Dubrovnik - August 30, 2005

I spent the day site-seeing. While my friends slept, I grabbed a coffee on the main boulevard and watched as the package tourists were herded from Cathedral to Bell Tower. The city was much more crowded during the day and also lost a bit of its charm as tourists jostled for the best photos. I chose to walk up some random alleyways, away from the hustle and bustle. I climbed up and up, between 4 story houses that were over 300 years old, past men grilling lunch on the steps, and beside children playing football. I wandered under fresh lilacs and plump grape vines and below gossiping women hanging their morning's laundry. And thus, I observed Dubrovnik.


Eventually, the tourists cleared out, having to catch their cruiseships onto the next major destination. So then I walked around the main square and down the majestic boulevard to the entrance to the city ramparts. I paid my entrance fee and admired the views over Dubrovnik, a city of red-tiled roofs, church spires, and unforgettable views over the harbor and Adriatic sea.

Three quarters of the way around, I followed my brother's instructions and looked down. As he had described, there was a tiny bar clinging to the sea, outside the citywalls. Locals were sunbathing, jumping off a cliff and somehow avoiding a medley of dangerous rocks, and sipping beers, chatting quietly. I had to find that bar. I hurried off the city fortifications, and threw myself into the maze of alleys once again. Passing two fighting cats, an old woman scolding her grandson, and a grinning man urinating in a corner, I struggled to find my way back to the bar. And then, I found the sign proclaiming 'Cold Drinks: the most beautiful bar in the Adriatic.' And that it was. I watched the sunset, nurturing a wonderfully cold local brew.

That night, we had a platter of fresh mussels for dinner. Excellent! My friends were tired, so myself and the Irishman bribed a local bar to sell us some beers (it was past 1am) and sat in the square until sunup, catching up on our respective summers. Eventually, the local bar closed down, and the barman promised 'tomorrow, first drink on bar. You come, ok!'