Looking back at this picture I realize I was over half way through my trip. I’d been to Serbia at this point. I’d seen quite a bit of Croatia. Made my way around Bosnia and had found my way back to the coast to see Dubrovnik before I headed to Montenegro, Kosovo and Macedonia.
There is really no doubt Croatia is a singularly spectacular country. It is photogenic at every turn. But, and isn’t there alway a but… After Bosnia, Dubrovnik was surreal. So clean and polished. Nearly impossible to believe Dubrovnik suffered major damage during its own siege (between October of 1991 and May of 1992.) The walls showing only the lines of age, not the scars of war. And the limestone streets worn to a soft shine. Not like the cracked and crumbling sidewalks and roads of Sarajevo.
And the people… During the day the streets throng with well heeled and coiffed cruise shippers. 6, 7, 8 different languages bouncing and tumbling off the walls. Shopkeepers calling out to the passers by first in Italian, then German, French and English. Even Japanese at times. And to each other in the sing-song almost lyrical Croatian that, if I hadn’t been paying attention would have mistaken for Italian.
After the sun sets and the velveteen cloak of blue hour settles over the city, the tourists seem to evaporate. Replaced by a more subtle set of travelers. Strolling. Murmuring. Standing. Punctuations of a distant barking dog or the flurry of black habits or white cassocks and the accompanying chatter of the nuns and priests making their way to or from services.
Even though the preponderance of my trip was solo. There were a few occasions were I found an individual or two with whom to travel. People of a curious nature and engaging character. Such was the case in Dubrovnik. In fact we’d been staying at the same hostel in Sarajevo, then quite by happenstance (in my case) descended on the same hostel in Mostar. We figured out that we were all heading towards the coast and it was decided that we would make a stop in Dubrovnik before heading to Montenegro.
After stocking up on balkan backpacker style hors d’oerves (a block of cheese, bagel chips, olives and mandarines) beer and wine we found one of the west facing gates in the city wall and settled in to watch the sun set. Once the fireworks faded and sea and sky began to melt together along the horizon we made our way back to the Placa Ulica.
Location
The reflections. The light. The color.
We sat.
Of course people stared at us. 3 girls… sitting, laughing, talking, making pictures….in the middle of the street.
A shop keeper over there stood in her doorway trying to figure out what we were doing.
A couple of small children stared intently as they passed with their parents.
A few sharply dressed, well muscled young men watched us as they walked by…several times …and then focused their attention on my two companions, realizing that the 20 something women with whom I sat were far more interesting and attractive than the one behind the camera.
Once the blue was replaced by the inky black of impending storm clouds, we rose and went in search of supper. Finding a restaurant called Good Food we put its name to the test…and in fact it was.
