Dubrovnik, Day 2. I decided to wear a red dress today.
Partly because it’s such a gorgeous holiday color, and partly because I thought that if I ended up watching the orchestra that evening then I should at least be in something a bit more festive than yesterday’s jeans and tank top.
I spent the morning in Gruz, getting a stamp for my philatelic mother and mailing out postcards in the name of Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.
Admission: I’ve never actually mailed postcards before, but my favorite old-fashioned Gallic friend back home asked for one, a quaint request I was only too pleased to oblige after successfully locating the post office.
Then I hung out at the cafe closest to my flat, where the proprietor was a genial, white-bearded gentleman who upon seeing I could not possibly consume one of his specialty pizzas alone, suggested I try his breakfast menu instead.
I chewed contemplatively on a large omelette with a generous helping of vegetables (healthy eating, Mom!) while looking at the road. The cafe was located right across the entrance to the port, and just watching life flow by – holidaymakers disembarking from their cruise ships for the day, a little girl walking by with her violin case, a grandma with some groceries – was great entertainment.
Afternoon found me back in the UNESCO World Heritage site, having secured one of the few remaining tickets for the evening’s gala.
Is there a dress code for it? I cautiously inquired of the lady behind the counter.
She gestured at my outfit. No, that is fine. People wear whatever they want.
Okay, that’s a relief.
By the way, is that a real tattoo? She was looking at the glittering stars on my arm, and she wasn’t the first one to either; I had already fielded a similar inquiry earlier at a souvenir shop.
Oh, it’s just a temporary one.
It’s very pretty.
Thank you. I practically twirled out of that shop.
Next stop: The house of Marin Drzic, considered Croatia’s foremost Renaissance playwright. Not the house he grew up in, but a house that he is believed to have spent some time in as an ordained priest. Culture and literature are such fine things to imbibe on holiday, are they not?
The next museum was closed (its steps stood in as the entrance to Littlefinger’s brothel) but the maritime museum was open, finally and what a beautiful place it was.
Located on the famous city ramparts, in a cool and airy sun-washed space with arched, soaring stone ceilings, the museum is a beautiful tribute to Dubrovnik’s proud seafaring past.
It was there that I learned that the Republic of Ragusa had, at the height of its wealth and power, rivaled the Most Serene Republic of Venice. Its mercantile galleons sailed all across the globe and its mighty diplomatic missions spanned countless ports.
Quite an impressive history lesson eagerly absorbed by this nerd.
The museum also had, in addition to the usual nautical odds and ends, several exquisitely detailed ship models that you could lose yourself in. (I did.)
Another museum on my list was also closed (boo) so once again I let my feet decide and they took me to some lovely hidden corners. See what aimless wandering can unearth?
The sun was out in all its glory so eventually I ended up in my favorite spot by the harbor.
It was a stellar place to while away a perfect cloudless afternoon- the pealing of the church bells, the slapping of the swells against the rocks, the gulls wheeling overhead, the faint tang of salt in the breeze, the pigeons hopping inquisitively close by, the friendly dogs who trotted past with noses twitching and tails held high, looking every bit as glad as I felt to be alive in that moment.
I was even treated to the sight of a wedding party aboard a traditional sailing vessel, complete with string musicians. Beautiful.
After judging that I had soaked up enough sunshine for the day, I went to have a cone of cheesecake gelato while sitting outside the palace, idly swinging my legs and watching the set up for the gala.
Dinner was in an alley bistro with a grade-A bathroom- and yes, I have finally had some excellent calamari after leaving my tropic isle. Who would’ve thought I’d find it literally across the world?
Finally I returned to the palace… and immediately felt completely under-dressed. The mature cruise-ship crowd had come out in their finery, and there I was in a scarlet sundress, sandals and glitter tatts. Spontaneity does have its downside.
Who brings gala clothes on holiday? I complained to my Gallic buddy, who despite the six-hour difference was still awake.
Not you, he said. Enjoy!
The first notes of the ouverture floated through the night air and I immediately felt goosebumps. It had been a while since my last cultural outing and I was trying very hard not to turn into a philistine.
The Macedonian singers, ably supported by the Dubrovnik orchestra, threw themselves into the fiery emotion of Bizet’s Carmen, and we in the audience were keen to show our appreciation. It was an almost surreal spectacle for me: sitting in the courtyard of a palace, under the stars on a fine summer’s eve, watching fine musicians create magic.
Caught one of the last buses heading back to Gruz, and gleefully hummed the Toreador Song and Habanera all the way home.
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