Croatia

Why Croatia? Why not? A whim, with a nod to Nero Wolfe, the fictional detective. His mysterious roots were from Montenegro. It sounded sounded like a romantic medieval throwback. An offer for A Women's Travel club trip to Croatia and Montenegro was just irresistible. While the majority of the time would be spent cruising between ancient seaports along the Croatian Dalmatian coast islands, there would be a day in Montenegro and another to Islamic Herzegovina.

Croatia had been under the influence of the Roman, Byzantine, Ottoman, Venetian and French empires and in the modern day the Soviet empire. Croatia, Montenegro, Bosnia, Herzegovina, Slovenia, Serbia and Macedonia had formed the Socialist Federation of Yugoslavia. Governed under Tito, Yugoslavia had been part of the communist bloc but had maintained independence from the Kremlin. With the collapse of the soviet empire, Croatia had desired an independent democratic government, the rest of the Yugoslav states did not concur. In 1990 – 1992 a civil war erupted between Croatia and the remaining counties, followed by internal fighting and religious “cleansing” between Bosnian and Serbian forces. Eventually NATO stepped in but not before historic Dubrovnik and many smaller cities were destroyed by bombing. UNESCO provided funds for the rebuilding of the historically significant sites but many towns were left in ruins. Influences of both ancient past and recent events are discernible in the current day.

The first impression of Croatia was “am I back in Sicily?” Steep rocky hillsides terraced down to the sea, the Adriatic instead of the Mediterranean in this case. Fig trees grew wild alongside the narrow hairpin highways. It seemed every house had a grape arbor and a fruit garden. The houses were constructed of white karst limestone blocks instead of golden tuffa limestone, but covered with similar red tiled roofs. Both island chains had been formed by the movement of techtonic plates pushing up the ancient seabed. That was eons ago and now the former seabed was building materials and the rugged mountain backdrop.

Fallen rocks & quarries

Down by the water's edge I could see a proliferation of masts. With a 1000 small islands nestled along the Dalmatian coastline providing snug coves and safe harbors, sailing would be a popular avocation. There were also larger motor vessels, some of the pleasure craft cruisers were larger than the smaller commercial cruise ships. Among the more conventional boats were a few historic replicas, masted pirate ships and multi-level corsairs. It was a beautiful setting.

The trip began in Dubrovnik, a historic walled town and an UNESCO world heritage site. Entering the walled city proper through the historic Pile gate, there is a view to the sea between the soaring city walls and an adjacent citadel. A party of kayakers could be seen paddling out for a patrol around the promontory. In land, just below the steps and stepped causeway to the Pile gate, was what had once been a moat. It was now a garden with blooming trees and a small flea market spread out in the shade beneath.

The entire city had been built of local limestone in the 14^th through 17^th centuries. The once rough blocks, now polished and smoothed by centuries of passing feet and stoking hands. The streets were so white and sleek that you might think the city was built of Carrera marble. The structures were a lovely mix of medieval and renaissance architecture housing both historic sites as well as modern businesses.

The main promenade and side squares were filled with throngs of tourists. With so many fascinating historic buildings it was no wonder. Just inside the main gate was a enormous circular fountain, adjacent to it a medieval monastery and one of the entrances to walk the ancient walls, ahead at the opposite end of the promenade was a luminous clock tower. The were of course a myriad of cathedrals and churches, most open to the public with small museums of reliquaries. Galleries, shops and cafes were tucked in between the major constructions.

While many buildings now were tourist oriented, judging by the backyard gardens and hanging laundry people clearly lived in the old city. In one of the plazas was a local farmer's market selling honey, fruits and vegetables. There were herbs, tomatoes, squash and greens, freshly baked breads and cookies, citrus, berries and unfamiliar fruits, which I discovered were medlars. While there were fig trees along every road, it was sadly too early in the season for their fruit.

It was a blazing hot day but I opted to “walk the walls”. After having my Dubrovnik in a day pass card punched, I climbed the first of the 1,080 stair steps which top the wall. Smooth, slippery, uneven and steep, it became quickly apparent that this was not going to be stroll but a clamber. Never the less the extraordinary view both out to sea and into the domestic yards made the effort worthwhile. The shimmering sun was reflected back over the turquoise Adriatic. What appeared to be commercial fishing boats were near the horizon, while closer to shore but so far beneath the cliff like walls were a few pleasure craft, primarily kayaks and canoes but someone was out in a skiff with a fishing pole. The were even a few hardy swimmers paddling along the rock face. In the distance was the citadel rotunda, grey and dramatic, as tall as the city walls themselves.

As the walls wrapped, new scenes came into view: The little island of Lokrum, less than a half mile off the coast, and the ancient harbor, now full of sailboats and cafes. Each steep flight of stairs led to a small open plaza, the top of the guard towers. Once they would have had a contingent of armed men on watch, now each housed it's own cafe or refreshment kiosk. With the exposed walls and beating sun, the sales of beverages and ice cream were brisk.

The enclosed yards below the walls were primarily residential with few cafe kitchens thrown in alongside them, judging by the occasional clattering of pans and shouted voices. Clothes lines with drying laundry waved above pocket gardens planted with fruit trees and short rows of vegetables. Recorded music wafted from an open window. Tables and chairs underneath a canopy made an attractive rooftop plaza on an adjacent house. In one small yard was a magnificent multi-story citrus tree, glowing orange orbs of grapefruits sprinkled amid the stiff verdant foliage. A wisteria vine climbed alongside the tree, lavender flowers contrasting with the green and orange like examples on a color wheel.

Traversing the majority of the walls, I came upon the last entrance/exit staircase and realized that the last leg was a 45 degree climb. Hiking around I had been constantly in fear of being jostled by the passing crowds and slipping on the polished steps. Would I be better off to tumble into some unsuspecting person's backyard, crashing through a vine-covered lanai, leaving a dreadful mess or fall over the ramparts and eventually drift out into the Adriatic? Other aspects of Dubrovnik history beckoned, down I climbed.

Wandering through the side streets towards the Pile gate, I tried to avoid the crowds. Sneaking along the smaller alleyway I came across several buildings which posted pictures of their appearance before and after the 1994 bombings and after the UNESCO rebuild. Looking at the buildings before, now and their unbombed adjacent counterparts, the repairs were indiscernible. Where did they find the craftsman to work such magic? 

Later in on the island, I would find part of the answer.

Montenegro, Kotor the bay and beach

Before embarking for the Dalmatian Islands there was a day trip and ferry ride to the walled city of Kotor in Montenegro. The Bay of Kotor has an unusual shape, like a butterfly with long hind wings or a bow with the ends trailing into the Adriatic. It seemed to be three or four smaller bays joined together. For a different scenic view and to avoid the long drive around, we embarked on a ferry. From the water the unique points of land were apparent. One maritime vista after another came into view as we passed the mouths of each section of the bay. The narrow openings between the “wings” had led medieval residents to string chains across the bay to prevent incursions in wartime.

Like Dubrovnik, Kotor was under the rule of every empire and kingdom in the region but is now most noted for the town built during the 400 years as a part of the Venetian Republic. The city walls, domestic and church architecture and plazas all reflect the Venetian influence. The walls themselves face the harbor, run along a a river front canal moat then climb up 3 miles the mountain cliff face, around the Fortress of St. John (1200 steps!) and return to enclose the city. The dramatic Harbor Gate, features an adjacent large plaque of the Venetian Lion holding a book. An open book means the walls were built during a period of peace, the city welcoming commerce, a closed book indicating a period of warfare when security issues would dominate. A smaller South gate further along the harbor has a whimsical doll seated alongside.

Kotor does seems to have a sense of humor, judging by the giant doll, the popular cat gallery and the proliferation of the errant animals, lounging around town. Being a much smaller and compact city with less modern tourists than Dubrovnik, it is easy to imagine a step back in time to the 15^th century. Constrained by the fortified walls the paved streets lead from one of four main plazas to another, interconnected by narrow alleyways. While the plaza by the main gateway was dominated by trinket shops and cafes, the back streets housed shoemakers, opticians and artisans. The sort of thing you would expect in anytown. Perhaps because of less crowds of sightseers, Kotor seemed more picturesque and less frantic than Dubrovnik. Each avenue lined by architecturally interesting houses and each open plaza fronting a church or cathedral. All in all, it was place was would like to linger. 

On the way back to Dubrovnik, a lunch stop in the beach town of Budya was more interesting for the un-repaired examples of wartime strife on the modern buildings than for the small and comparatively unremarkable walled old town. A small church with beautiful frescoes was the highpoint.

Bosnia-Herzegevenia

A long bus ride to Mostar in Herzegovenia was marked by two trips through serious border patrols and a drive through the “no-man's land” which remains as post war-buffer. The peculiar interlaced coastal borders of Croatia and Bosnia make the most direct route from Dubrovnik to Mostar, out of Croatia into Bosnia back into Croatia and back into Bosnia,with border patrols at every interval. At least they don't have some joint task force at no man's land as well. For the past ten years plans have been underway to build a bridge from the end of a Croatian peninsula to the mainland circumventing the Bosnian pass-through. The progress on this project, so far, being a single tall crane setting abandoned at the proposed site. 

Hustling out of Dubrovnik early to avoid long lines at the border, we drove through the neat limestone houses and snug gardens of the coastal Croatian suburbs to more rural inland areas. Small farms clung to the sides of mountains, with the rows of vineyards and the occasional cow or sheep grazing on narrow terraces. The checkpoints were uneventful, albeit a bit nerve wracking, handing over our stack of passports to the grim faced armed guards.

Back on the road without substantial delays, the traverse through the depressing post-apocalyptic scene of no-man's lands was a contrast to the Croatian progress. Nature was well on its way to reclaiming the landscape but the actions of men both during the war and more currently were less uplifting. Abandoned roadside towns and farms, pockmarked by bombing and decorated by faded graffiti, now had trees growing through the roofs. All along the road was trash, piles of trash, not just the occasional wrapper or bottle strewn out a car window but bags of garbage. No man's land was a dump. Our Croatian guide blamed the Russians, at least she didn't point a finger at the Bosnians. She had a point, while the highway was less maintained after the next checkpoint, it was clear of trash. Russian tourists, eh?

After a pleasant drive along the Neretva river we arrived in Mostar. The town is divided by the river into Christian and Moslem cliques. Our goal was the ancient Moslem section but we parked in the modern facilities of the Christian side. The name Mostar derived from “bridge keepers”. The dominant feature of the town is the Stari Most arched bridge across the Neretva. Originally built in the 16^th century it was rebuilt to historic accuracy by UNESCO after the 1990s war. One of the intentions of the designer, Sinan, must have been to slow invaders. The bridge is steeply inclined, paved with irregular limestone cobbles and consequently perilous for the less than sure footed. In fact all of the streets in the historic turkish style old-city had the same smooth but uneven cobbles. In the rain, a tour across the Stari Most and through town would be a double adventure.

The crowds and steep slope did not deter a spirited tourist oriented business. For a fee young men would leap from the the bridge into the rushing Neretva. Several handsome young men stood partially stripped, while an older fellow tried to drum up business. Judging from the gestural conversation, this was a standard but off the cuff event. Additional young men stopped by to see if they could join the jump; they appeared to be discussing the potential revenue with the older fellow. This afternoon they were few takers interested in paying to video jumpers. The older man waved his hands in disgust and told all the boys to get dressed. Not a lucrative day in the Stari Most high-jinks business. A few onlookers seemed more disappointed when the young fellows covered themselves up, than to have missed the immersion into the Neretva.

While the Christian side of town has rebuilt in a very modern style, the Moslem side looks untouched from the late middle ages. The narrow winding main thoroughfare is lined with small shops hawking souvenirs. The effect made me think of an open air version of the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul. The cobbled streets were laid in geometric and even floral motifs. Would the designs have helped travelers making their way in the dark? The decorative patterns continued into the historic recreation of a typical house in the Ottoman style.

The compound's high walls enclosed a small cobbled courtyard with lined with benches, centered around a small fountain and pool. The potted plants and fountain were familiar features seen in any traditional Turkish residence. The overhanging porch, shaded lower level lounge and airy upstairs men's room were also in evidence. Females had to make do with smaller enclosed quarters, their only respite from Summer heat would be to sit by the fountain in the walled courtyard. All the rooms featured minimal furniture. Hard benches, which like the floor, were covered in rugs and a number of small movable tables. The tables were more large ornamental brass trays setting upon intricately carved wooden folding bases. The essence of the nomadic tent recreated in the fixed structure.

A small mosque bombed during the war and now recreated for tourism concluded our tour. The small mosque had been built by the local leather workers. They had been unwelcome in the main mosque due to the lingering aroma of their leather tanning supplies. Given that traditional leather tanning is most often effected using urine and brain matter, the craftsman could have been quite malodorous. This historic factor was the most interesting feature of the site. As it had been built by and for poor workmen, it lacked the beautiful fretwork, tiles or decorative painting typical of major mosques.

As we wandered back through the bazaar-like main street, I was looking for a few small commemorative items. There were cast models of the Stari Most, spun Aluminum miniature Turkish coffee sets, even tall metal-encased coffee, spice or pepper grinders. Many textiles from paisley Pashmina knockoffs to “Mostar” on woolly caps and scarves were on display, all made of acrylic. All the souvenirs were marked made in China! Finally off to the side, I found a little shop selling tinned brass items. The elderly shop owner was engraving a small pot as I entered. While a samovar might not be either useful or portable, miniature Turkish coffee pots could be used to serve any fluid. This was more what I had in mind, clearly handmade and marked from Bosnia.

We wandered back over the perilous bridge to the Christian side of town, found a restaurant and lunched on a porch overlooking the Neretva, with the vista of the bridge and old town as a backdrop. Lovely and the food was excellent. From this perspective we could really appreciate the river. It curved and flowed rapidly with enough boulders to create attractive ripples and a bit of white water. Aside from the flashes of white, the river was a brilliant emerald green, gorgeous and distinctive. The return bus ride to Croatia was uneventful aside from a bit of anxiety at border control. The next day we would make a final walk through Dubrovnik, then board our boat for the islands.