This is a story of an orphan boy who was raised to the highest ranks but then, as luck would have it, had his dream abruptly extinguished. As a barefoot and hardworking boy, Jusuf Mašković from Vrana worked as a stable boy for Beširagić Bey of Nadin. The poor but intelligent child quickly learned to read and write in Turkish, so his master took him to Sarajevo, wherefrom he continued his journey to Constantinople to work as the woodcutter and gardener of the court. There he met the sultan’s imprisoned brother Ibrahim, the only heir spared from execution by the ruthless Sultan Murad IV. Jusuf Mašković brought the prisoner food and drink, helped him pass time with stories and songs, which lead to the development of trust and friendship between them. When Murad died and Ibrahim became sultan, he appointed Mašković as the court armourer, after which he quickly advanced to the fleet admiral. The generous Mašković never forgot those who had helped him, including the old woman from Nadin who had given him a pair of traditional peasant shoes (opanci) before his journey to Sarajevo, when he was still barefoot. He returned the pair of shoes filled with gold coins. Although he was successful in terms of military, he could not escape the court intrigues. He was accused of excessive mercy toward war prisoners and, in one of his fits of rage, the sultan ordered his execution. He allegedly later regretted his decision and tried to reverse the order, but it was too late. All he could do was throw himself over his friend’s lifeless body and weep bitterly. Thus, the dream of building an inn (han) in Vrana, where Jusuf wished to spend his retirement, was brutally cut short. The han remained unfinished for centuries until recently, when it was restored and transformed into a proud heritage hotel.
Once upon a time, there was a town called Vrana. Above Vrana, there was a cave with two springs – the spring of memory and the spring of oblivion. They merged into a continuous stream that encircled Vrana before draining into the lake. The cave was home to an oracle, who sat at its entrance, by the stream, holding an oil lamp with a small yellow flame. She cooked barley, hemp, and bay leaves in her pot, filling the air with an intoxicating aroma. Using a gourd, she scooped water from the stream and told fortune by pouring it onto the ground. The water spilled on the soil, tracing life’s paths and the future until it was lost to time and oblivion. Much spring water has flowed from those springs since then. Perhaps the oracle is still sitting there – all you need to do is close your eyes, breathe in the scents, and imagine the stream from the spring of memory. The best time to do so is on summer nights, under a starry sky...
A major naval battle took place near the city of Lepanto in the Ionian Sea on 7 October 1571. The Christian forces, united in the Holy League, defeated the until-then invincible Ottoman fleet. What is significant to this story is that this day in the distant 16th century was dedicated to St Justina. It lives in memory as one of the most colossal battles, with thousands of rowers aboard the galleys launch a tremendous assault on the enemy vessels at vertiginous pace. The waves pounded against the ships' hulls, the wind intensified, the sea churned violently, and dusk approached. Amidst this fleet of galleys, as the water foamed from the relentless strokes of the oars, accompanied by cannon fire, cries, and terror, a seaman from Pakoštane implored St. Justina for assistance. He vowed to build a church in her honour if he emerged unscathed. Said and done. The flag of the Holy League waved victoriously, and contemporaries of the battle spoke of a miraculous act of God. On a small island off the coast of Pakoštane (Sv. Juština), so small that it can be taken in with a single glance, stands the proud little church of St Justina.
On the altar of the Chapel of the Lady of Health on the island of Vrgada stands an image of the Virgin Mary and Child, painted in the Byzantine style, adorned with a silver relief cover and precious stones. It is believed that this image possesses miraculous powers. With the collapse of the feudal system, the noble privileges of Count Damiani, the then-master of Vrgada, were also removed, so he decided to leave the island with his family. The painting of the Virgin Mary and Child was supposed to be one of the items he would take with him. However, the Count attempted to leave three times, but each time a strong bora wind stopped him. People say that the painting did not want to leave Vrgada. Finally realising that the Virgin Mary was resisting leaving the island by her miraculous power, Count Damiani ultimately gifted it to Vrgada. Only then was he able to leave peacefully, and the Lady of Health has become the patron of Vrgada, celebrated each year on 21 November.
The small church of St Andrew in the Vrgada cemetery is silently guarded by the surrounding cypress trees. Stories say that a wooden statue of St Andrew has stood on its altar since ancient times. According to legend, the statue came from the bow of a Byzantine galley that perished in a great storm. The bow was shattered by the waves and broke apart, so St Andrew was separated from the ship and drifted across the open sea. The sea gives and takes, brings and carries away, and so it brought the statue of St Andrew to the shores of Vrgada. Upon discovering the statue, the astonished locals saw it as a divine sign, an apparition, and a special gift. Thus, they built a church in the 9th century on the very spot where the statue appeared, placing the statue on its altar, and even naming the bay after him. Today, St Andrew is revered on Vrgada as the patron saint of fishermen and is celebrated on 30 November.
From the distant past, the sound of galloping hooves echoes as they kick up fresh earth and fragrant plants. Horsemen cross the bridge over the defensive moat and enter the fortress of Vrana, whose four towers reach toward a sky full of newly awakened stars. Another medieval night falls over the “monastery of all monasteries”. It is the home of the golden crown, believed by many to be the crown of Croatian King Zvonimir. When Croatia entered a personal union with Hungary, the Hungarian-Croatian King Coloman was crowned with it in Biograd na Moru – the royal residence closest to Vrana. The tradition of dual coronation, with both the Hungarian and Croatian crowns, persisted for a long time, but the knowledge of the crown disappeared with the custom. There have been speculations for nearly a thousand years about the location of the lost crown. Despite evidence suggesting it resides in Hungary, many still believe it remains buried deep somewhere in Vrana.
In Drage, it was always understood that the sea should never be taken for granted. Fishermen would set out at night under the light of the bumbeta and return with their catch before dawn, while the village was just beginning to wake. The sea demanded patience and respect, and whatever it gave was deeply valued. Smaller fish were salted and stored for days when going out to sea was not possible, while larger fish were cleaned, grilled, or hung to dry in front of the houses, in the sun and the bora wind. Along the shore, nets were mended and stories from the sea were shared, while everyday life moved between the sea and the fields, depending on the season and the weather. Children learned by watching, without many words or written rules. Almost every household had its own small boat, and fathers taught their sons to love the sea and to live from it. The traces of that time remain in stories and memories of days when both the sea and the fields provided for the families of this place. The fishing tradition, passed down through generations, still lives on in Drage. Its importance is reflected in the summer event Dragarske bumbete – a festival that preserves local customs and celebrates the coexistence of people with the sea, the land, and nature.
The legend of Baba Dora in Pakoštane is not the best-known, but it certainly is one of the most fear-inducing tales told to children in the area. The legend says that Baba Dora lived in a yellow cave on the beach below the Pakoštane fields. She was a witch, the grandmothers would say, who could turn you into whatever she wanted. She would take misbehaving children to the dark and gloomy cave at the far end of the village, never to be heard of again. The legend had an educational purpose as grandmothers used to tell it to naughty and disobedient children to keep them from straying too far from home. The children regarded Baba Dora as a real terror and tried to avoid meeting her by playing in front of their houses. Thus, the grandmothers secretly, without the parents’ knowledge, taught the children to be obedient. Today, the legend of Baba Dora is no longer told to children. Only the cave remains, quiet and forgotten. A part of the Pakoštane coastline toward Drage, known for its panoramic promenade and natural beach, was named after the fear once instilled in the children. The cave’s name actually comes from the Italian word d'oro, meaning golden, due to the golden colour of the soil and sand characteristic of that part of the coast.
