The Old Town of Dubrovnik is a supermodel. It looks good at every angle. The trees are practically tipping over they're so fat with oranges and furry quince. Sometimes when the light is right, the streets made entirely of white marble gleam and glow. There are bright pink and white flowers against knobbly tan stones, lines of washing suspended over steep stairs, and buses full of French kids on vacation singing La Vie en Rose. There are white wooden shutters, Kool Aid orange buses, and sheer lavender curtains flapping at the edges of frothy white and emerald waters. My mother commented astutely that the old city walls which are 6 metres thick and runs for 2 kms are a testament to the need for men to invade and conquer. They were built partly because the city proved too much of a threat to the mercantile might of Venice. Conversely, I also think that it speaks to the instinct of human beings to protect and shelter; to guard what is theirs against those who want to take. And once you see Dubrovnik, I understand this instict. It's like a badly-kept, yet jealously guarded secret. You try to contain it, smother it, enclose it; but it's beauty seeps out through the very stones of the city walls.
Next Stop: Split, Croatia