For our final night in Croatia, Dave and Donna took Petey & I to dine in Dubrovnik. The Bronzans were such a blessing to us. Among my favorite parts of the vacation was getting to know them as a couple. We boarded bus #13 from Cavtat to Dubrovnik. Dave and I wanted to ride the cable car to the top of Mount Srđ where they house the War of Independence Museum and lookout point high above the Jewel. Not knowing the exit, we wanted to be close to the Old Town wall. As a foursome, our trip began in Zagreb with a wrong exit that put us an hour away from our destination. In like fashion, our trip ended this way. Two bus stops into the Dubrovnik and someone on the bus mentioned that this stop was for Old Town. We got off. We crossed the street and saw a castle sign directing us down an ally. We took the ally, downward step after downward step. You have to appreciate that at this point in the Vacation, Dave’s knee was swollen. Each step down was painful. Next to Dave was Donna sporting a sprained ankle that was now black and blue (back in the states she discovered it was fractured). The narrow ally continued, downward step after downward step. Every now and then we reached a fork; we kept left toward Old Town but it kept going. We finally reached the entrance to the north gate only to realize the tram was by the east gate. Another long walk around the wall, under a street then up a flight of stairs and we were finally standing at the ticket counter. I was out of breath, Dave was in pain and Petey and Donna were wiping sweat off their brow grateful we found the place. Just then bus #13 stopped right in front of the tram … crap!
Dave and I rode the cable car up Mt. Srđ and toured the ragtag War of Independence Museum. The commanding views from to landing on top of the mountain were amazing, stunning. The war museum told the story of the shelling of Dubrovnik. The Serbs tried to overtake the fortress on the mountain so they could control the area. The regional citizens came to arms and defended the fortress. It was bombed to rubles but the Croats stubbornly held their ground. Perhaps out of anger, the Serbs then moved their forces to the south and began shelling Dubrovnik. The city took 460 direct hits. Most of the roofs were obliterated, civilians were slaughtered, cultural monuments were destroyed. Images were leaked to the press. It went public and the world woke up. This atrocity exceeded the bounds of civil war as Dubrovnik served no military purpose. The UN marshaled resistance and the Serbs were pushed back. As with most wars, the whole truth is much more complicated. History is written by those who tell it, we’re back to personal points of view. Both sides carried their burden of shame.
Dave and I connected with the girls as the evening took hold and the open market squares were transformed into outdoor restaurant seating. Like most evenings, the cool Mediterranean breeze lowered the temperature to mid-60s. The worn marble streets seem to shimmer at night reflecting the lights from the baroque buildings above. The place was crowded with people but not busy, much more
relaxed than during the day. A steady buzz of chatter and dinner noises filled the air. It was romantic again. Once we grabbed a table at Steak House Domino, I dashed into a nearby Konzum and picked up a bag of frozen peas for Dave’s knee. It didn’t help much. The food was excellent. Petey had a big salad and I shared my meat plate. The service was great. The waiter delivered more than one bucket of ice and a round of grappa to top off the meal. David and I traded shots drinking both ours and the girls. A quick trip to the restroom just behind the tiny kitchen revealed the frantic activity of women chefs flying knives and pans with the serves hovering over plates presenting food, beads of sweat pouring off their foreheads. It was a high-speed dance in a fog of steam.We picked up one last round of gelato for old time sake as we made our way to the bus station only to learn that the Cavtat bus stop was a mile away on the other side of the wall. Another painful climb and there we were back at the tram bus stop waiting for bus #13. To cool off, Petey put Dave’s package of not-so-frozen peas on her neck. Like our first night in Zagreb, it was late and we were tired. The bus arrived full. The few passengers who squeezed were not us. We waited another 30 minutes for the next bus. I was not to be denied. As the bus pulled up, I cut to the front as the line was forming, climbed the steps when the according door opened and handed the man 60KN, “four tickets
please.” I squeezed my way through those standing in the aisle as all seats were taken save one that I held for Dave. Through the window I could see Dave, Donna and Petey waiting in line to get in. I motioned to Petey frantically to push past the ticket line since I already had the ticket. Petey was too westernized. She wanted my ticket stub to assure the driver that she was a valid paying customer. One thing I learned in Croatia, in little things like this the "folks in charge" assume people are honest and self-regulated. We all shimmied in holding a rail like MARTA during the 1996 Olympics, which both couples knew well. Petey and I were in bed by midnight-thirty then up again at 4:30 AM.
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