The church on Hvar Town's main square rings its bells for a full minute at six o'clock in the morning, every morning. At first you think it is ringing the hour -- six chimes -- but then it goes on and on (and on), and you think it might never stop. If you are tired from an evening of drinking wine at a bar on a small landing between staircases (with a peek of a view of the harbor), then you roll over and go back to sleep. But if you are ambitious, you resign yourself and rise to greet the day anyway.
The fruit market is only starting to set up when you walk past at 7:30, and the square, which smells of lavender, is lined with palms. Taxi boats are waiting to take you to the nearby paklinski otoci (perhaps the gay beach? maybe the nude beach?), and the first ferry from Split unloads its tourists around 8 a.m.
It is much more pleasant to look at the off-white walls and red-tiled roofs of Hvar at this hour, before the sun has risen high enough in the sky to render most surfaces, including the reflective Adriatic, blinding. The smell of fresh bread, the smell of coffee, the (surprisingly faint) smell of fish and salt water -- this is Hvar Town.