Beamuse Designs

Echoes of a Pilgrim Soul, Part 2

Nestled along Croatia’s Dalmatian Coast, the historic city of Zadar is a treasure trove of ancient wonders and architectural marvels. My recent journey through the Old City of Zadar was nothing short of inspiring, as I wandered through its enchanting streets, brimming with history and culture. That said, this entry encapsulates my profound admiration for how the city preserves its past while embracing the present—particularly through the majestic Roman ruins, the stunning Romanesque churches of St. Anastasia and St. Simeon, and the mystical musical charm of the man-made Sea Organ. As we walk through this historic city, I could not hold back my passion for Art History, and as such, this entry will also feature glimpses of my travel sketches.

But before the beauty of Zadar revealed itself, there was the journey.

We set off early that morning—too early for chatter, but just right for wonder. It was still dark when we bid a temporary farewell to our homestay in Medjugorje, bundled into the bus with groggy eyes and layered scarves. The streets of Herzegovina were quiet at 5am, save for the occasional dog trotting across the road or the flicker of a lone light in someone’s kitchen window. Our journey wound through the hilly curves of the Herzegovinian countryside before we reached the border. Passports were checked, the bus hummed softly, and then—just like that—we crossed into Croatia.

Somewhere along that long stretch, our driver pulled into a rest stop. The air was crisp, the sky soft, and the coffee warm. We stretched our legs and stood around sipping our morning cups in the cool silence—half pilgrim, half traveller, fully alive in the in-between.

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As we drew closer to Zadar, the highway began to reveal her coastal beauty. The buildings grew brighter, the skies bluer, and the Adriatic sparkled beside us like a sheet of glass set aflame by the morning sun. I sat quietly for most of the ride, taking in the view (and napping along the route) —Croatia’s coastal towns have a way of sneaking up on you, quietly majestic and altogether timeless.

Our bus eventually came to a gentle stop near an entrance of the Old City. There, we were greeted by our local guide—a lovely woman whose name, regrettably, has slipped from my memory, but whose spirit and knowledge remain etched in my mind. She would lead us through Zadar’s historical arteries, walking us down cobblestone paths lined with Roman fragments, under weathered archways, and into the sacred silence of centuries-old churches.

To me, it was not just a tour. It was a slow, reverent walk through the pages of Christian history. The Jesuits, Franciscans, Dominicans and perhaps the Benedictines had once left their imprint here, bringing with them not only their faith but a deep devotion to sacred art and architecture. As she spoke, our guide brought to life the elegance of Romanesque domes, the whisper of Baroque and Gothic embellishments, and the enduring heart of the city’s spiritual heritage in Greek, Roman and Byzantine artistry.

From here, we began our walking tour through Zadar’s Old City, a route now lovingly documented in my sketchbook—complete with cobbled alleys, photographic snippets, and watercolour impressions still drying under the sea breeze.

The name of this Church attributes from the venerated painting of Our Lady that hangs in the sanctuary, painted by Blaž Jurjev in 1447. However its miracles began to be noted from the later part of the 16th century. These ranged from plagues to natural disasters that befell the people of this town.

In the first half of the 18th century, a Baroque-style single-nave church was added to the Renaissance rotunda, and a belfry with a bulb-shaped roof was built at the back of the circular building.

AymoCha! Croatia Travel Guide

As we ventured into one of Zadar’s narrower alleys, we came across a hidden gem—a Venetian fresco, unlike any I’d seen before. While traditional frescoes are painted directly onto plaster while it’s still wet, allowing pigment to bond with the surface, this one took a different approach. It had been painted onto tiles, then mounted onto the wall to imitate a window—a sacred glimpse into another time.

However it was not the technique that struck me hard but the devotion,  reverence,  and importance of Sacred Images that the Croats held deeply to their hearts.

Trotting on the alleyway, we were approaching our next stop along our walk – Monastery of St. Francis of Assisi (Samostan sv. Franje Asiškog), quietly majestic in its stillness. The oldest Gothic church in Dalmatia, it holds within its walls a deep sense of simplicity—Franciscan in spirit, no doubt—but also a quiet grandeur that speaks to its age and purpose. There was something gentle here. A kind of peace that didn’t demand attention but wrapped itself around you like a soft morning light.

Somewhere along our walk, the city opened up to the sea. And with it, came a sound I had never quite heard before.

The Sea Organ of Zadar does not perform in the way we expect music to. There are no musicians, no instruments in sight — only a series of steps descending into the Adriatic, and beneath them, a hidden system of pipes. As the waves move in and out, they push air through these pipes, producing tones that are at once haunting and gentle.

We stood there for a while — not speaking, not moving much — just listening. The rhythm was irregular, shaped entirely by the sea. Some notes lingered. Others disappeared as quickly as they came. It felt less like a performance, and more like a conversation between nature and design.

And in that moment, it struck me — this too was a form of seeing.

Not through the eyes, but through attention. Through presence.

From the openness of the sea, we returned once more into the city — into its narrower streets, its quieter corners, its sacred interiors.

Our steps led us to the Church of St. Simeon, a space that did not announce itself loudly, but held its presence with quiet dignity. There was a stillness here, one that gently asked you to slow down. To lower your voice. To notice.

Inside, the light was softer. Time felt less urgent.

And then, tucked within the space, I found myself drawn to something smaller.

It was not imposing, nor elaborately adorned. Yet there was a quiet weight to it — not physical, but symbolic. The shape, the material, the way it stood within the space… it invited pause.

Perhaps that is what Zadar offered me. Not spectacle, but stillness. And yet, like all good journeys, it did not end in silence.

Our day gently closed just outside the very walls that had held our quiet reflections — with a table set, laughter returning, and a sumptuous seafood meal shared in good company. Fresh, simple, and deeply satisfying, it was a reminder of one of Croatia’s many blessings: life by the coast, where the sea does not only sing — it nourishes.

There was something beautifully human about that transition.

From stillness to conversation.
From reflection to shared joy.

This part of the journey rests not just in what was seen or heard, but in what we experienced together. Now, in 2026, I look back on the 2024 journey. It makes me smile at how long some reflections take to reach the page.

The next entry will take us further along this path. Hopefully, it won’t be years in the making. Our destination is Church of St. Elijah, where the quiet beauty of Our Lady of Grace awaits.

An unforgettable presence. One I am ready to revisit — this time, with clearer eyes.