What It's Actually Like to Live Inside a 1,700-Year-Old Roman Palace: A Split Local Speaks
Marko Jurić was born in Split in 1988 — inside the walls of Diocletian's Palace. Not near the palace. Inside it. His family's apartment occupies the third floor of a building whose ground-floor walls are original 4th-century Roman construction. His bathroom shares a wall with a column that Emperor Diocletian's architects carved from Egyptian granite.
Meet him on a Wednesday in September at on the Riva promenade — the waterfront that runs along the palace's south facade — when it's 28°C and the Adriatic is the color of blue curaçao. He orders a macchiato. What he has to say is Split the way the 3,000 people who live inside the walls actually know it.
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What it means to live inside a Roman palace
Locals barely explain it — for them, it's just home. About 3,000 people live inside the palace walls: apartments, shops, restaurants. People have lived here continuously since Diocletian built it in 305 AD. When the Roman Empire fell, locals from the destroyed city of Salona moved into the palace and converted it into a town. They built houses inside the emperor's halls. The cathedral was originally his mausoleum.
So yes, it's a palace — but one with a washing machine from 2019 and unreliable WiFi.
The biggest misconception tourists have about Split
That it's a stopover. Most people come for one night on their way to Hvar or Dubrovnik, see the palace, walk the Riva, and leave. That's like eating one olive and claiming you've tasted Mediterranean cuisine.
Give Split three days minimum. One for the palace and old town. One for Marjan Hill and the beaches. One for an island day trip — Hvar or Brač or Vis. Four days is better, because then you have time to sit at a Riva café for two hours and do nothing, which is the most Dalmatian thing you can do.
Where locals actually eat
Not inside the palace. The restaurants on the Peristyle and near the Golden Gate are tourist-priced. Walk 5-10 minutes into the Varoš or Manuš neighborhoods.
Konoba Matejuška: Right on the tiny fishing harbor at the west end of the Riva. Grilled fish, black risotto (crni rižoto), and octopus salad. Mains €10-16. The fishermen are literally behind you.
Fife: A no-frills local canteen near the fish market. Workers eat here at noon. The daily plate (pašticada, fried sardines, or stewed beans) costs €6-8. Cash only. Don't expect charm. Expect food.
Villa Spiza: Tiny, inside the palace but hidden enough that tourists walk past. Daily-changing menu written on a chalkboard. Five tables. Book or arrive at 12:30PM sharp. Mains €10-14.
Avoid anything with a hawker outside waving a laminated menu. If the menu has photos, walk away.
What's the deal with fjaka?
Fjaka is the Dalmatian art of doing nothing, deliberately. It isn't laziness — it's a philosophical choice to sit in the shade during the hottest part of the day and refuse to be productive. Many small shops close between 1PM and 5PM in summer because of fjaka.
It frustrates tourists. Shops are closed! Restaurants have limited menus! Nothing is happening!
Exactly. That's the point. Go to the beach. Read a book. Nurse a coffee for two hours. The city reopens at 5PM, cooler and more pleasant.
The favorite spot most tourists miss
Marjan Hill draws some visitors, but not enough. It's a forested peninsula that rises 178 meters above the city. The main viewpoint is a 20-minute climb from the old town — free, open always — and the view over the harbor, the islands, and the palace from above is the best in Split.
Go further, though. Past the viewpoint, trails run through Aleppo pines, 13th-century stone chapels are tucked into the forest, and the south side hides rocky beaches that stay empty even in August. Bene Beach at the base of Marjan has a bar, sunbeds (€8/day), and water so clear you can see the bottom at 5 meters.
Then there's the Green Market (Pazar) on the east side of the palace. Every morning, local farmers sell produce, cheese, dried figs, and lavender. It isn't designed for tourists — prices are fair, no haggling needed. The dried fig and almond cakes are a Dalmatian specialty you won't find in restaurants.
Is Split safe?
Very. Level 1 safety. You can walk it at any hour and feel fine. The biggest risks are sea urchins (wear water shoes on rocky beaches — stepping on one is painful), sunburn (Dalmatia gets 2,700 hours of sunshine per year), and spending too much on Riva café cocktails because the sunset makes you lose track of your order count.
Pickpocketing is virtually nonexistent. Solo travelers, women included, are fine.
The best day trip from Split
Hvar Island. Jadrolinija catamaran, 1 hour, from €12 one way. Book 2-3 days ahead in summer — they sell out. Hvar Town has a Venetian fortress, lavender shops, and the kind of nightlife that keeps yacht people happy until 4AM.
But the real Hvar is outside the town. Rent a scooter (€30/day) and ride to Stari Grad (the oldest town in Croatia, 2,400 years), the lavender fields inland, or the hidden coves on the south coast. Spend the night — the town calms down beautifully after the day-trippers leave.
Brač is closer (50 min by ferry) and has Zlatni Rat — a horn-shaped beach that shifts direction with the current. Very photogenic. Very crowded. Go early or late.
When to visit Split
May to June, or September to October. July and August run 35°C+, the palace fills with cruise ship passengers (Split port handles the big ships now that Dubrovnik has capacity limits), and restaurant prices peak.
September is the one to circle. The sea is at its warmest (24-25°C). The crowds thin after Labor Day. The light turns golden. And the figs are ripe — fresh figs from the market, split open and eaten with goat cheese, with a glass of plavac mali wine. That's Split at its best.
Croatia adopted the euro in January 2023, so there's no more kuna confusion. Prices at local konobas (taverns) haven't changed much — a seafood dinner for two with wine still costs €30-40. Compare that to Dubrovnik, where the same meal runs €50-70.
Last word
Don't rush through. Split isn't a monument to be visited — it's a city to be inhabited. The palace isn't behind a rope. It isn't a ruin. People live in it, work in it, argue in it, hang laundry from it. Emperor Diocletian retired here because he preferred growing cabbages in Dalmatia to ruling Rome.
Sit at the Peristyle at 8AM, before the crowds. Watch the light hit the columns. Listen to the cathedral bell. That moment — 1,700 years of continuous human habitation compressed into a single morning — is what Split actually is.
Then go get a €6 plate of grilled sardines at Fife. Because Rome fell, but the sardines are still here.
