For two centuries, Venetian merchants turned pale at the sight of this gap in the mountain. It was from here, where the Cetina River cuts through the rock to reach the Adriatic, that the Almissa corsairs burst forth: slender, fast boats able to sail up the current and vanish into the gorges before any pursuit. Omiš inherited a spectacular location from its pirates — an old stone town wedged between cliffs, river and sea, twenty-five kilometres south of Split, where small ships cruising Dalmatia make a stop.

Stone lanes and bell towers

The landing practically touches the old core. It is easy to get lost here for a while: vaulted passageways, laundry in the windows and little squares where cats hold court. St. Michael's Church raises its Baroque bell tower above the rooftops, and the façades of the old patrician houses recall that piracy here was long a prosperous and almost respectable economy — the corsairs levied a "right of passage" that Venice itself ended up paying. The terraces on the little squares serve strong Italian-style coffee, a reminder of an Adriatic where influences have always travelled faster than borders.

Mirabela, the corsairs' lookout

Clinging to the rock face just above the lanes, the Mirabela tower is reached by a steep staircase in about fifteen minutes. From its platform, the view takes in at a single glance the Cetina delta, the tiled roofs and the coast stretching toward Split. The hardiest continue to the Starigrad fortress, perched much higher on the ridge: an hour on a stony trail, rewarded with a panorama reaching as far as Brač and Hvar. Closed-toe shoes and water are essential. Those who prefer to stay below can console themselves on the riverside terraces, where colourful boats await their passengers beneath the natural ramparts.

The canyon at the edge of the lanes

Omiš's trump card remains its river. Flat-bottomed boats travel up the canyon from the port: two-hundred-metre cliffs, green water, wild vines and, to finish, the rustic stop at Radmanove Mlinice, old mills converted into an inn beneath the plane trees. The round trip takes about two hours, the boatman's commentary included — often in a delightful mix of Croatian, English and gestures. The more active instead choose rafting on the rapids upstream or the zipline that crosses the gorge in eight segments — the kind of morning people talk about at supper for a long time.

A sandy beach to finish

A rarity on this pebbly coast: the town beach, five minutes from the centre, is fine sand, a legacy of the alluvium the Cetina has deposited for millennia. The water deepens gently, making it an ideal spot for families before returning on board. On summer evenings, the town sometimes resonates with klapa, the Dalmatian polyphonic songs to which Omiš has devoted the country's most important festival since 1967. The bridge spanning the river mouth offers a striking view of the meeting of fresh water and sea, guarded on either side by the grey walls of the massif.

At a glance

What the gorges sing

Omiš condenses Dalmatia into a pocket-sized format: warm stone, water coming down from the mountain and a tale of bandits turned local pride. When the ship pulls away and the breach closes up in the landscape, you understand the Venetians: this notch in the mountain is not easily forgotten.