A university assignment 'Writing about Place', and for this I chose the wonderful walled city of Dubrovnik. After visiting in 2019, it was the last of my overseas adventures before the pandemic stunted international travel. I found myself mentally reliving my time there over and over again, each time making it more idyllic in my minds eye. For this, it seemed the perfect destination to recount for this alternative travel writing piece: Dubrovnik through 'covid-restricted and rose-tinted glasses.' This piece also allowed me to use some film photography that I did over there, testing out my new 35mm film camera, so all imagery in the piece is taken by me.
I love travel and hope to do more this coming summer now restrictions have eased, hopefully more travel writing awaits me.
The sunlight seeps from the corner of the sky as a new dawn breaks and spills into the waves of the Adriatic. A gentle breeze flurries toward the shore, carrying birds taking their first flight of the day toward the city of Dubrovnik, in hopes that a local may offer up some breakfast. The city sits nestled on the Dalmatia coast, at the southernmost part of the country's long coastal span. Despite Bosnia and Herzegovina and Montenegro being a stone's throw inland, the Croatian flag is the one atop the walls of the ‘Pearl of the Adriatic.’
Contained by those walls that are up to twenty-five meters high, the city fends against the sea whose waters lap at its heels and beg for entrance. The fortifications of the 14th century stand tall beside their elder relative, the 9th century limestone walls that humbly house the city's inhabitants. Some of which now peg their freshly washed garments on lines spanning balconies, while others empty stale breadcrumbs onto windowsills for the hungry sea birds.
A short distance from the city's walls, a vista of crystalline water stretches out to Lokrum island. A small mound of foliage atop jagged cliff, nestled in the dark blue waters. A fleet of kayaks circle the island's base, and a ferry boat sounds its horn upon arrival of its Portoc Bay port.
The salty morning breeze breathed life into the occupants of these shores, readying them for the day ahead. A buttery pastry accompanies a cup of strong coffee with milk, enjoyed on the restaurant terrace of my hotel, chattering guests and clashing cutlery fill the air that is thick with the sweet smells of fresh bread and the coffee just beneath my nose. The caffeine speeds my step when I amble downhill into the city, admiring the view across the bay between shrubs and buildings.
The locals and tourists litter the streets, the latter standing out far easier, with camera straps adorning their necks and packs their backs. Locals identifiable by a piece of fruit clasped in their hand or newspaper tucked under an arm. I ask one where I can find a beach, to dip my toes in the water and make the most of the sun's rays in the morning before they scorch me by noon. Their direction delivers me to some winding back streets, navigating from a casual direction of ‘left at the bar, right at a cafe, down the stairs, down some more stairs and then follow the sound of the waves.’
It seems I have made a wrong turn, but then I hear the spluttering of the waves drowning on the sand as they whisper assurance to me that they will offer relief from the heat. Finally, the gaps between buildings frame a picture of the ocean, and I must steady myself on the steep steps as the gentle movement of the waves seems to seep into my own body.
The beach was not a typical beach, with white sand stretching as far as the eye could see. Rather, it was framed by jagged cliffs off of which people throw themselves from, and into the water far below. The sand is minimal and instead, bathers lay on tiers up the cliffside, which are carved like the luscious rice paddies of Southeast Asia. Finding a space to lay a towel and bag, I hastily shed layers and tiptoe toward the gravelly sand, the hot rock scorching the soles of my feet before I arrive. Croatian grandmothers stand there, water lapping at their sun kissed toes, they watch their grandchildren splash in the shallow waves and scream with laughter when salt suddenly invades their mouths.
I take a dip myself, submerging into the cool water, relieving the heat that harbours on my skin. The coarse sand slips between my toes and as the waves drag onto the beach, bringing with it swirling seaweed which pushes past my legs, a split second of panic that it may have been a Jellyfish ensuing. I gaze out to the snapshot of open water in front of me, half blocked from view by the cliffs bordering the expanse of ocean. I allow my body to float on the salty waves and while the water bubbles into my ears I stare into the skies above. The sun reflects off the water and dances across my cheeks, flushing them with a blush that will sting later on.
As I step out of the water, I leave wet footprints on the hot paving toward my towel, which is now warmed through by the sun's rays. I lay there until the sun burns too hot and seagulls circle overhead.
Meandering through the streets back to Brsalje square just outside the city's walls, I watch as mopeds and taxis bustle along the roads and people slowly trail along the pavement. I listen in to a local's conversation on the phone, the language sounding complex and beautiful, allowing me to hear the influence of the Italian language in the man's Dalmatian accent.
I pass him by and enter the city via the western entrance of Pile Gate, approached by a stone drawbridge that replaced a wooden one, which once was closed every evening in the medieval city. Below the bridge, the former moat is filled with shrubbery, and it is difficult to comprehend when it may have been full of water instead. The patron saint of Dubrovnik is carved into the wall above the gate, St Blaise, celebrated throughout the city but particularly at this entrance with another statue of the Armenian martyr also adorning the inner gate. He holds the city of Dubrovnik in his hands and his notability here is undeniable from his mere depiction at every entrance.
When the city is visible from the inner gate, gentle coos descend from above as pigeons balance on adornments at the top of the walls. Some people pass beneath them and are unfortunate to be defecated on, or lucky. Once out of harm's way, the square opens up before me, with Stradun stretching ahead filled with meandering bodies and lined with sellers. From antiques to ice cream, vendors’ stores dwell beneath the arches of the traditional buildings, whose exteriors are adorned with green shutters and facades weathered and bleached by the sun. Through the glass or wooden doors, a blast of cold air hits my face, and the air conditioner whirrs overhead, as though stepping from the past to the present.
The sound of running water echoes up the walls high above the square, light cascading down them at the same time. The fifteenth century Onofrio fountain stands, with faces of feminine, masculine and animalistic natures decorating each of the many facades of the water source. The faces are dressed in a decorative plumage of feathers or leaves carved into the stone, and their mouths hold a tap out of which a flow of water streams, from a spring twelve kilometers beyond the city. I allow the crystal-clear water to run across my fingers and turn the tips to ice. Some children nearby are chided by their mother as they splash the water from the fountain at one another, the commotion only a chime in the orchestra of noises moving through the square at this moment.
The towering walls ring with the noise, and I opt to pay a fee to an amiable ticket man in order to gain a vantage point above the city and its occupants. My thighs sting climbing the steep limestone steps, but when I finally push myself up the last, the view makes the breath catch in my throat. An uninterrupted vista of sea and sky span across the horizon, the water a dark blue which is infiltrated by hues of turquoise and green in the shallows around the cliffs below me. It's a magnetic sight, as the illusory waves ripple and roll in the light from the sun and crash against the walls I lean against.
The city behind me is a puzzle of terracotta rooftops against the stark white limestone buildings. A jigsaw, intersected by cobbled streets of which specks of people meander down. Fountains dot the streets of the puzzle board spanning before me and the specks stick to them like bees to honey. The mid-afternoon heat streams down the streets and rises with shimmering waves across the horizon, the strong sun's rays crawling to every corner of the city. They reflect from the panes of glass embellishing the brick walls and splinter my vision with their sharp whiteness, branding my eyes with stars that speckle at the corner of my view.
The ocean waves entice my eyes away from the people meandering through the alleyways, and I enjoy a reprieve of observing the pools whirling at the base of the city walls. A breeze pushes through the strands of my hair, making the pieces that frame my face flurry around. It flows beneath the linen fabric of my shirt and lays beside my skin, drying the sweat that the burning midday sun continues to accumulate.
Soon tiring of the midday heat, I pardon myself to a sheltered restaurant. With the sun painting my brow with a pink flush, I find a seat beneath the air conditioner which sets a low hum into the mostly empty bistro. A wine list and breadbasket arrive soon after and I indulge, choosing a “fragrant and fruity” white that goes down a little too easy.
Midday soon turns to late afternoon as I while away the time reading from a fictional book that I spotted at the airport and savour the protagonists' words whilst sipping my wine. The days heat begins to diminish, and the sun now hovers above the horizon ready to set in a few hours' time.
Wanting to savour the sight of the sky when it begins to tinge with hues of pink and orange, I take a slow stroll toward a busy beach on the opposite side of the city. This time, the beach comprises of soft, golden sand, largely shrouded from view by a sea of parasols brandishing names of local beers and Coca-Cola. The bars and restaurants on Banje beach are setting tables ready for the incoming dinner service, cutlery and plates clashing together sounding across the dunes and stirring thoughts of food for the occupants beneath the parasols.
I take off my shoes where the sand begins and pad through the hot grains quickly so as to protect the skin on the soles of my feet. Ready for the final hours of sun to seep into my skin, I dwindle away my time reading my book and watching people brave the cold waves. A few brave swimmers rush toward the sea, but struggle to suppress their reactions to the chilly waters lapping around them as they gasp and giggle loudly.
A chill begins to set in the air and the once warm, soft sand surrounding my buried fingertips becomes cold to touch. Taking my leave from the beach, I move past the final occupants who sun themselves in the remaining rays. I make my way across another drawbridge toward the Ploče gate entrance at the east side of the city.
The existing heat of the evening is brought by a breeze drifting up the Adriatic from the south, the Jugo. It sweeps past the tablecloths and shimmers through the layered dresses adorning the glamorous women sipping cocktails from delicate martini glasses. It settles through the city and soothes the superficial burns on the noses and the backs of the tourists who misplaced their lotions.
The sky is rimmed with a bright orange that slowly descends into the ocean with each passing moment, soon to be taken over by the bluey black-ness of the Mediterranean night skies. A few clouds begin to litter the horizon to provide shelter from the harsh cold that can settle overnight. Atop the city walls the birds perch and people gather to gaze across the open water and witness the colour sink to the bottom of the ocean. The sparkling light across the water turns dull eventually and the Common Swifts flock to the turrets to await the morning.
The evening air smells sweet now, with burning wood, deep within the ovens of Italian restaurants heaving with custom. The scent mingles with the smells of freshly steamed fish and hot bread, and my stomach rumbles in response.
Once darkness falls, I attempt to select a restaurant from the vast options at every corner. I settle for an Italian one nestled in a backstreet, whose steak I could smell from a hundred yards away. Deliberation on my order ensued but eventually I opt for a rich beef Ragu pasta, despite the warm weather. I swirl the tagliatelle around my fork and savour it with a red wine, made with grapes from Italian hills in the Asti provinces. I scribble down the name from the bottle onto a napkin that I am sure to lose by the time I return home.
As this day comes to an end, I relish the memories I have made and know I am bound to recount them for years to come. But what I hadn’t accounted for was that this would be the last time I might be able to experience an unfamiliar place for some time.
In fact, I didn’t foresee a global pandemic either, inhibiting travel anywhere outside of how far I can walk in the span of an hour. And so instead, I have been relishing the memories that I had made before all of this, the most recent being my time spent in Dubrovnik, kayaking across to Lokrum island and drinking plenty of wine. I while away my hours now at home, dreaming of the days when I may return to the Mediterranean and savour the sunshine and culture. I may recall my time through rose-tinted and covid-restricted glasses; however, I know when I return to the city of Dubrovnik, it simply will not disappoint.
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