I arrived in Dubrovnik on Wednesday afternoon. I booked an apartment just outside the city walls with a rooftop terrace overlooking the old city and the Adriatic Sea. The weather was mildly warm, and my host set me up on the terrace with a beer, some chips, and some cake. I spent at least an hour up there just soaking in all the relaxing goodness after a week and a half of go go go.
It rained that night, but by morning had grown warm and sunny again. I decided to take the cable car up to the top of Mt. Srđ where the most gorgeous views of the city are said to be had. Despite the lateness of the season, Dubrovnik was still almost nothing but tourists. I can’t imagine what it’s like there in July and August. I waited 20-30 minutes just to get on the cable car, then it was a quick ascent to the top where there was a restaurant, a couple viewing terraces, and enough selfie sticks to make me turn around and search out a more remote viewing point.
There wasn’t much to do up there, so after a few minutes of taking in the view, I headed down the hiking trail in lieu of the cable car. I’d read that the trail was easy to traverse, took only about an hour to descend, and offered its own gorgeous views of the city. All of this was true, though I have to say the large, sharpish rocks that covered the path made it a bit more difficult to hike down in my sandals. Apparently, people like to make a pilgrimage up this path to the cross at the top of the mountain, and there are stations of the cross at several of the switchbacks:
Once down the mountain, I continued my descent into the old city, entering from the west through the Pile Gate.
Dubrovnik’s old city is unrivaled in its unique beauty, no doubt. Its city walls and towers, some parts of which are as old as the 14th or early 15th century, are all fully intact. Inside the walls are centuries’ old churches, fountains, and other buildings. Much of it is stone. Narrow paths lined with towering old buildings stretch from the low center up, up, and up, stair after stair, to the high city walls to the north and south.
But the tourists, you guys…And the tour hawkers yelling at me as I was trying to take in my surroundings…I couldn’t take it. I turned down a narrow alley between buildings and headed up, up, up to try to find some peace and quiet.
After making my way around the southern half of the old city, I left through the Ploče Gate to the east and enjoyed a seafood lunch at a harbor-side restaurant. I ordered two glasses of white wine, and the 3rd was on the house 🙂 I was’t planning on paying to walk upon the city walls (you can walk the entire perimeter of the city walls, including all the towers that it contains), but figured what the heck. Once I was up there, I popped in my earbuds and blasted whatever music I happened to have stored in my phone. Walking around the Dubrovnik city walls, rocking out to Kayne and JT and Weezer and The Shins, feeling giddy off white wine…it was a party, let me tell you!
That night, I took in the sunset from the terrace before heading out to grab dinner at a wonderful little vegetarian restaurant in the old city.
It turned out to be a wise decision to do the city walls in the afternoon, when there were relatively (objectively, even) few tourists – the next morning, as I was enjoying a nearly empty Fort Lovrijenac, I gazed in wonder across the water at the nearly unmoving, unbroken line of tourists I saw there. You Game of Thrones fans will recognize fort Lovrijenac, I’m sure.
The walk up to the fort was lovely, through a small park with little walking trails and benches here and there to take in the city or Adriatic.
After the fort, I walked over to the park just to the north. There was a gravel parking lot reaching from the park out to the Adriatic where I found a gorgeous and secluded outlook overlooking Fort Lovrijenac and the old city. It also happened to be facing directly east, and I took the perfect opportunity to meditate there, the sun warming my skin and the sound of small waves beating against the rocks below in my ears.
I walked through the little woodland park, then headed back to my vegetarian restaurant in the old city for lunch and an organic beer before hailing a cab to the ferry terminal. My ferry was ultimately destined for Split and navigated the channels of the Croatian islands to three other stops before depositing me at the tiny fishing village of Milna on the island of Brač.
I woke up Saturday morning in Milna, looking forward to a peaceful day of reading, writing and meditating on my private terrace overlooking the marina. This why I came to Milna – to experience the beauty of the Croatian coast in peace and solitude.
I enjoyed a cup of tea on the terrace while I read from A Course in Miracles, followed by a pleasant meditation. I saw that my Kindle battery was low and got up to charge it. A certain realization dawned on me and my stomach began to sink. I saw myself on the ferry the night before packing up to exit the boat. I was using the power outlet at my seat. My plug came out of the converter, leaving the converter in the wall. I said to myself “Do NOT forget your converter, Janet,” then got off the boat. I searched every nook and cranny of my bags, but I didn’t find my converter.
My heart sank. My reading material is all on my nearly discharged Kindle. My writing is all on my computer, with its wonky battery and which doesn’t work unless it’s plugged into an outlet.
It began to rain. I sighed and got dressed. I put on my raincoat and galoshes and walked the few minutes down the hill and into “town” to get some breakfast and find out how to buy a bus ticket to Supetar, where I would catch the ferry to Split. There was a bus stop, but no station or information on how to buy tickets.
Already very frustrated over the loss of my converter and annoyed by the rain, the lack of info for the buses compounded my bad mood to make me irrationally angry. Nothing was going my way. I couldn’t charge my electronics, which meant I couldn’t read or write, the rain made it a miserable day to go sightseeing as an alternative (not that there’s much sightseeing to do in Milna), and I couldn’t get the bus information I had tromped through the rain to get and had no idea how I was going to get to Supetar the next day. The entire day threatened ruination if I didn’t turn my attitude around. I’d already lost a fair portion of my morning.
I found the tourist info office, the saving grace of a day that began on a down note and which was quickly gathering speed on a descent into hell. The lovely guy there told me the bus comes at 11:30 and takes half an hour to get to Supetar, leaving me enough time to catch my ferry to Split; I buy my ticket on the bus. Great.
Even though there’s hardly any tourists in town any more, all the restaurants were open with covered outdoor seating right on the water’s edge of the marina. All of them had a decent number of guests, too, mostly locals as far as I could tell. I had thought about eating at one of the places, but changed my mind on account of my bad mood. Instead, I bought a few basic groceries and headed home to my hermitage on the hill overlooking the marina. I ate pastries and enjoyed a cup of coffee on the covered terrace looking out out on the little marina, wrapped in a cozy blanket, while the rain fell gently around me.
I thought about the value of acceptance, of not letting what happened – something in the past and which I couldn’t change – interfere with my experience of the present moment. My options were limited, and I waited to be moved. I picked up my pen to write.
I grew tired and went inside for a nap. The kitchen and living room are combined, and a long couch faces the glass french doors that open onto the terrace. This is where I lay down to nap. I slept hard. I woke up to the sound of doors banging against a wall. I got up and saw that the storm had picked up and a strong wind was blowing outside. Even though I’d closed the french doors, the wind was blowing them inwards slightly, causing them to bang against the door jamb. The wind had blown rain all over the patio furniture, making it impossible to sit outside. “This day just gets better,” I thought. The wind continued to pick up strength throughout the afternoon. The rain had lightened up and I watched through the glass doors, sipping my hot tea, as the wind blew the misty rain across the water of the marina.
The great irony of my day in Milna is that, despite my frustration with the circumstances, I got exactly what I was looking for there – peace and quiet and solitude. I wrote by hand and was reminded just how much I love writing by hand. I read my Kindle until my battery died. I watched the storm from inside the comfort of my apartment overlooking the marina and enjoyed every minute of it.
TL;DR: Learning to love getting what I want, even if the wrapping isn’t as pretty as I had hoped.
