Introducing Europe's most unexpected - but beautiful - cycling destination

One of the main motivations for building a town or village on top of a hill historically was to provide protection against invasion. Nowadays, defence is less pertinent, especially in the calming inlands of Istria, the northern Croatian peninsula that was once part of the Roman empire, a civilisation particularly fond of both hills and fortification. 

However, the former citadels perched 1,250ft above the region’s roads now provide a different, modern utility – especially when exploring by bike. When you know that each lunch stop or bed for the night is at least one climb away, it gives both added determination to tired limbs and an extra measure of contentment with the first sip of a cold glass of Favorit (one of Istria’s most popular lagers) or first taste of fuzi (Istrian pasta) drenched in home-made olive oil and bespeckled with home-foraged truffles. 

This was most fervently felt after my girlfriend and I had tackled the twisting and turning ascent up to the pretty hamlet of Oprtalj for lunch. It was one that caught us by surprise, having just enjoyed the most leisurely of downhill cruises from our elevated hotel in Buzet the night before. 

One advantage of tackling the peninsula by road bike – rather than mountain bike, which is often the preferred method – is that you can soar through its lush heart. The road picked its way around spits of foliage, past vineyards and olive groves, and through tunnels of green so fresh that it felt like you could taste their colours in the air. As we glided along, the rush of serenity was broken only by the rare change of gear or shout behind to announce a photostop. 

But then our map told us to turn right and, with smiles still plastered across our faces, we began to climb. “Oh, I forgot about the ascents,” I said, as it became clear at the first hairpin that our freewheeling phase was over. 

I kicked ahead to pick up some momentum, passing a gang of six or seven cats lulling by the farmhouse on the corner, before settling into the comforting rhythm of bottom gear. Some 30 minutes later we had crested the rise and were panting and gasping by the side of the road, admiring between grimaces a view across to the better-known medieval town of Motovun – but we knew lunch was near.

We rolled along the broad ridge to our restaurant, where we paused for two hours or so, dining on local cheeses, dried meats and handmade pasta with black pepper and wild asparagus, shaded from the midday sun by an awning but exposed to soothing views of rolling vineyards and still expanses of a bucolic plateau. Yes, it was worth the climb.

The other benefit of every meaningful stop being hundreds of feet above the road is that, full of beer, lunch or drowsiness, you can slump in your saddle and just roll down the hillside, expending zero energy for several miles, until it is time once again to shock the lactic acid from your legs. 

Days and scores of pedalled miles later, the clean, near-alpine air of Istria’s hilly core felt like a distant memory as it was replaced by the salty drags of the Adriatic coast. Istria was once part of Italy (indeed, it was also part of the Austro-Hungarian empire and later Yugoslavia, when Croatia was part of that country) and there is certainly an air of Tuscany to the region. This is less so on the coast, where the resorts take on their own appearance – ancient towns teetering on the edge of rocky coastlines fringed by brazenly turquoise waters. 

We hit the sea at Umag before stretching our legs down to Novigrad, where the narrow, cobbled streets seem in permanent state of carnival, the path of our bikes dappled with lights thanks to the array of colourful sun umbrellas hung across the street above. Its quiet harbour was an ideal location to rest for 15 minutes, gorging on chocolate and water before a push south to our final destination of Rovinj. 

Rovinj, from the air, is shaped like a teardrop, as if the land is fighting a losing battle with the Adriatic for possession of its cluttered, marble streets and colourful, tussling terraces. Perhaps the only reason the mainland is winning is because the town has been stabled down by the piercing Church of St Euphemia, which rises from the centre, arresting the gaze of anyone lucky enough to approach the old town on foot, in a car, or by bike. Such a sight, and the eventual sights, sounds and smells of Rovinj’s harbour are rewarding enough to make up for the absence of a challenging climb and a congratulatory gulp or gobble at the end of it.

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But food still played a part that evening, as we marked the end of our journey around Istria at La Puntulina, a restaurant in the town that is becoming increasingly popular for its outside tables scattered on a charming outcrop overlooking the Adriatic horizon. Here, we abandoned the pastas and truffles of the hills for seafood sourced just yards from our plates. However, midway through ordering, something out of the corner of my eye stole my attention. With my eyes now trained on the spot behind the expectant waitress, I saw it without doubt the second time. 

“Dolphins,” I said. “I just saw some dolphins.”

The waitress nodded. “A pod crosses this headland every evening,” she said. 

Beautiful. I suppose there are some advantages to staying in towns built not on hills, but by the sea. 

The essentials

Hugh Morris travelled as a guest of the Croatia National Tourist Board (croatia.hr/en-GB).

A wide range of road bikes can be hired from the Rental Center (rcmedulin.eu), from €150 (￡132) per week. Pedals, helmet, lock, map and tyre repair kit are all included in the hire price. 

Croatia Airlines (croatiaairlines.com) flies direct to Pula from London Heathrow, with fares starting from ￡117 return.