You'll leave your scooter where the asphalt ends and walk the last four hundred meters through maquis that smells of wild rosemary and sun-baked stone. Sovinje announces itself with a gap in the pines and a sudden wide view of turquoise shallows. The sand here is coarser than Mrljane's, mixed with fine shell grit that crunches softly as you spread your towel.
“One of the few naturist beaches in the North Dalmatian archipelago that remains genuinely uncommercial and locally known.”
White cliffs over a desert beach
Mid-June, you might share the cove with a half-dozen others—a German couple reading paperbacks in the shade, a solo Croatian woman doing yoga on the hard sand near the waterline. No one stares, no one performs. The etiquette is silent and well understood: respect distance, take your litter, don't photograph. The seabed slopes gently, and you can walk fifty meters out before the water reaches your chest, the bottom a pale gold visible through the column of blue.
By late afternoon, the sun slants through the pine canopy, throwing bars of shadow across the sand. A light chop develops, enough to create a rhythmic slosh against the shore. You'll rinse off in the shallows—there are no showers—and pull on shorts for the walk back, skin tight with salt and the particular tired satisfaction that comes from hours spent doing absolutely nothing.
