Dubrovnik -Stradun (town square)
Sunny Hole-in-the-Wall
TWO DALMATIANS
Picnic in Dubrovnik - New CityVENICE OR BUST II - DUBROVNIK
Dubrovnik is on the Dalmatian Coast of the new nation of Croatia which won its independence from Serbia in 1994. It took a pounding by Serbian tanks and planes during the war. However, the old walled city has been mostly restored to its former glory. Numbers of cruise ships dock in the harbor disgorging a daily flood of sight-seers with euros to spend. This allows the local inhabitants to abandon less profitable occupations such as felting, fishing and lavender gathering.
We have met up with John and Margaret Lowell from Malone, NY. John and I were in the same medical residency program in Pittsburgh in the 70’s. Rena and Margaret both birthed baby girls there in 1977. We’ve been friends ever since.
The four of us head down the gangplank.
“Dobor dan!” I cheerfully greet our cabbie Nikola, displaying a full 50% of my Croatian linguistic abilities.
Nikola invites us on a tour of the area – 50 euros for one hour.
“Hvalya, dobar” I counter. Great! I’ve still got a word or two of Croatian left for later.
Off we go to visit the local war memorial. We cross a beautiful new tourist bridge and trek up the only road that overlooks the old town. We turn left at the second goat path, through a pasture into a small village.
“Only 16 families live here. Welcome to Bosanka.” says our driver.
The pasture is fenced. Donkeys and their droppings on one side and me on the other.
“Seventeen donkeys are in there,” says Nikola.
I do the math. “That’s one donkey per family and one to grow on.”
Arriving at the top of Mount Srd, the only mountain in the world whose name has no vowels, we are confronted with the bombed out ruins of a cable car station. Four hundred Croats with rifles faced 3000 Serbs with tanks. Guess who won? The Croat defenders did buy enough time for the city to evacuate, however.
Carefully, we skirt the minefields and enter the war museum. A continuous video shows Serbian tanks and planes shelling the partially evacuated Old City. In 1936, the bombing of civilians in Guernica horrified the world. Now bombing of civilians in Europe or anywhere else is just routine. The 20th century will probably be remembered more for its barbarism than for anything else. Nikola’s family were displaced by the war but no one was killed. He still can’t stand the Serbs.
We are dropped off in the Old City. Hordes of camera-toting tourists throng the main street and the city square. Many of them are standing in line to pay 10 euros for the privilege of walking on top of the city walls.
“Hey, everyone,” I exclaim. “I’ve got a better idea. If we walk at the bottom of the walls it’s free.”
The rest of the entourage looks dubious.
“No, no, really,” I protest. “Let’s try it. We can do the top of the wall later if we want –after the cruise ships get ready to leave and the lines go down.”
I have used this gambit many times before and sometimes it works. I take the lead and we start climbing the stepped and cobbled alleyways. An open market sells lavender and lace tablecloths. It makes the entire old city smell like bath powder! We reach the base of the city’s walls.
We’re above rooftop height and going past ancient buildings with the 600 year old limestone battlements on our left. Suddenly, there’s a hole in the wall with a hand-lettered sign pointing left – “COLD DRINKS” it says in English. I duck my head and lead us through a short tunnel. We come out onto a limestone balcony 150 feet above the Adriatic. Tables are set up in the shade of palms and umbrellas. We sip cold sodas and make the acquaintance of two Dalmatians – a little girl and her dog. Dalmatian dogs here are light brown and shaggy. They look like mutts. I’m disappointed not to see black and white spotted puppies like the movies.
Refreshed, we’re off again through the 'hood - backyards, solar clothes dryers and pocket playgrounds. We find an ethnic museum. The girl-guides speak English and show us the way Dubrovnik used to be, before cruise ships were invented. These Balkan peasants were hard workers! Now, thanks to the tourists, even their donkeys can relax and enjoy the good life!
Down, down, down – we descend the cobbled streets. One street is made up entirely of outdoor restaurants. We stop for café-au-lait and apfelstrudel. Rena and I go off on our own for a bit and score an Italian leather pocketbook for $90. We also find the second oldest synagogue in Europe. After the expulsion from Spain in 1492, Ladino-speaking Sephardic Jews started a one-room synagogue which is still in operation today.
It’s been a wonderful day of exploring nooks and crannies of Dubrovnik’s Old City. We scoot back over the moat and ramble the residential neighborhood of the New City. Off a side street , we come across the locals enjoying a Sunday picnic on a sunny dock. I take the shot and bag my favorite photo of the day. It’s the last one on this blog.
“Dobor dan, hvalya.” Bye, bye Dubrovnik – you were great.
DAKTARI
Dubrovnik is on the Dalmatian Coast of the new nation of Croatia which won its independence from Serbia in 1994. It took a pounding by Serbian tanks and planes during the war. However, the old walled city has been mostly restored to its former glory. Numbers of cruise ships dock in the harbor disgorging a daily flood of sight-seers with euros to spend. This allows the local inhabitants to abandon less profitable occupations such as felting, fishing and lavender gathering.
We have met up with John and Margaret Lowell from Malone, NY. John and I were in the same medical residency program in Pittsburgh in the 70’s. Rena and Margaret both birthed baby girls there in 1977. We’ve been friends ever since.
The four of us head down the gangplank.
“Dobor dan!” I cheerfully greet our cabbie Nikola, displaying a full 50% of my Croatian linguistic abilities.
Nikola invites us on a tour of the area – 50 euros for one hour.
“Hvalya, dobar” I counter. Great! I’ve still got a word or two of Croatian left for later.
Off we go to visit the local war memorial. We cross a beautiful new tourist bridge and trek up the only road that overlooks the old town. We turn left at the second goat path, through a pasture into a small village.
“Only 16 families live here. Welcome to Bosanka.” says our driver.
The pasture is fenced. Donkeys and their droppings on one side and me on the other.
“Seventeen donkeys are in there,” says Nikola.
I do the math. “That’s one donkey per family and one to grow on.”
Arriving at the top of Mount Srd, the only mountain in the world whose name has no vowels, we are confronted with the bombed out ruins of a cable car station. Four hundred Croats with rifles faced 3000 Serbs with tanks. Guess who won? The Croat defenders did buy enough time for the city to evacuate, however.
Carefully, we skirt the minefields and enter the war museum. A continuous video shows Serbian tanks and planes shelling the partially evacuated Old City. In 1936, the bombing of civilians in Guernica horrified the world. Now bombing of civilians in Europe or anywhere else is just routine. The 20th century will probably be remembered more for its barbarism than for anything else. Nikola’s family were displaced by the war but no one was killed. He still can’t stand the Serbs.
We are dropped off in the Old City. Hordes of camera-toting tourists throng the main street and the city square. Many of them are standing in line to pay 10 euros for the privilege of walking on top of the city walls.
“Hey, everyone,” I exclaim. “I’ve got a better idea. If we walk at the bottom of the walls it’s free.”
The rest of the entourage looks dubious.
“No, no, really,” I protest. “Let’s try it. We can do the top of the wall later if we want –after the cruise ships get ready to leave and the lines go down.”
I have used this gambit many times before and sometimes it works. I take the lead and we start climbing the stepped and cobbled alleyways. An open market sells lavender and lace tablecloths. It makes the entire old city smell like bath powder! We reach the base of the city’s walls.
We’re above rooftop height and going past ancient buildings with the 600 year old limestone battlements on our left. Suddenly, there’s a hole in the wall with a hand-lettered sign pointing left – “COLD DRINKS” it says in English. I duck my head and lead us through a short tunnel. We come out onto a limestone balcony 150 feet above the Adriatic. Tables are set up in the shade of palms and umbrellas. We sip cold sodas and make the acquaintance of two Dalmatians – a little girl and her dog. Dalmatian dogs here are light brown and shaggy. They look like mutts. I’m disappointed not to see black and white spotted puppies like the movies.
Refreshed, we’re off again through the 'hood - backyards, solar clothes dryers and pocket playgrounds. We find an ethnic museum. The girl-guides speak English and show us the way Dubrovnik used to be, before cruise ships were invented. These Balkan peasants were hard workers! Now, thanks to the tourists, even their donkeys can relax and enjoy the good life!
Down, down, down – we descend the cobbled streets. One street is made up entirely of outdoor restaurants. We stop for café-au-lait and apfelstrudel. Rena and I go off on our own for a bit and score an Italian leather pocketbook for $90. We also find the second oldest synagogue in Europe. After the expulsion from Spain in 1492, Ladino-speaking Sephardic Jews started a one-room synagogue which is still in operation today.
It’s been a wonderful day of exploring nooks and crannies of Dubrovnik’s Old City. We scoot back over the moat and ramble the residential neighborhood of the New City. Off a side street , we come across the locals enjoying a Sunday picnic on a sunny dock. I take the shot and bag my favorite photo of the day. It’s the last one on this blog.
“Dobor dan, hvalya.” Bye, bye Dubrovnik – you were great.
DAKTARI
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