Dubrovnik

Our time in Dubrovnik went by so fast!  It’s easy to see why, over the centuries, the Venetians shopped for a little territory here.  After the morning snowfall of Zagreb, Hilary and I hopped on a Croatian Airlines dual prop and flew to Dubrovnik.  We arrived in beautiful sunshine and had to hurriedly dig out our sunglasses.  The airport is 18km down the coast from the town proper, on what may be the only flat patch for 100 miles.  The road into town gave us a view overlooking the gorgeous waters of the Adriatic, my favorite color.  In the Crayola box, this is called Green-Blue.  How unromantic.  We checked in to our plushy hotel, the Excelsior (hooray for off season rates!), put down our bags, and boom!  Thunder, followed by “wintry mix” - aka sleet.  We did the only reasonable thing: go to the hotel bar and drink bubbly overlooking the water.  We then ventured two flights down and enjoyed the heated loungers, sauna, and (indoor) pool, while working on the Saturday NYT crossword. 

 

The weather let up in the evening, allowing us to walk into the Old Tow for a wonderful fish dinner with fellow traveler (not the communist kind) Adam.  They brought the still-living lobster and sole to our table for approval, and I assure you we gave it!  We finished the night with a liqueur flavored with rosemary and heaven knows what else.

The following morning we woke to sun and did a leisurely meander of the Old Town walls and fort, including the beach (where I think we switched it up to a mosey) and side streets (at a saunter).  We lunched next to a nice Brit couple called Baz and Les, who warned us the mussels were small this time of year.  Big shells, little meat.  Good advice.  Then the wind blew in clouds and shut down the scenic cable car, so more pool time was called for.

Good Morning!!

Hilary on the walls.

The Monday NYT crossword didn't last long.

Hilary left much too early this morning, tho with the thunder kicking in at 4am, it wasn’t like we were sleeping.  Definitely a bad night to be at anchor.  The seas are very high and rough.  There are camel-colored clouds in the green water where beaches are being washed out.  I suspect the sand must be trucked in annually for the tourist trade.  I’ve gone for another morning ramble through the stone passageways and my jeans are now off me and on the heated towel rack.  I’m catching the bus to Split in an hour, and four hours in wet denim would be miserable.