Dubrovnik, Croatia

Dubrovnik, Croatia

The shimmering Adriatic gently licked the shores of Dalmatia. On palm-fringed beaches, couples basked in the glorious sun and cooled off in the waters. Further off, pleasure boats formed long ribbons of white as they cruised along the channels between the multitude of islands that dot Croatia’s shores. Inland, towering peaks topped with menacing grey points fell away sharply towards oases of houses and holiday homes. The little road cut through the houses, weaving its way around every bay and inlet, around every steep mountain foothill. The scene was idyllic.

It was the umpteenth perfect beach, perfect village, perfect hidden beauty spot I had seen. As the coach turned the corner, the scene vanished and the next corner revealed another fine resort. I sighed, shuffled again to get comfortable, and waited impatiently for the end of the journey.

I had made a mistake in my meticulous planning. My intention had been to book one night in Zadar and two in Dubrovnik. I had done it the other way around. After discussion and deliberation, Andrew and I stayed in Zadar and left on our journey south in the early morning, rather than the evening. Had we done it as scheduled, we would have had almost the same amount of time in Zadar and several hours longer in Dubrovnik, albeit after an uncomfortable night trying to sleep aboard a bus along constantly twisting roads. Instead, we had a luxurious night’s rest in our beds until 0500, when I was rudely awoken by my alarm and Andrew was rudely awoken by me.

The previous day’s winds had disappeared, and even at this early hour, it was light and the outside temperature was warm. The brisk walk to the bus station had me slightly sweating even in just a t-shirt. We said farewell to Zadar at 0600, and settled down for the long trip south.

Graffiti spotted early in the morning, Zadar

Anti-EU graffiti near Split. I am not sure of the issue at hand, but it says 'I am proud of Zagreb; Split shames itself(?). The EU is the twilight of civilisation.' Croatia joined in 2013.

There are plans in place to build a motorway along the entire length of the Adriatic and Ionian seas, from the Italian port of Trieste through Slovenia, Croatia, Montenegro and Albania, ending at the southern point of Greece’s Peloponnese peninsula. Currently, this ‘Blue Corridor’ is still a major work in progress, with Croatia taking the lead in constructing its share of the project. Thus far, the motorway stretches from the country’s north southwards past Zadar, Šibenik, and Split, before feeding into smaller roads at Ploče. From there to Dubrovnik, the route would be slower and more tortuous. Nevertheless, I sat back and waited for the inevitable swift and comfortable passage along the smooth, newly-built (2000-2008) motorway.

This never came. Instead of being whisked hastily down the coast, we crawled along, leaving the island of Ugljan behind to be replaced by Pašman. After Biograd na Moru, there were glimpses of open sea towards the more distant Kornati Islands, a national park. After over an hour, we reached Šibenik and stopped for twenty minutes, during which I found breakfast. From here on in, we would surely be on the motorway. Yet, as we left the harbour-side bus stop, we drew ever further from it and instead followed every kink in the coast, eventually making it to Trogir and then Split. Here, there was another break and now the mountains just inland from the city began to rise noticeably. There must have been traffic or road works on the coastal road just beyond Split, for we took a deviation away from the sea, now surrounded by the sides of a narrow cutting. The houses here were clearly a little more run-down than those on the coast, just slightly away from the money that sits as close to the sea as possible. We were climbing up and up, and then, just north of Omiš, the land dropped sharply away and we had a staggering view of the Cetina river at the foot of a high-sided gorge. Andrew and I stared open-mouthed at this fantastic hidden spot, which we would have missed had we been on the coast road. The Korean tourists across from us in the bus were clearly immune to this wondrous sight, blinking sleepily and pulling the curtain tighter shut to keep out the sun and any chance of seeing the gorgeous Croatian countryside.

One of Croatia's 718 islands

Fish farms in the Adriatic

Small boats bob up and down in the sea at Omiš. The island of Brač is visible in the background

The Biokovo mountains in the Dinaric Alps tumble into the sea at Pisak, just north of Makarska

A neoclassical bell tower stands in the village of Igrane. The island of Hvar is behind, and beyond it lies the Pelješac peninsula

At the bottom of this valley, where the small town of Omiš lies, we rejoined the sea. The nearest island now was Brač, the most bulbous of the typically long and thin islands along the Dalmatian coast. Brač is most famous for its white stone, and it is claimed that it was used in the construction of the White House. The official American history tells that stone from Virginia was used, which seems more plausible. Locals also purport that the Reichstag in Berlin used Brač stone. However, Roman emperor Diocletian’s palace in nearby Split is perhaps the most significant landmark that was verifiably built using the island’s biggest export. Later on, we looked out upon the party island of Hvar, one of Croatia’s premier tourist destinations. Beyond was Korčula, indistinguishable from the mainland peninsula of Pelješac, 40 thin miles of hilly country that jut into the sea. The one really ugly town we saw was Ploče, which seemed to have the monopoly in this stretch of coast when it came to bland, ugly, and unsightly buildings.

Here, I was just a stone’s throw away from the Bosnian city of Mostar, where I had been just four short days before. Halfway between there and Ploče is the town of Međugorje, where the Virgin Mary appeared in 1981, leading to its becoming a Catholic pilgrimage site. Coming the other way from Mostar is the Neretva river, which widens to a broad delta, forming a wetland. In stark contrast to the surrounding land of scrub and mountains, here was a stretch of flat and open ground that has been cultivated, forming something vaguely reminiscent of South East Asian rice paddies, with a little imagination. We were nearing our goal; Dubrovnik was now an hour and a half away.

Crossing the Neretva near its mouth just south of Ploče

The Neretva delta has been transformed into a wide, cultivated wetland

Under its Italian name of Ragusa, Dubrovnik was an important maritime state and a rival republic to Venice. The latter held the Dalmatian coast from 1420, and in the same year gained control of Kotor (in today's Montenegro) to form the province of Venetian Albania, not far south of Dubrovnik. 279 years later, the 15 year long Great Turkish War concluded in victory for an alliance of Western European nations, marking the transition of hegemony in Central Europe from the Ottoman Empire to the Habsburg family. The 1699 Treaty of Karlowitz dealt with determining the new borders of the Ottoman Empire in Europe, leading to large acquisitions for the Holy Roman Empire of the most northerly Ottoman possessions. As something of an aside, it also created an anomalous border in southern Croatia. Ragusa, a vassal of the Ottoman Empire, was concerned by the power of its neighbour and enemy, Venice. To prevent invasions by land, Ragusa ceded two strips of territory to the Ottoman Empire, at Neum in the north and Sutorina in the south, in a similar arrangement to Afghanistan’s Wakhan Corridor, designed to prevent the British Empire in modern Pakistan and the Russian Empire in modern Tajikistan from sharing a border. Subsequent developments saw Venice and Ragusa both disappear into Italy and later fall under the control of Austria-Hungary. The former Ottoman territory of Bosnia, where the two buffer zones lay, was then annexed in 1908. In the 20^th century, Yugoslavia was administered as six republics and two autonomous regions along the lines of existing boundaries, meaning that the Bosnian republic still held Neum and Sutorina. Sutorina was handed over to the Montenegrin republic in 1947, and today’s Bosnia and Herzegovina is disputing the small strip of land with Montenegro. Meanwhile, Neum has remained Bosnian, now a ridiculous piece of coastline 4.8 miles wide and consisting of the town of Neum and the thin peninsula of Klek (the tip of which is itself disputed with Croatia). Thus, as a consequence of a war between the Ottoman Turks and the Catholic Holy League, and a rivalry between two Italian city states, Bosnia has the world’s second shortest coastline (12 miles) – the shortest is Monaco’s (4 miles) – and Andrew and I had to go through border control twice.

This situation may change with the aforementioned Adriatic-Ionian motorway project, as part of the proposals include a bridge from the mainland to the Pelješac peninsula, and then down to Dubrovnik without traffic ever leaving Croatian territory. Even this is objectionable to Bosnia, because they argue that if the bridge isn’t high enough, it will prevent ships over a certain size reaching their one and only sea port at Neum. If Croatia grants concessions allowing freer Bosnian use of the port of Ploče, Bosnia may be placated. The best solution may be for Bosnia to get Sutorina back, which could give them their own territorial waters rather than having to use Croatia’s. However, since there are further disputes between Croatia and Montenegro in the same area, and the very tail end of Croatia is demilitarised, it looks almost impossible that Montenegro would give up Sutorina. If, in 1699, the Ragusans knew what a strange mess they would leave for the inheritors of their small republic over 300 years later, I wonder if they would be laughing or crying.

Dubrovnik within the former Republic of Ragusa. The northern brown areas are also in modern Croatia, and the southern one is in Montenegro. The buffer zones at Neum and Sutorina are marked

Neum, the one and only town in the Bosnian riviera. On the left, the near peninsula is Klek, in Bosnia (though the Croatians dispute its northern tip). The land beyond is the Pelješac peninsula in Croatia

Aside from the inconvenience of a quick stop to have our passports checked, Neum has its benefits. For one, it allowed Andrew the bragging rights of also having visited Bosnia. For another, Neum is a tourist town with an economy that is doing much better than adjacent areas inland, and offers lower prices than neighbouring Croatia, clearly seeking to cash in on the passing trade. When we pulled over for a rest break at a hotel, we observed that both the Croatian kuna and the euro (used in Montenegro) are accepted currencies here, evidently in an attempt to tap into the market of their neighbours’ passing motorists or short term holidaymakers. Andrew and I each bought a coke as a refreshment as we overlooked the town and its seafront, and the waiter in the hotel’s ground floor bar was slightly shocked when I asked if I could pay in Bosnian marks. He did allow me to, which helped me to get rid of a few leftover coins (and Bosnia’s largest coins are pretty hefty), but had to invent a price because this country’s only official currency wasn’t even displayed on the price list.

This brief interlude was the final excitement before we laboured through the last slog into Dubrovnik, desperate to burst free from the bus at last and in particular, to try to wash away the memories of yesterday’s aborted visit to the beach in Zadar with a proper swim, in inviting waters with warm and still air.

Dubrovnik was roasting at 1430 and it didn’t get any cooler until well into the evening. Before we could go into the city’s famous old town, we faced an uphill struggle, quite literally, as we negotiated a winding sequence of small streets towards our accommodation, a guest house high on the slopes of the outer districts of the city. I had chosen this place because it looked conveniently located between the bus station and the tourist part of the city, but had neglected to realise quite how steep the mountain slopes that grow upwards from the sea at Dubrovnik are. We quickly grew repulsive patches of perspiration where our bags’ straps overlapped our clothes, and within ten minutes, we were almost begging to be allowed back onto the bus, where it was at least cool.

The sensational view of Dubrovnik from our guest house's balcony

Life didn’t exactly hurry here, at least not based on our proprietor. Intending to just check in, dump our bags, grab our towels and head in to the old walled city, we instead spent the best part of an hour waiting around whilst our affable host stalled, met us, went to get something else, got annoyed with her young daughter, showed us the map of the city, tried to cheer up her young daughter, explained to us that her daughter was stubborn and a bit spoilt. (Her blasé attitude to parenting didn’t come into the equation at all, of course! She was more laidback than horizontal). It was a frustrating wait, but it was impossible to get angry with our host, such was her friendliness.

Eventually, everything was sorted and we were free to head into the city. The major attraction of Dubrovnik, known as 'the Pearl of the Adriatic', is its walled city, a UNESCO World Heritage Site and the core of the historical Republic of Ragusa’s capital. Its high walls and many forts were built to protect the city and its labyrinthine streets and red-roofed buildings from attacks by Venice. The walkway along the battlements is possibly the best tourist attraction of the city, particularly considering how crowded the streets within the walled city were, and how much more expensive it was than the city outside the fortifications. There are a few access points along the walls, and we climbed up at the western Pile Gate, then followed the walls anti-clockwise until we completed the loop.

Looking down onto Stradun, the old town of Dubrovnik's central street. The Franciscan Monastery stands on the left

The walled city is a tight-knit cluster of red roofs, low in the centre and rising up on the landward and seaward sides

Openings in the fortifications' towers offer atmospheric views of the city

The walls are perched atop precipitous cliffs on their south side

From these heights, there are superb views of Lovrijenac fortress and the area just outside the city walls

The walled city's churches have distinctive domed towers

The walled city of Dubrovnik is today well-known for its starring role as the city of King’s Landing (and a few other locations) in the acclaimed HBO fantasy series Game of Thrones. This claim to fame had certainly attracted a number of tourists to Dubrovnik, as evidenced when we saw a muscular and assertively masculine young man pointing at a particular spot by the sea and telling his girlfriend, ‘look, that’s where they filmed that really emotional scene where Sansa speaks to Shae in series 2, episode…’ being muttering and then tailing off with apparent embarrassment when it became clear that Andrew and I could hear him. There wasn’t really any need for him to feel self-conscious; after all, Dubrovnik has cashed in on the popular franchise big time, and there are various tours taking in sites used in the show that tourists can do. (For the record, though, Dubrovnik has been on my agenda since my first holiday in Croatia in 2009, two years before Game of Thrones first aired).

The full circuit runs for 1,940 metres and includes views west over a rocky cove towards the Lovrijenac fortress, then out onto the high walls that tower above the sea, a perilous sheer drop just the other side of the battlements’ crenellations. Out to sea lies the island of Lokrum, one of several locations outside the city that was also used to film Game of Thrones. Beyond the fort at the southeast point of the walls, the views into the city become more eye-catching than those out to sea. The red tiled roofs tumble downhill towards the central street, Stradun, and then rise up the other side, created a ramshackle effect. From up on these walls, it appeared the ideal place to film a rooftop chase scene for an action film, its sinuous alleys narrow enough to be leapt across from the overhanging roofs. The best views of all were from the Minčeta Tower in the northwest corner, the highest point of the fortifications.

In places, the walkways are barely wide enough for two people to pass

From the city's Old Port, there are boats to Lokrum island, a short distance offshore

In one direction, there is the striking old city, with Lokrum island beyond...

...and in the other direction, ordinary houses occupy much more spacious plots on the slopes of the mountain;
its summit can be reached by cable car

Hemmed in by the old walls, space is at a premium in the historic part of Dubrovnik, hence this bizarrely shaped basketball court

Despite the crowds of tourists in the old city, there are some quiet spots, like the base of the Minčeta Tower in the northwest corner of the walls

The best view of the old city is from the base of the Minčeta Tower

After finishing our walk back at the steep stairs we initially ascended, we returned to ground level and then along the main street east towards the east Ploče Gate, approached by a stone street that winds between the high walls and the Dominican Monastery until it emerges from the gate and out of the historic city. A five minute walk took us on to Banje Beach, a small patch of shingle with a calm-looking swimming area. It was just what was needed. We wasted little time and before long, Andrew was sunbathing and reading and I was out in the sea, this time not shivering and trying to enjoy myself, but genuinely liberated.

The stony beach soon sloped away so that I could no longer stand up, and I dived under, totally immersing myself. It is an extraordinary feeling to close one’s eyes and lie still underwater, suspended motionless, weightless even. I was, for a few precious seconds, completely out of this world. Then, suddenly reanimated, I kicked hard and burst free of the surface, suddenly aware of the noise of the sea, of the people on the beach, of the air in my lungs. A short way out, twenty metres or so, was a floating platform. I swam hard, climbed on top and sat, alone on this little private island a few metres offshore, and basked in my magnificent surroundings. Behind me was Lokrum island, to the left, the grey stone walls and orange clay tiles of the old city, ahead of me the mountains, the beach, Andrew safeguarding my possessions, probably glad to be shot of me for a few moments, and to the right, what? The thin strip of Croatia, then Montenegro, Albania, Greece… more places to try and see someday. It had taken me seven years to extend my range from Zadar down to Dubrovnik. How much longer before I got to Durrës, Corfu, Athens, Egypt, Arabia. I realised I was daydreaming, as so often, about more travelling.

I dived off the platform a few times, then swam a gentle breaststroke back to the beach, then lay down and dried off in the sun. After a time, Andrew went in too. Helpfully, while I was in the sea, he had broken into the secure wifi network on the beach (password: 12345678) at the second attempt, which gave me something to do as I tried to figure out my arrangements for the next day and check the day’s football scores.

Banje Beach, just beyond the old city of Dubrovnik

This was rather pivotal as Croatia were playing, oddly enough against the Czech Republic, where Andrew and I had met eight months earlier and where we had both been living since. During our swims, we missed the first half but found a small bar to see the second. The place was tiny, but the local spirit evident, as the owner had set up a screen just outside, and a small crowd was watching eagerly. The mood was good; Croatia were 2-0 ahead. Unfortunately, Croatia has a terrible problem with its fans, whom I suspect are not exactly fans of the football but an assortment of troublemakers who get a kick out of causing mayhem, especially when playing rivals like Serbia, whose fans are also hardly in the running for a Nobel Peace Prize. It’s a recipe for disaster: large groups of angry racists and hooligans, alcohol, incendiary devices, and enclosed stadiums with thousands of people inside. In this case, it wasn’t the worst incident in recent years, but it was still an undignified and unnecessary stain on the game.

At 2-1 up, some Croatian supporters threw several fireworks onto the pitch, triggering the match to be suspended with just a few minutes to play. The locals with whom we were sharing this viewing experience were unanimously angry and annoyed, most releasing a few expletives and then holding their heads in their hands in shame. I felt truly sorry for them. Here were the real fans, the 99%. Bedecked in their unmistakeable red and white chequerboard shirts, these supporters wanted nothing but for their beloved side to triumph. Sadly for them, this rather brainless faction of supposed fans had chosen to ruin the experience for them and everyone else, and perhaps worst of all, had helped to perpetuate the idea to outside observers that all Croatian supporters are as tactless, vulgar and violent as this riot-inducing mob of louts. On the TV, several of the Croatian players had gone over the side of the pitch to beg the culprits to desist, and others looked on in anger and frustration, and an acknowledgement that this was the result of a disease in Croatian football. Following the resumption of play, the Croatians, who had been rather dominating despite giving away a goal, lost their momentum and a couple of minutes later had conceded an equalising goal in the form of a penalty. They had snatched a draw away from the jaws of victory, and all the fans standing expectantly outside the bar in Dubrovnik knew why.

The pizza we ordered was the biggest I’d ever seen, a monstrous piping hot behemoth of a meal that covered the entire surface of the round table, which must have been about two feet across. It was obscene in size, and a little less than obscene in taste, but hardly something I would want again. I managed a bit less than my half. Andrew got through more than me but he too was defeated and between us, we couldn’t finish the whole thing. Bloated, we staggered back to the room we had in the guest house, which meant a pretty concerted ascent of Dubrovnik’s hill, and a few unplanned descents when we took shortcuts that turned out to be dead ends while trying to recall the exact route back through the rabbit warren of residential streets. Tomorrow I would go to Montenegro; tonight, I just had to hope I wouldn’t dream of hooligans with fireworks or being force-fed pizza.

The old city is bustling, whether during the daytime, the evening or the night