When Manchester-based travel photographer Joshua Thomas arrived in Croatia’s second city, it was spring, the high-season cruise ship arrivals and snaking queues for gelato still some way off. “The city was slower. Softer,” he says. “I carried my camera without a particular image in mind – only the hope that by staying a little while and slowing down, I might notice and capture the quiet rituals of daily life.”
Clockwise from top left: sun-soaked Split houses; the daily commute; cobbled old town streets offer far-ranging views; the Dalmatian coast
Settling in for a month, Thomas rented an apartment on Marjan Hill, a pine-blanketed rise just west of Split. Bookended by dense, fragrant forest on one side and the tumbling terracotta rooftops of the city on the other, it also offers a bird’s-eye view of the harbour below – the shimmering Adriatic, a constant presence.
“Every day began with a descent,” Thomas says. “I’d wind down through cobbled streets as the city slowly stirred – shutters creaking open, voices floating on the breeze, silver fish catching the first light as they were wheeled in green crates into the Peškarija market.”
Settling in for a month, Thomas rented an apartment on Marjan Hill, a pine-blanketed rise just west of Split. Bookended by dense, fragrant forest on one side and the tumbling terracotta rooftops of the city on the other, it also offers a bird’s-eye view of the harbour below – the shimmering Adriatic, a constant presence.
“Every day began with a descent,” Thomas says. “I’d wind down through cobbled streets as the city slowly stirred – shutters creaking open, voices floating on the breeze, silver fish catching the first light as they were wheeled in green crates into the Peškarija market.”
Clockwise from top left: striped awnings and vibrant shades; a coffee stop on the waterfront; crowd-free waters; local fishing boats
Dawdling along winding streets into the labyrinthine old town, Thomas traced the way light curved around corners, flooding crumbling facades, narrow passages and shop awnings. He snapped shadows that stretched across marshmallow-pink marble, locals lingering outside cafés and trading gossip, slowly getting to know a destination he describes as feeling “both ancient and entirely lived-in”.
Dawdling along winding streets into the labyrinthine old town, Thomas traced the way light curved around corners, flooding crumbling facades, narrow passages and shop awnings. He snapped shadows that stretched across marshmallow-pink marble, locals lingering outside cafés and trading gossip, slowly getting to know a destination he describes as feeling “both ancient and entirely lived-in”.
Clockwise from top left: a lunch spot favoured by locals; golden city facades; a boat owner catches up on some maintenance in the morning sun; shadows and shutters at dusk
“I’d follow the streets to the harbour, watching lines form – commuters heading to work and the occasional traveller – pausing in the morning breeze,” he says. “Sometimes, I’d join them, boarding a ferry to one of the nearby islands. Out on deck, I began to notice the in-between moments: a silent piano; a forgotten cup of coffee bathed in light; a man gazing out at the sea, his thoughts adrift.”
“I’d follow the streets to the harbour, watching lines form – commuters heading to work and the occasional traveller – pausing in the morning breeze,” he says. “Sometimes, I’d join them, boarding a ferry to one of the nearby islands. Out on deck, I began to notice the in-between moments: a silent piano; a forgotten cup of coffee bathed in light; a man gazing out at the sea, his thoughts adrift.”
Clockwise from top left: a silent piano on a local ferry; a pine-fringed stretch of the Dalmatian coast; a rocky outcrop with steps for swimmers; a moment of reverie
The port town of Hvar was quieter than the photographer had expected and, on some days, he had its 13th-century walls, hilltop fortress and Renaissance-era cathedral practically to himself. “It felt like Hvar was holding its breath,” he says, “waiting for the hum of summer to arrive – like the cat I saw curled in the shade of worn stone steps, an elderly woman tending a lemon tree nearby.”
The port town of Hvar was quieter than the photographer had expected and, on some days, he had its 13th-century walls, hilltop fortress and Renaissance-era cathedral practically to himself. “It felt like Hvar was holding its breath,” he says, “waiting for the hum of summer to arrive – like the cat I saw curled in the shade of worn stone steps, an elderly woman tending a lemon tree nearby.”
Boats bob on the Adriatic in Hvar
Back on Split, the warm colours of the city’s architecture – cinnamon-brown, cherry strudel-red, marmalade-orange – only highlight the sweetness of these quiet, pre-summer weeks. Every Sunday, Thomas would watch as locals gathered at the beaches around the base of Marjan: “families unpacking picnics, men playing cards in the shade, teenagers lounging at the water’s edge on pastel-hued towels spread across concrete steps.”
“Each evening ended with the walk back uphill – the weight of the city in my legs,” Thomas says. “But there was something grounding in that slow return: a quiet satisfaction in retracing the morning’s steps, now filled with the imprint of the day.”
Back on Split, the warm colours of the city’s architecture – cinnamon-brown, cherry strudel-red, marmalade-orange – only highlight the sweetness of these quiet, pre-summer weeks. Every Sunday, Thomas would watch as locals gathered at the beaches around the base of Marjan: “families unpacking picnics, men playing cards in the shade, teenagers lounging at the water’s edge on pastel-hued towels spread across concrete steps.”
“Each evening ended with the walk back uphill – the weight of the city in my legs,” Thomas says. “But there was something grounding in that slow return: a quiet satisfaction in retracing the morning’s steps, now filled with the imprint of the day.”
Golden hour on a ferry, left, and fishing boats in the harbour
Late-spring days in Split might play out in the shadow of 1,700-year-old walls, but, through Thomas’ golden images, the city’s aliveness is in no doubt. “Split is enduring,” he says, “but my time was brief. Just as I’d settled into its rhythm, I was already leaving, like the ferries I watched pull away from the harbour each day – the city retreating into memory.”
But what remained of those tactile, analogue days? The in-between moments – a visual celebration of the scent of pine trees in salt-sprayed air; of a place where life isn’t always about movement, but also, about staying still.
Late-spring days in Split might play out in the shadow of 1,700-year-old walls, but, through Thomas’ golden images, the city’s aliveness is in no doubt. “Split is enduring,” he says, “but my time was brief. Just as I’d settled into its rhythm, I was already leaving, like the ferries I watched pull away from the harbour each day – the city retreating into memory.”
But what remained of those tactile, analogue days? The in-between moments – a visual celebration of the scent of pine trees in salt-sprayed air; of a place where life isn’t always about movement, but also, about staying still.
The Lowdown
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