My first morning was panoramic; white sun rising above the Adriatic was a warm welcome as I descended the mountain into Dubrovnik and began my tour of the Dalmatian Coast. Dubrovnik is the southernmost city in a thin stretch of land extending from the Croatian mainland down to Montenegro, a coastline roughly the same length as California’s. The city itself is a story of rebirth. It was bombed to smithereens by Bosnians and Serbians during the conflict in the 1990s but was rebuilt nearly completely in the old style. The result is a clean and well built city that glimmers like a polished alabaster shell. Somehow Croatia managed to hold on to nearly the entire Adriatic coastline, isolating Bosnia from port access, but their prize did not come without payment. There was a lot of painful emotion in this city. From the nameless crosses to the “Dubrovnik Defenders” memorial, I felt the still emotion of a country too recently scarred with the horror of bombardment and open warfare.
A climb up the hill overlooking the city was an early highlight of the trip. I ran into some free range steer and some goats mulching in fields littered with remnants of concrete fortifications. It was unnerving to see pieces of rusty shrapnel, bombed out concrete bunkers, and destroyed machinery dotting the landscape just beyond the tranquil seaboard. Despite the cheerful attitude in the cities, the broken skeleton of the mountain whispered the residues of war. The pictures on Picasa are mainly of beauty, architectural and natural, but there are some places that reeked strongly of conflict. With that in mind... Croatia is beautiful!
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After enjoying the crystal
waters below the craggy cliffs of Dubrovnik, I moved up to Croatia’s second largest city, Split. It was a bit less of a tourist show and more of a normal Croatian town, I suspected, showing how average Croats live today. The living was modern with a well lit boardwalk and more boutiques and shops than Dubrovnik but there was a large quarter, still inhabited, that was first built by the Roman Emperor Diocletian as a palace getaway. For many years after its construction the palace at Split was reserved for royalty. However, after the fall of the Empire, the locals moved in and began outfitting it for communal living. Perhaps more interesting than the old palace ruins is the fact that families from Roman bloodlines traceable to antiquity have inhabited
the old quarter of this modern amalgamation for centuries. There was also a really eerie shrine to Jupiter, still intact; with a mildly satanic feel (Diocletian thought he
was the son of god. Apparently he wanted a place he could visit his dad to discuss the woes of divinity). I spent a good amount of time wandering the open veggie and fish markets. Experiences abounded: I bought tomatoes weighed out with fishing lures on an old balance scale, was targeted by a group of 40-something hustler/hooligans who played find-the-ball-under-the-moving-cups, and ate a sickening amount of gelato (basically, ice cream as far as I can tell).
Moving on:
I jumped a catamaran to the nearby island of Hvar to check out what all the rage was about. It was a beautiful town full of extraordinarily beautiful women, some of which chose the topless option. However, toplessness is often a catch-22…especially when flabby British yachters are involved. As bad as it was, I think it was a fair trade. I only wish I had had the pervishness to have taken a few pictures so I could convince everyone that Croat women are where it’s at. Unfortunately, Hvar was also the capital of fat bastards wearing speedos with their bellies hanging to their toes.
The hostel in Hvar was wild, mostly due to 2-liter bottles of beer and a crew of girls who were delightfully twisted; they played drinking games that would put Justin Wood in his place. I rented a boat with a few guys and we motor-boated the archipelago flat, stopping in coves, diving for shells, discovering a lost colony of bighorn sheep, and just losing ourselves in the deep blue abyss of the Adriatic. It was a great town but it wasn't exactly my scene. It had a bit too much of the resort atmosphere with far too many yachts that I didn’t own.
On to Korcula: The perfect little seaside villa.
This place was by far my favorite part of the trip due in no small part to the living legend, a South African man named “Z”, who ran the only hostel on this otherwise sleepy isle. Steel buckets of booze, shots of moonshine for flashing your ass to the moon, endless nicknames, bullhorn announcements, Point Break, and enormous sausage sandwiches all made the OneLove hostel a very special place. I connected with some really cool Australians here and was very happy to simply enjoy the lower prices and the traditional food while soaking up some clear coastal sunlight.
Croatia was magnificent. It was the perfect blend of luxury, budget travel, authenticity and natural beauty. The pearly cities and the fresh sea atmosphere was everything you could want from a summer getaway.
Check out the pics on Picasa, there are a lot more! (they save me from writing too many adjectives).
Livin' the dream,
T
