Given The Choice Of A November Morning Working With More Rejection Slips For My Bestseller, Or Using A Free Tour Of The Island’s Houses For Sale, I Opted For The Latter, And My Eyes Were Opened.

It was October 2003 along with a good time to take stock. The last two and a half years had included a nine month overland trip from Oxford to South Africa, 6 months in Somalia and 6 months in Japan, and now I had been back on Hvar, with winter once more approaching.

On the plus side, I had created a lovely home, a lovely girlfriend along with a lovely island. All good.

On the negative side, the heating solution did not work, I had no job, and my limited savings were ebbing away with my daily visits towards the excellent Cafe Splendid.

Employment alternatives for a non-native speaker out of season without any discernible skills were limited. My two big ideas – to become a world famous writer, or to start a language school – looked doomed to failure.

While I knew that Lebanese Nuns Don’t Ski deserved to be an international bestseller, it seemed that the many agents who received my synopsis were unaware of the fact, and after a couple of good leads, the lights choose to go out, and I was destined for the fate of posthumous literary fame.

The teaching idea wasn’t looking very clever either. My idea to do business English courses in Split during the entire winter, as well as an intensive course about the island during the summer wasn’t practical, with the catamaran return ticket price almost equivalent to an hour in the classroom.

I had been out of ideas and, not the first time in my life, a mild panic entered my inner calm, causing me difficulty sleeping. Just WHAT was I going to do with my life?

The answer arrived at my inbox, in the form of a contact from a chap named Graham, who rather cheekily enquired regarding the possibility of staying in my house at no cost (I had made it available to relatives and buddies while in Japan), as he were interested in buying property on the island, and was struggling to find any information. His wife was suffering from ME and he had heard that Hvar had the very best recuperative climate in Europe, and the man needed my help.

Being unsure of the first thing about buying property on Hvar – I believed the policy of looking for old men in straw hats waiting through the catamaran did not work in every case – I fixed him track of some accommodation and a agent. I say a real estate agent, it was actually a legal professional, for the lawyers back then were the agents, and in addition acted legally for buyer and seller, frequently holding a power of attorney both for sides. I should have run away then…

Given the choice of a November morning coping with more rejection slips for my bestseller, or using a free tour of the island’s virginia homes, I opted for the latter, and my eyes were opened. Only when I had the money, there were some real bargains around, and Croatia was just starting to be touted as a new property hotspot.

In the end of the day, Graham had found his perfect home – ideal for his needs – a captivating modern 2-bed bungalow in Vrboska, in a quiet residential area a brief walk from the sea. He was eternally grateful for my help and went home an incredibly happy bunny.

I went home also quite excited. There are bound to be many more Grahams coming over ferry in the coming months, who would also be lost on arrival and hopefully grateful on departure. Easily could turn that gratitude into take advantage the form of a sales commission, perhaps – just perhaps – I can make a living on Hvar, while I waited for that literary powers that be to show me into the next Bill Bryson.

Hvar Property Services was formed within my head over a cold one or three that very evening. It was a decision that caused me many, many difficulty sleeping as I entered the murky world of Croatia real estate as reported tagza.