.

鈥淐onnecting the dots, combining resources and offers, and sharing a common visual identity will help put the Via Dinarica on the outdoor traveler鈥檚 radar,鈥� Tim Clancy, media consultant for the project, wrote in an email. 鈥淚t will provide sustainable incomes for mountain folks as well as youth (where unemployment is as high as 60 percent in many places), and it will force governments鈥� hands in establishing better channels of cross-border communication and cooperation because of tourism, border-crossing issues, and branding.鈥�

But with all that the Western Balkans countries have endured the past 20 years鈥攈ell, the past 500 years鈥攊magining that a trail could act as a tourism engine while also loosening the grip and memory of dictatorships, cross-border wars in the former Yugoslavia, and intolerant fate seems, at the start of our journey, mighty ambitious. The plan does possess one giant trump card: Few acts are as simple, straightforward, beautiful, and universal as a hike in the mountains. For visitors such as myself, this is the brand-spanking-new Via Dinarica鈥檚 hopeful, peaceful plea.

Driving through western Bosnia, however, nothing appeared brand spanking new. Old men in coveralls and women with kerchiefs scored black soil with hoes that looked as if they鈥檇 been handed down since the Habsburgs. A horse pulling a red wooden carriage filled with hay loped past the occasional burned-out building鈥攕ouvenirs from the听. Villages were demarcated by symbols devoted to higher powers. The call to prayer, bellowing from a mosque鈥檚 minaret, gave way to clover-shaped Orthodox crosses, which morphed into Catholic churches taking shape on the next horizon. Everywhere, axes splitting wood paced the drive with a discordant, metronomic orchestra.

As we drove north, the two-month, six-part journey became real. My trek will begin in karst- and cave-filled Slovenia. Afterward, I will hike through Croatia, which, like Slovenia, is a member of the European Union. Known more for its coast, Croatia possesses a jagged relief of dramatic mountains, including the trail鈥檚 namesake: Mount Dinara. Some of the most epic hiking will take place across Bosnia and Herzegovina鈥檚 virgin forests and sweeping, untouched vistas.

Then, I鈥檒l take part in a 500-kilometer bicycle ride across Bosnia to commemorate the anniversary of the Srebrenica massacre in 1995. Next, I move into Montenegro to experience the Tara Canyon, the deepest river canyon in Europe, and听, a UNESCO World Heritage site. Finally, I will hike into Albania, home to the rugged Prokletije Mountains and the 8,839-foot Maja Jezerce. I鈥檒l end in Kosovo, one of the world鈥檚 newest countries and outdoor-adventure destinations.听

During each stage, I will travel with a different cast of vagabonds鈥攎ountaineers, outdoor enthusiasts, and climbers鈥攚ho will hike and bike with me and provide local expertise. The exception will be a Dutchman named Thierry Joubert, a friend and mountain guide with a these-aren鈥檛-the-droids-you鈥檙e-looking-for demeanor, who runs the Bosnian-based eco-adventure outfitter听. Thierry has lived in the region for 22 years and will be my partner in crime throughout the journey.听

鈥淭he tagline of the Via Dinarica is 鈥榗onnecting naturally,鈥欌�� Thierry said from the driver鈥檚 seat, resuming a sentence he鈥檇 started before he handed his passport to the border patrol officer. 鈥淏ut what the trail actually does is reconnect people across the Balkans from Slovenia to Albania.鈥�

Though we won鈥檛 walk the path step for step, we will be pioneers of sorts. (Most expeditions will be about a week long, and we will occasionally use transfers along the way, due to time constraints.) The nascent trail, fully actualized conceptually, still lacks much in the way of signage, maps, and publicity鈥攅ven here in the Balkans. Mountain associations along the route have started to jump on board, but for many locals the term Via Dinarica is as foreign as my mama鈥檚 homemade apple pie.

The part that won鈥檛 be foreign about the Via Dinarica for experienced through-hikers familiar with European trails: the rush of trekking from summit to summit, from hut to hut, from village to village. The difference for those who have hiked in Western Europe: This trail has some polishing yet to do. For folks who like to discover places while they鈥檙e still wet-paint-fresh, the time is right for a trans-Balkan jaunt.

I鈥檝e hiked multicountry European megatrails before. In 2007, I walked from Trieste, Italy, up and over the Alps to Monaco on the well-groomed and tourist-heavy听. Connecting eight nations, the Via Alpina was the inspiration for the Via Dinarica, which started to take shape on paper in 2010. The skeletal frame for the Via Dinarica, in the process of being fully marked, combines long-standing hiking paths, shepherds鈥� tracks, smugglers鈥� routes, and former World War II military trails carved by partisan soldiers while outmaneuvering Nazi regiments.

The populations spread across the Via Dinarica speak three distinct languages and observe four religions. Their histories were molded by the Great Schism between the Eastern and Western churches in 1054. Their empires were carved up by the Habsburgs, the Ottomans, and the Venetians. Their alliances are ancient. Their rifts are current.

Though the countries of the Balkans have a long history of mountaineering, for the most part people here don鈥檛 consider hiking a birthright like those in France or Switzerland might. With the exception of Slovenia and to a lesser degree Croatia, mountain huts aren鈥檛 evenly spaced the way they are in Western Europe. Trekking here can be untamed at times. Trail markings can be inconclusive. Maps are precious. Advice from locals and shepherds is even more so. A local human guide鈥檚 consultation is often necessary. If one gets lost, it could be for a while. Worst-case scenario: You end up in a Balkan village and take up residence. Best-case scenario: You find a Balkan wife and learn obedience.

鈥淭he Via Dinarica is challenging from a sport perspective,鈥� continues mountaineer Kenan Mufti膰, who was the trail鈥檚 project manager during its original planning stages. 鈥淏ut it is removed, and the conditions aren鈥檛 perfect like in other places. And,鈥� he looked at me with a mischievous glint in his eye, 鈥渋t鈥檚 wild.鈥�

The reasons for that wildness are manifold. Some explanations are theoretical, and some are concrete. Theoretically, this isn鈥檛 Western Europe. People here are tough. Rare is the generation that hasn鈥檛 known hardship of the sort that most living Americans will hopefully never see. My people are from here (my paternal grandfather emigrated to the States), but by every definition I am a delicate flower in comparison.

More concretely, the great outdoors here are, by design, less developed. Massive swaths of the region are unsullied, unindustrialized, and nearly untouched. There are primordial forests. For decades, this region has bucked modernity鈥攖hrough communism and conflict鈥攊n an unwitting quest to remain one of the last wild places in Europe. Locals make their own cheese, concoct their own brandy (called rakija), and cook coffee on ancient iron stoves. Shepherds still wander remote hilltops and along craggy mountaintops. Hidden rivers, canyons, and lakes pop up from behind peaks as if a director had moments before called out, 鈥淧laces!鈥�

And then there鈥檚 the war. Folks here鈥攊ncluding frequent tourists like me鈥攁re desperate to get past the war. At best, the subject is boring for locals. At worst, the fear is that by focusing on the war that splintered Yugoslavia between 1991 and 1995, visitors will continue to focus on the war. I won鈥檛 go too far down this rabbit hole then, except to say two things. First, the war was devastating in every way a war can be: physically, psychologically, governmentally, and economically. Second, tourists are absolutely safe here. Full stop.

For the purposes of the Via Dinarica, the war had another, unexpected effect. Especially in Bosnia, the war changed the mountains conceptually. For many, mountains still represent the frontlines during the four-year conflict in the mid-1990s. Armies lobbed mortars into cities from peaks and ridges. Hilltop snipers aimed at children scurrying through streets carrying water.

鈥淎 generation of fathers and grandfathers stopped taking their kids into the mountains,鈥� says Samer Hajri膰, a Bosnian mountain guide, who was in our SUV on the way to Slovenia. 鈥淭here is a gap in the tradition.鈥�

And there are the听. Landmines are a big problem, especially in Bosnia, which was supposed to be mine-free by 2009. According to Bosnia and Herzegovina鈥檚 Mine Action Center, mines still cover 2.4 percent of the country, and their complete removal is now projected for 2019. However, safety concerns for trekkers are minimal. Most mine-risk areas are clearly marked. The rule here is 鈥渋f you don鈥檛 know, don鈥檛 go.鈥� Translation: If you aren鈥檛 absolutely sure about where you鈥檙e about to hike, get a guide. You鈥檒l learn more about the trail and the culture, and the price, relative to the United States, is cheap.听

Sound like a lot to digest before a hike in the mountains? It is. The Balkan Peninsula is a beautifully complicated place. Readers should think less about trekking here in terms of reaching lung-busting elevations and more from the perspective of achieving personal-best cultural interactions.

听

After leaving Sarajevo, we had one goal on our first day: get to the听听in Slovenia, the self-proclaimed 鈥渂est-known cave in the world.鈥� An admittedly tourism-heavy affair, the entrance to Postojna鈥檚 21 kilometers of labyrinthine underground passages is a giant Secessionist-era manor with an apron of cafes, fast-food eateries, and trinket shops. The spot is, however, emblematic of the karst substrate that will cover much of my hike through the Balkan Peninsula鈥檚 western half.听

We arrived late in the day and zoomed through the cave on a train moving at a speed that could only be the result of a driver ready to go home to dinner with his wife. We whisked past the stalactites and stalagmites that are indicative of the subterranean level here. Much of Slovenia, Croatia, and Bosnia is riddled with such caves鈥攑orous limestone carved by underground rivers鈥攎aking it one of the largest karst fields on the planet.

The next day, we set off on the first of three days of hiking. We met up with Jernej Je啪, a Slovene geologist working with the听, appropriately, and a member of the nearby Mountaineering Club Podnanos. As we hiked to , the highest peak in the region at 1,796 meters (5,892 feet), Je啪 explained that the Dinaric Alps, composed of carbonate rocks, were formed after the Adria microplate plate, moving north and east, collided with the European plate and was tucked underneath. He moved his hands to display a thrusting and folding motion as if he were making an invisible crust-and-mantle Dagwood sandwich.

We walked to the summit of听, strewn with patches of grass covering pocked limestone like bad teeth under an unkempt beard. We looked across the southern frontier of Slovenia, often called Little Switzerland. Je啪 stopped making his earthen hoagie and swung an arm, pointing in the near distance with Vanna White鈥搇ike grace: 鈥淭hat is Croatia.鈥�

Coming down from the mountain, we walked past World War I bunkers and tank traps built to protect the border. A mama brown bear saw us and hurried her two cubs over the next ridge. 鈥淭he Via Dinarica is a perfect plan,鈥� Je啪 said a few kilometers later when we reached , the next mountain hut. We ordered beer. After a mandatory discussion with the hut鈥檚 owner about which of Slovenia鈥檚 main beers is better, Union or La拧ko, Je啪 continued, 鈥淚t connects places with similar geographies and different cultures. With different but also the same histories.鈥�

After leaving Je啪, we debated our next move. We had originally planned to walk across the border to Croatia, but hiking through countries with relatively new political realities is a logistical challenge. Though both Slovenia and Croatia are EU members, the latter has yet to be admitted in the Schengen Area: a border-free zone that, according to the听鈥檚 website, 鈥済uarantees free movement to more than 400 million EU citizens.鈥� Rather than risk a large fine and the administrative headache of getting caught illegally crossing the border, we drove through passport control. (Croatia was admitted into the EU in 2013. Rumor is that it will be admitted into the Schengen Area in 2015.)

At around 11 p.m., after a teeth-shattering four-wheel-drive crawl that locals passionately warned us to avoid, we entered the Planinarski dom (mountain hut)听. We sat with Romina Vidrih, who, with two other families, runs the hut for a mountain association that boasts 200 members. The renovated, meticulously clean hut sleeps 40 and sits in the middle of 10 peaks鈥攁ll a day hike away. Though Vidrih was a seasoned hiker and had bagged many of the summits I was planning over the next two months, she had not heard of the Via Dinarica.

The next morning, we took one of the day hikes to the nearby听听peak before setting off west to听, the northernmost of Croatia鈥�s eight national parks. Designated a national park in 1953, Risnjak covers more than 24 square miles and forms a synapse between the coast and the continent. As we stared across the unmolested, undulating forested terrain, it became obvious how important protecting sensitive chunks of real estate can be, even鈥攑erhaps especially鈥攊n a small country about the size of West Virginia. The park provides habitat for more than 1,000 different plants, as well as wolves, bears, and lynx.

It鈥檚 a nine-hour hike from the 贬补丑濒颈膰 through the Platak ski center, across听鈥攁 peak inside the park鈥檚 western edge鈥攖o the听听mountain hut, which sits just below the Risnjak鈥檚 highest point, the 1,528-meter (5,013 feet)听. While dining on bowls of polenta-and-beef goulash, we spoke with the proprietor Gari Dev膷i膰, who was, he proudly announced, named after Gary Cooper. Every day, Gari treks in daily supplies for the hut, recognized in 2013 as Croatia鈥檚 best.

鈥淭he Via Dinarica is a fantastic idea. We will build a new Yugoslavia,鈥� Gari said and laughed. 鈥淚t will be great for mountaineering all over the region. We need many more people to come walk around the mountains for us to stay open.鈥�

We woke at five the next morning to summit Veliki Risnjak. From the peak, we鈥攖wo Bosnians, a Croatian, a Dutchman, and an American鈥攃ould see the sun rising over Western Europe. Behind us, the light inched across the park and began to illuminate the coast. 鈥淚t is easy to feel small, isn鈥檛 it?鈥� Thierry asked rhetorically as he turned around to watch the听听and Croatia鈥檚 northernmost islands, Cres and Krk, take shape in the dawn mist. Behind them, our next stage: a hike from Croatia鈥檚听听to听, famous for its climbing above the Adriatic Sea. 鈥淧ast those waves, the mountains are waiting for us. We have a long way to go to get to Albania.鈥�

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“IT'S NICE, NO?”

croatia active travel

The domed Cathedral of the Assumption of the Virgin, in Dubrovnik’s old town

croatia active travel

BEAUTY BEFORE AGE: High school girls on the loose in the courtyard of Diocletian’s Palace, in Split

croatia active travel

SIREN SONG: A statue in a 16th-century garden on the island of Vis

croatia active travel

The northern end of Dubrovnik’s city walls, facing the Adriatic Sea

croatia active travel

STROLL WITH IT: The promenade along the Zadarski Channel, outside Zadar; left, walking near the Temple of Jupiter, in Diocletian's Palace, Split

croatia active travel

LOOKING FOR THE ELUSIVE HONEYPOT: Dusk on Dubrovnik’s Stradun, one of the city’s main pedestrian thoroughfares

croatia active travel

SEA CHANGE: A 17th-century church and Benedictine monastary on the island of Vis

Tonci Lucic, my tall, scruffy, Game Boy脗鈥揳ddicted host on the Croatian island of Hvar, is a disembodied but smiling head bobbing to the rhythm of the surf as we tread the warm cobalt water of the Adriatic. Above us, a 16th-century castle watches over a medieval town whose flower-bedecked alleys were laid out centuries ago by Venetian nobles. Just offshore, the Pakleni Otoci (“Satanic Islands”) are visible, green hills jutting up through the placid water like a partially submerged Jolly Green Giant asleep in a tepid bathtub of electric-blue Kool-Aid.

Yes, it's nice.

“We usually swim every day, sometimes two times a day,” Tonci tells me.

The Dalmatian island of Hvar is the sparkliest star in the thousand-plus-island constellation that sits in fixed orbit off Croatia's 1,104-mile Adriatic coast, a thin sliver of lavender-covered hills tumbling down to secluded coves where swimming is less a choice than a pleasant obligation.

I first met Tonci, a 30-year-old martial-arts enthusiast, skateboarder, and sometime innkeeper, because his wife, Teja Dittmeyer, looks fantastic in spandex. Toward the end of my first trip to Croatia, a ten-day early-autumn barnstorming of the Dalmatian coast, I disembarked from the ferry in the town of Hvar to the welcoming sight of a woman I inferred, from her blond pigtails and shrink-wrapped jogging outfit, to be a Swedish yoga instructor. She was an oasis of hot amid the mob of kindly-looking old women who typically greet travelers at docks and bus stations, offering rooms for rent in their quaint homes. I had come to rely on such offers for lodging, but somehow, on that day, the spandex was a stronger sales pitch. It wasn't until Teja handed me off to Tonci and went in search of other customers to install in their tastefully renovated, centuries-old stone house that I realized I'd been the victim of a classic bait and switch, but one that would prove yet again how skillfully the fates of Croatia traffic in the happy accident.

Over the course of that first trip and a subsequent four-week journey, I traveled by boat, bus, train, scooter, bike, car, kayak, foot, and donkey. I spent a morning hiking in the hills above Dubrovnik and still made it back to the beach for a lazy afternoon swim. I walked through the remnants of Roman palaces and Napoleonic forts and visited cathedrals and museums and castles. I walked mountain trails and poked my head into limestone caves and gazed out over former minefields. I ate Italian food as good as any I've had in Italy and heard my voice echo through the empty concrete caverns of decommissioned Yugoslav missile silos.

By the time I emerged from my swim that day, Tonci was wearing boardshorts and a baseball cap and was already fiddling away on his Game Boy. His feet were propped up against a fading row of cinder-block cabanas, while his dog, Hajdi, lolled at his side in the warmth of one of the island's 300 or so days of annual sunshine. The whole tableau belied Tonci's true identity as a budding tourism mogul.

“This year, we have two rooms and two boats to rent,” he told me, pausing the game to elaborate his business plan. “Next year, maybe four rooms and four boats, and then little by little we grow bigger and save money and then maybe we build our dream place.” As he described this solar-powered, self-sufficient lodge complete with organic farm, art gallery, and skateboard halfpipe, I entertained a small fantasy: I would pack up my life, move to Hvar, and help him build it脗鈥攊n exchange for my own hammock, perhaps.

“But for now,” he said, putting down the Game Boy, flashing a big smile, and cutting my daydream short, “let's go for a swim.”

GIVEN THE TENDENCY of disaster zones to be nudged off world television screens and into obscurity once the disaster abates, the average American might still have trouble finding this small, horseshoe-shaped Balkan nation of about 4.5 million people on a map. They would probably have more success conjuring a CNN-derived mental picture of the Balkan conflict of the early 1990s. Since the war ended, in 1995, Croatia has become increasingly democratic, moving toward economic recovery and integration with the rest of Europe.

The integration has been happening, on a more informal level, for the past decade as savvy European travelers have rediscovered this former playground of the Central European elite. In 2004, 7.9 million foreign visitors arrived in Croatia, an amazing rebound from the 1995 postwar nadir of 1.3 million. Tourism has become the golden-egg-laying goose of the sagging Croatian economy, accounting for 23 percent of Croatia's GDP and 27 percent of its total employment.

The first tourists to return were the Austrians, Germans, and Italians, the neighbors who had historically made up the bulk of the nudists and fashion plates who flocked to the resorts of the Adriatic coast. Lately there have been more Scandinavians, French, and Brits as word has spread that, for a country smaller than Maine, there's a hell of a lot more to do here than get a tan.

The obvious advantages of the Latin-infused coastal regions脗鈥攎ost of the coast was once part of the Roman Empire and later fell under the sway of Venice脗鈥攈ave long made it a favorite of sailors, divers, and fishermen, and that roster has grown to include sea kayakers, windsurfers, and paragliders. And from the Istrian Peninsula in the north through the Dalmatian coast and islands to Dubrovnik in the south, the region's karstic geology has produced a stunning array of cliffs, peaks, and caves. Northern Velebit, Paklenica, and Biokovo parks are all prime pieces of waterfront real estate, offering hiking, climbing, caving, and camping, while the Cetina River, one of several southern Dalmatian waterways, has become a popular Class III脗鈥揑V whitewater run. Though the Germanic-tinged north is better known for its fairy-tale hilltop castles, there's plenty of hiking and biking to be had in the Zagorje region, north of Zagreb脗鈥攑lus a good lager or wurst is never far off. And almost everywhere, you'll be offered strong Turkish coffee, a reminder that during the 16th century the thin line between Western Europe and the expansionary tendencies of the Ottoman Empire ran through Croatia.

As the rediscovery of Croatia has gathered steam, the European press has dabbled in some selective rebranding. The coast has been called the “New Riviera” and Dubrovnik the “New St. Tropez”; the Istrian Peninsula, close to Italy, has been labeled a “New Tuscany”; and Zagreb has, like every other good-looking but peripheral Central or Eastern European capital, been dubbed a “New Prague.” And all of this glamour is not without precedent: A little hype is nothing new on a coast that once hosted vacationing Hapsburgs and cultural luminaries such as Gustav Mahler, Vladimir Nabokov, James Joyce, and Anton Chekhov. The tabloid-worthy roster of recent visitors includes Steven Spielberg, John Malkovich, and Andre Agassi; Tom Cruise's yacht reportedly docked off of Hvar last year; and Clint Eastwood and Robert De Niro are rumored to have shopped for their own private islands.

What's old, it seems, is new again.

THOUGH NOT COMMONLY recognized by economists as an index of affluence, sunglasses seem to me as able a barometer as any of a city's relative prosperity. Strolling the streets of Zagreb, Croatia's stately capital of 800,000 people, on a sunny Saturday morning, wearing normal prescription eyeglasses, I felt naked, exposed as a foreigner. Drawn toward a dull roar of eager conversation, yapping lap dogs, and laughing children, I wound up on Tkalciceva, the wide pedestrian thoroughfare between Kaptol and Gradec, the two ancient hills that flank the city's historic center. The outdoor caf脙漏 tables were filled with the sort of earnest capitalists, hip young people, and occasional slick-haired gangstrepreneur who constitute the new bourgeoisie of many post-communist cities, and at every table, evidence of the city's resurgent postwar fortunes sat astride their noses. These promenading locals viewed their lives through Armani, Dolce & Gabbana, Gucci, and Prada lenses.

It's not just sunglasses: The BMWs, Audis, and Benzes, the cell phones, the iPods, and the new office blocks all bespoke a city on the rise. But even as I toured modern-art galleries, partied at swank clubs to records spun by Italian DJs, flipped through the Croatian translation of Bill Clinton's autobiography (Moj Zivot) at a local bookstore, and drank coffee with Croatian students eager to correct my misconceptions about their nation, the past was never far off. Colliding with all this newness, the city's grand buildings, wide boulevards, exquisite churches, and fine museums imbue it with the dignified feel of Vienna and the lost grandeur of Mitteleuropa.

That such cosmopolitan urbanity both exists in Croatia and mingles freely with the country's pastoral charm does not surprise Croatians; what surprises them is how slow the rest of the world has been to catch on. While the continuing reliance on small-scale fishing and agriculture is everywhere visible, any Croatian schoolchild can tell you that his country is the birthplace of various Roman emperors, inventor Nikola Tesla, the modern necktie, and the mechanical pencil. Lately, it has been their sporting heroes who have brought Croatia back to the world's attention, from Janica Kostelic tearing up the World Cup skiing circuit to Ivan Ljubicic leading a team of tennis upstarts in taking down the U.S. Davis Cup team this past winter.

And recently, eager males the world over have been heard uttering the same phrase: “I hear the women in Croatia are hot.” Indeed.

Famed for its charming, set-piece beauty, Dubrovnik seemed an appropriate backdrop for testing this rumor. This seaside city of 30,000 people punctuates the coast and is centered around a historic walled core that's been designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Its car-free corridors and imposingly uniform stone buildings serve as reminders of the maritime-derived wealth amassed between the 15th and 17th centuries. Though besieged and shelled by Serb forces in 1991, the proud city has reclaimed its former role as a magnet for the chic and glamorous.

One night last fall, an English friend and I fell in with the crowd promenading along the Stradun, a pedestrianized artery occupying what was once a channel separating the island of Laus from the mainland. We eventually migrated to a narrow, cobbled alleyway, an archaic space crammed with smartly dressed young people, the overflow from several dimly lit bars. Choosing one at random, we squeezed into the small entryway just inside the door, only to be ambushed by an impenetrable wall of hotness脗鈥攊n front of us, packed like sardines in a can, was a sea of leggy, sharp-featured women whose glowing eyes sized up our disheveled exteriors and dismissed us in the same nanosecond. It is likely that these women spoke perfect English. Unfortunately, we never found out: Having embarrassed ourselves by doing everything short of rubbing our eyes in disbelief, we beat a retreat to the alley and ordered beers from a passing waiter.

“Wow. Stunning,” said my friend, Howard, after we'd exited the unnamed bar and caught our breath. Later, in our numerous retellings of the incident, it would become known as “the Honeypot.”

When I returned to Dubrovnik four months later, the seasonal crowds had mostly gone, and, with them, the nightlife. When I tried once again to locate the bar of plenty, I could not. But there were still gleaming BMWs alongside ailing Yugos, ancient rowboats berthed next to million-dollar yachts in the marina. And I did meet Esme, a soft-spoken middle-aged woman who rented me a beautiful studio apartment just off the Stradun for $15 a night. On my last evening, as I stood high above the city on top of the ruins of a fort built by Napoleon and watched the sun set over the red-tiled roofs and the Adriatic beyond, I didn't really miss the Honeypot.

But if I go back to Dubrovnik, I might try to find it again.

“THERE ARE NO new things on this island,” declared Pino Vojkovic, 29, the ponytailed founder of an adventure travel agency called Alternatura, as we stood atop 1,926-foot Mount Hum, the highest point on his home island of Vis. Surveying this remote Croatian isle, about 15 miles west of Hvar, I thought it looked like a place that would make a fine hideout for a Bond villain脗鈥攃raggy, remote, mountainous, and riddled with caves.

“Everything here is a little… sleepy,” Pino told me, and, after two days of being lulled by its slow-motion pace, I had to agree.

Still, he had just finished telling me that he and his paragliding friends liked to jump off the spot we were standing on, catch the rising thermal draft, and soar out over the water before gliding down to his hometown, the fishing village of Komiza. He had shown me a video of it that morning on his laptop, telling me that his agency organizes a paragliding festival every December and that he offers sea-kayaking, trekking, scuba-diving, and boat trips to nearby islets. Surely these things must qualify as novelties on an island of farmers and fishermen that was closed to outsiders until 1990 due to its strategic importance as a Yugoslav military base. And even Pino himself is the embodiment of something new.

“Another way of tourism is becoming more popular: outdoor trips, adventure, aromatherapy… and I don't know what,” Pino told me, trailing off and chuckling to himself, seemingly over the prospect of aromatherapy. “But our government and bureaucracy are very afraid of new things. They are stuck in the old way, so they do not see this yet, but soon they will have to.”

Zeljko Kelemen, 52, the elder statesman of the Croatian outdoor scene, has been instrumental in helping people understand the potential of adventure tourism in Croatia. A former competitive kayaker, he now owns Croatia's oldest and largest outdoor outfitter, Huck Finn 国产吃瓜黑料 Travel. In the early 1990s, Zeljko began offering a few rafting trips that drew a steady clientele of UN peacekeepers.

“The biggest problem we have is adventure illiteracy,” Zeljko told me in his storefront office on the south side of Zagreb, his new VW van parked outside with two yellow kayaks on top. “Most people have no idea what is caving, kayaking, canoeing, rafting.

“When we first started with sea kayaking near Dubrovnik, the locals saw us and said, 脗鈥楾hese must be poor people who have no money to pay for a nice motorboat,' ” he recalled, “but gradually they realized that even though our clients are in kayaks, they are eating at the best restaurants, they are spending money, and then it started changing their idea of adventure tourism. It just takes time.”

And though it needs a little more time to ripen, the Croatian outdoor scene is coming of age. For example, visitation to Paklenica National Park, a popular rock-climbing and hiking area midway down the Dalmatian coast, has increased from 30,000 visitors in 1990 to 105,000 in 2004. While the first adventure race drew only blank stares five years ago, there are now ten or so annually. And the tourist board's adventure travel brochure listed 40 agencies offering outdoor trips in 2001; by 2004, that number had grown to 120. By virtue of his expertise, contacts, and experience, Zeljko sits at the apex of this nascent network of outdoor operators脗鈥攂ut not everyone gets what the younger generation is trying to do.

On my final morning in Komiza, on the island of Vis, I sat in a smoke-filled caf脙漏 with Pino and his childhood friend and business partner Zvonko Brajcic, 29, known universally as Dado.

“Here, if you are young, the older generation thinks you don't know too much, and so they don't give you the opportunity, and the banks won't give you loans,” Dado said. “So the only capital we have is our enthusiasm and our ability to work.”

“Enthusiasm,” interjected Pino with a snort, venting a bit of his frustration at having to turn his office into a video-rental shop during the winter months to make ends meet. “Now it is all enthusiasm and not enough doing, but we cannot eat enthusiasm.”

As I was leaving to catch a ferry back to the mainland, Dado produced an apt parable.

“The boats in Komiza,” he told me, “were always painted black. Then one guy a hundred years ago painted his white, and the others laughed. But then they saw that he sleeps well and is not so hot and they did the same. Now all the boats are painted white脗鈥攁nd this is how new ideas go here: very slowly.”

AFTER WEEKS OF GOING very slowly myself脗鈥攍azily sipping espresso at caf脙漏 tables, lapping up the drowsy pace of island life, and too frequently accepting offers of home-brewed alcohols脗鈥擨 was in no shape for a hike.

Of course, by the time I realized that, I was following three fit Croatians up a stone path heading toward a mountain hut in 23,722-acre Paklenica National Park, whose 90 miles of hiking trails are less than an hour from the coastal city of Zadar. The path followed a sparkling stream overshadowed by Croatia's fourth-highest peak, Vaganski, a 5,767-foot limestone outcrop. We were sandwiched by soaring limestone walls spackled with the bolts of some of the 500-odd sport-climbing routes that drew 40,000 climbers last year.

As we walked, my three guides脗鈥擬arijan Buzov, 30, a national-park ranger who recently started an outfitting business; his wife and business partner, Irena, 28; and their 33-year-old friend Jana Mijailovic脗鈥攁ll members of the Paklenica Mountaineering Club of Zadar, explained the development of the Croatian outdoor scene while their dogs, Dingy and Frodo, flitted in and out of sight.

“Ecology was not a word we knew in the old system,” Marijan explained, “but our natural environment is the one good thing we have left from communism: We didn't have the money to destroy our nature, so we have that脗鈥攃lear water, beautiful parks and mountains脗鈥攁nd it makes us competitive with other Mediterranean countries.”

When we arrived at the hut two hours later, my guides began to extract onions, potatoes, cheese, ham, salami, baguettes, a whole chicken, and two six-packs of beer from their packs. I was doubly shamed, as mine contained little more than a notebook, a camera, a sleeping bag they had lent me, and some lint. Luckily, the hut was a well-provisioned two-story affair of brown logs, gray stones, and red shutters, with a smoking chimney and laundry fluttering on a clothesline strung across the second-story porch.

Inside was a square card table in front of a woodstove where four men of varying ages sat and played dice while drinking a constant stream of dark coffee and smoking an equally steady supply of cigarettes rolled from a shoebox full of loose tobacco. The ringleader of their typically operatic Croatian conversation, who was also the hut's caretaker, resembled a cross between Walt Whitman and Charles Manson, a smallish man with a quick smile and a kindly face framed by a graying goatee and a rat's nest of shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair. He wore slippers even when venturing outside to fetch firewood or check on the water-wheel that powered the hut's few dangling lightbulbs. Occasionally, he took a moment out from the table to talk to his dog, and one could be forgiven for thinking he was asking her advice on some finer point.

“They look crazy,” said Jana, nodding toward the table when she saw me looking at them. By then we were eating a delicious meal that she'd prepared for us by burying a Dutch-oven-like dish called a peka in the coals of the smokehouse outside for half an hour. “But they're really not.”

As if on cue, the men broke into a chaotic song that mirrored their conversation, which was itself a well-practiced four-part harmony of shouting and laughing, gesticulating and knee slapping. It looked and sounded exhausting and seemed a validation of what I had come to see as the indivisible trinity of Croatian-male life: coffee, cigarettes, and conversation.

“What are they talking about?” I asked, expecting tales of sorrow, passion, ideals, politics, humor, or perhaps sports.

“Nothing, really,” replied Irena.

The next morning, Marijan and I sat outside the hut at a picnic table, drinking coffee and discussing the past, present, and future of Croatia as the sun rose above us and illuminated the peaks higher in the valley. The dice players of the evening before had set to work clearing a nearby hillside of brush, stacking what they'd cut into big piles to be burned later. Their working pace seemed regulated by the same metronomic beat as their dice game: a few minutes of concentrated work followed by a cigarette break, during which they took their shirts off, sat in the sun on rocks and stumps, and resumed their conversation. I kept one ear on them as Marijan talked, but his purposeful English won out over their jolly mayhem.

“You know what's the really good thing about Croatia?” asked Marijan, surveying the scene while taking a long drag from his cigarette and offering me one. “People can still be surprised here.”

Getting There Fly from New York to Dubrovnik via Frankfurt on Lufthansa (from $1,510; 800-645-3880, ); or from New York to Dubrovnik via Vienna on Austrian Airlines (from $1,260; 800-843-0002, )

Prime Time June, July, and August account for two-thirds of the annual visitor totals, and during those months you will want to reserve ahead of time, as there's nothing quite so disappointing as showing up on an island only to find all of its accommodations booked solid and no ferries back until the next day. Your best bet may be to opt for September, when the weather is just as nice and the water almost as warm, but the crowds are halved.

Getting Around Trains, such a travel mainstay elsewhere in Europe, will do you little good in Croatia. Luckily, the bus service is reliable, well organized, and reasonably comfortable, connecting all the cities and ports of the coast with one another and with inland cities at regular intervals. You may have to pay about $1 per bag to check your luggage. Renting a car is also a good option, as the road system has been massively upgraded since the war, with a system of highways linking the major cities. (Yes, you'll have to pay a $10脗鈥�$15 toll). Budget () has rental locations throughout the country. But the highlight of any Croatian trip is the islands, so it's only fitting that the transportation highlight should be the vast ferry system; most ferry services are run by the state-owned Jadrolinija (), supplemented by a few small private operators in busier areas. The ferry journey from Rijeka down to Dubrovnik (daily during the summer), running the whole length of the coast, offers a hop-on, hop-off through-ticket, allowing you to explore islands along the way.

Exploring Croatia Luxe: Live like a 19th-Century aristocrat: The Regent Esplanade (doubles from $276; 800-545-4000), in Zagreb, was once known as one of Europe's grandest hotels. These days it's the resting spot of choice for the steady stream of venture capitalists who come to test the Croatian waters. The Grand Hotel Kvarner (doubles from $84; 011-385-51-271-233, ), in Opatija, opened in 1884 and once was the vacation spot of Austro-Hungarian emperors. The waterfront hotel has seen better days but retains an unmistakable grandeur, from the Crystal Ballroom to the expansive terrace. And in Dubrovnik, the recently renovated Pucic Palace hotel (doubles, $616; 011-385-20-326-222, ) occupies a swank 17th-century palace within the old city walls. Sail the Adriatic: The most stylish way to appreciate the Adriatic is via sailboat. Nearly every town on the coast and islands has an equipped marina. If you find yourself yachtless, fear not: A number of companies rent yachts either bareboat or with a skipper. To find your own 26- to 54-foot floating fun hog, try Sail Croatia (), Nautilus Yachting (), or Seafarer (). Prices vary. For a more active twist on a yachting holiday, Huck Finn 国产吃瓜黑料 Travel ($900脗鈥�$1,200; 011-385-16-183-333, ) offers eight-day adventure-sailing trips, which incorporate hiking, biking, snorkeling, sea kayaking, and even whitewater rafting at island stops along the way Paraglide on Vis: Vis is the perfect launching point for paragliding, and the favorable climate means 250-plus flying days annually. Beginners are welcome, and a local agency offers tandem jumps with professional instructors. ($76 per day; 011-385-21-717-239, ) Cave and Climb: Climbers wishing to test their mettle on the limestone walls of Paklenica National Park should get info from the Croatian Mountaineering Association (). Zara 国产吃瓜黑料 Agency (011-385-23-342-368, ), in Zadar, offers caving and climbing trips to some of the thousands of caves around Paklenica National Park and the Velebit range. Hike the Velebit Mountain Trail: Though no agencies currently organize trips along this hundred-mile trail, it's worth seeking out. It follows the ridgeline of Velebit, the range that separates the northern coast from the hinterland, passing through Northern Velebit and Paklenica national parks. The huts are rustic, but the views more than make up for any discomfort. For maps and info, check with Northern Velebit National Park (). Raft the Kupa, Dobra, and Cetiina Rivers: It's not Class V, but the rivers of Croatia will provide plenty of fun for whitewater nuts. Huck Finn 国产吃瓜黑料 Travel runs trips to all these rivers. Pretend You're in Tuscany: The Istrian Peninsula, at the north of Croatia's coastal region, is a mini- Tuscany without the crowds: farmhouse-style accommodations to go along with the fine wines, fresh olive oil, and savory cuisine. The regional tourism association () keeps a pretty complete list of lodging offerings, and some companies, like Saddle Skedaddle (), offer eight-day mountain-bike tours through Istria.

Resources The Croatian National Tourism Board (800-829-4416, ) has a branch office in New York and a helpful Web site. Other useful sites to check out are and .

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