Balkaning it up: Part III
To quote a friend, I've had a bit of a break keeping up this journal. It's just been much easier to quickly use the hostel's free internet then go out, find an internet cafe, and (gasp) pay. Do you know how many drinks books you can buy with that money?? DO YOU?
Good, I don't either.
30 JULY, 2007: DUBROVNIK
With a skillful amount of pursuasion, I was able to foist Harry Potter onto Laura before heading to catch my bus to Dubrovnik. I had a bit of a bounce to my step, partially because I was setting out on another adventure and also partially because my pack was that much lighter now that I was rid of Potter. Anyway, I have no idea what possessed me to book a spot on the late bus (which of course showed up even later), but the ride to Dubrovnik was fantastic. Croatia is quite a country--leaving Zagreb you pass through lush green fields and Italian-looking towns with Slavic names as you go down the Dalmatian coast to Split. After a few chapters in a rather bad novel, you look up to see a drier, craggeir landscape, which continues down to Dubrovnik with the occasional slice of the brightest green to make it look that much drier once you've passed on. The mountains fall into the clear blue sea and the war that nearly tore this region apart seems like it happened in another world.
Everyone is raving about Dubrovnik now that the rubble from the militarily pointless shelling it suffered 10 years ago has been cleared away. Yachts and crusies frequent here and the crowds are tanned, willowy, and more often than not wearing ridiculously large pairs of sunglasses. I flipped through my Lonely Planet, wondering if the city was going to live up to the fantastic hyperbole of the guide book and then looking back outside for some trace of the war. There isn't much: the occasional bare foundation, a blasted shell of a house, two broken stories. These alternate with elaborate roadside gravestones and plaques. At first, I thought these were tributes to fallen soldiers, but then saw that the dates were 2001, 2003, 1999. There are other, more common ways to die here as well, like in car accidents caused by zipping too fast around the switchbacks.
Dubrovnik starts trying its damndest to impress visitors as soon as they get inside the city limits. The narrow road from Split becomes the delicate and extremely wobbly-looking Franjo Tudjman Bridge. Tudjman was a character: led Croatia to independence and then persided over a corrupt and ineffective governement. Some Croatians have wondered if the War Crimes Tribunal in the Hague would have paid as much for his extradition as they did to Serbia for Milosevic. Personally, I doubt it. Milosevic had the reputation of a really bad sort, while Tudjman just sort of ambles by in comparison. He was never the big catch, mostly because it was Bosnian Serbs who committed the worst of the war crimes during the Balkan Wars (Srbernica massacre, the siege of Sarajevo, shelling Dubrovnik). I digress, as usual. Back to the less depressing stuff. Dubrovnik has been a major seaport and trading center for centuries. As a free city, it was an important trading post between the Ottoman empire and Europe, and a traditional place of asylum for persecuted peoples. Boatloads of Jews fleeing the Inquisition in Spain settled here, creating a lively Sephardic community still seen in traces. Byron called the city "the pearl of the Adriatic" and it is not an exaggeration. Even in the 19th century, without the cleaning up and restoration the buildings have undergone for the tourists, this would be an impressive, impressive site.
I finally arrived and, after braving the Vultures (little old ladies trying to get you to rent a room in their flat, no not that cow's flat, mine, and for only 20 euros! Don't you want a room?????), I grabbed a taxi to my hostel. The driver was nice, but was one of the scariest-looking men I've ever encountered. He had a hive of dark purple-pink warts sprouting out of beard I guess he was growing in an attempt to hide them. It wasn't working. Also, his shirt was opened Mediteranian-style to reveal another purple-pink growth, this one looking slightly like a spread-out nalesnik, growing over his chest. I tried very hard not to stare, but it was rather difficult especially because he had several random mirrors arranged on the dashboard. I kid you not. He was nice and did get me to the hostel without any senic tours of the city or other fare-upping schemes.
Dubrovnik Backpacker's Club is really something. A family-run hostel (father, mother, six kids), it is a hopping wild place that, like the city, sucks you in from the moment you arrive. Before I knew it, my things were stowed in my room and I was on the terrace admiring the view of the city and drinking some sinus-clearing plum concoction that was given to me as a welcome drink. Most of the people staying ended up staying for quite some time, as evidenced by an Ozzie who came for three nights and stayed for an extra two weeks. I also happened to meet a fellow who went to college with some kids I knew from high school--what a small world! Dinner was provided by Milca, the smiling mother to this rowdy bunch of backpackers and a spectacular cook. She didn't mind having another mouth to feed (what mother does?), and I was soon up to my ears in lamb, chicken, and some sort of salad. Milca's cooking is apparently famous and has led to more than one marriage proposal and a couple of minor religions. After some chatting and drinking, we took the bus to town and went to a couple of the bars. Getting my first introduction to Dubrovnik by night was really something else. The place just glows. What I wouldn't give to just have the city all to myself, without the hordes of tourists! Even with them, it's easy to see why everyone is so crazy about this place. We watched some people try to jump up onto a tiny stone shelf by the church. Legend has it that if you stand up on this ledge, take off your shirt and put it back on without touching the wall, you will get married in Dubrovnik. I wouldn't mind that at all, but I've never been particularly fond of disrobing in public (those times in my car after early morning skating practice were acts of desparation so I could get a parking spot close to school).
The bars were hopping, the drinks were relatively cheap, and everyone was having a good time. I decided to call it a night rather early, so another girl and I managed to catch the last bus home. Nothing interesting happened, other than being hit on by some drunken Germans, who shut up after a few choice words in Polish.
31 JULY, 2007: DUBROVNIK
Much to my astonishment, everyone was up and eating breakfast when I came into the common room rather early in the morning. Considering that breakfast was free and quite good, I wasn't terribly surprised. I caught the bus down to the town and spent the day wandering through the marble-paved streets and exploring. Unlike Split, Dubrovnik is not easy to get lost in because it was built into a rather high hill and the steep sets of steps all lead up to one road from the main street. It doesn't really matter, because it is fun to explore without the spine-chilling feeling of: "Oh Lord, I'm lost!" I found a copy of The Hobbit in Bosnian/Croatian/Montenegrin/Serbian and also an English copy of Ivo Androvic's Bridge Over the Drina, which I've been meaning to read but never managed to find a copy. With an ice cream cone in hand (raspberry and green apple, just a mite too sweet for me), I ran up and down some of the stair cases and admired the view before meeting up with some people for a late lunch at one of the restaurants on the main road. We walked around the harbor a bit and watched a water polo game before heading back for dinner. Tonight, Milca served up enough spagetti bolognese to feed an army along with a salad with the closest thing to Trav's dressing I've encountered in a long time. I tried to get the recipe, but unfortuantely Milca didn't understand what I was asking for and piled more salad onto my plate. This is a standard reaction of host mothers when their foreign charges present them with a perplexing or incomprehensible situation. Feed them and everything will be happy. And indeed it is so.
I didn't want to go out, but who can resist spending some time in Dubrovnik at night. Oh, what the heck!
1 AUGUST, 2007: DUBROVNIK
Today a bunch of us went out to nearby Mokrun island to swim in some sea caves and generally bum around on the beach. The water was a perfect shade of blue and the paths to the island curved around it so well that we were quite ready to drop our stuff at the first convenient place and go for a swim. Unfortuantely, this was the nudist beach, and so we had to beat a fast and slightly awkward retreat. After some scrambling over the rocks (and flip flops were NOT made for this kind of climbing, let me tell you), we found a perfect spot and jumped in. The water was a lot colder than we expected and the current was strong, which wasn't a problem getting to the caves. Getting back was another story. I'm a fairly strong swimmer, though a bit out of shape because most of the sport I've done this year has been competitive Tram Chasing, but I was starting to get a little scared. We were close to a place where we could scramble out, so we climbed up those very sharp rocks and lay shaking for a while. After tending our wounds (who knew that rocks were so blasted sharp!), we lay out and tried to get a nice Adriatic tan. We fell asleep and thought we were going to miss the ferry back, but managed to catch it with enough time to do a little exploring and chase some of the island's resident peacocks.
When we got home, we had just enough time to clean up before dinner--tender brisket, noodle broth, and (glory of glories!) fried zucchini! And then another night of partying went into full swing. Just before that, Ivica, one of the sons who helps run the hostel, proposed a trip to Mostar, my next destination. A Brilliant Plan (TM) occurred to me: why don't I just tag along and then stay the night in Mostar before heading to Sarajevo. I asked Ivica and he thought it was grand. Bosnia, here I come!