Adriatic

Puglia – Alberobello Part 2: Lecce and Nardo – The Florence of the South

| 2suitcasesfor2years

“Signor, mio gattino si è nascosto sotto la yuan automobile ed è salito nel motore.” Roughly translated it means – Sir, my kitten ran under your car and is hiding in the engine! My racing imagination added, I will paint a pagan symbol on your car and you will be cursed for the rest of your life if she is hurt.  I exaggerate a little in jest just so you understand this was a crisis!

The night before we had agreed on an early start to Lecce to rendezvous with our friend Giulia for a day exploring her adopted city.  To help move the day along I offered to retrieve our rental car, which was parked a good distance away, uphill, across from the trullo-shaped Church of Saint Anthony of Padua which crowned the hill.

Donna is the designated linguist of the family. I on the other hand have been lovingly accused of slaughtering a fine romance language with just the utterance of a single word, on more than one occasion.

So, when I heard, “Signor, mio gattino si è nascosto sotto la yuan automobile ed è salito nel motore,” I smiled, as I really didn’t understand a word.  But two very worried young girls and their grandfather were standing next to the car and pointing at the engine.  They had placed a saucer of milk and some cat food near the front tire. I understood and joined the older girl who was on ground, looking under the car and meowing for her kitten, quite convincingly I might add. With no sign of a tail dangling from the undercarriage, I popped the engine hood expecting to find the kitten. Nothing.  I slammed the engine hood hoping the loud sound would jolt her from her hidden perch. Still nothing!  The way the car was parked close to an ivy-covered wall I wasn’t convinced that the kitten hadn’t scampered away unseen earlier.  They were signs of growing concern written on the girls’ faces and a growing crowd of onlookers.  Miming turning the ignition key, I conveyed that I needed to start the car and move it around the corner to jump the curb in order to get better access to the engine from below.  Hesitantly, I turned the starter and was deeply relieved when there weren’t any shrieks of horror from the girls or any fur flying. 

With my entourage trailing along, I drove the car around the corner and put two wheels up over the curb to give me just enough room to shimmy underneath for a closer look.  Fortunately, by this time Donna and Gary were rounding the corner in search of me. Much skinnier and a cat lover, Gary was enlisted to wiggle on his back underneath the car. “I don’t see anything. She’s not here.” I frowned, the girls frowned. “Keep looking.” Time passed. “I see her! she’s tucked up very high – let me have some food.” A few moments later, “I have her!” Beaming with joy, the girls and grandad took the kitten to the quiet sidewalk across the street and set her down on the ground.  Almost immediately, to everyone’s horror, the kitten dashed back across the road. The girls screamed and, oblivious to the traffic, dashed into the street in hot pursuit. The terrified kitten once again raced into her hiding place in the engine!  Mercifully, the second rescue was much faster, and with the kitten firmly in the hands of a local woman who assisted, we jumped into the car and sped away to Lecce.

After circling the port city of Brindisi, the highway (SS613) was a straight shot, past the Mura Urbiche architectural complex that highlights remnants of a once formidable city wall that encircled Lecce, to Giardini Pubblici Giuseppe Garibaldi pretty much in the center of the city.

Even though Lecce is located in the middle of the Salento Peninsular, that is often called the “heel of Italy,” the city has had a long bond with the sea.  Legend has it that the King of Crete, Idomene, was blown off course and shipwrecked here while returning home from the Trojan War.  He married the local Salento King’s daughter, Euippa, and named their newborn girl Lecce, after his Lycia homeland in the eight century BC.

Meter parking was available near the Garibaldi Garden, but we opted to find a 24-hour garage so that we wouldn’t have to worry about time.  Lecce has a population of approximately 96,000 folks, 16,000 of which are students. Their presence was evident with in the jovial sidewalk café life we passed as we headed to meet Giula at the tourist information office on Piazza Sant’Oronzo.  We entered the pedestrian-only historic center through an arched gate that led through the 17th century Palazzo dei Celestini’s impressive, cloistered courtyard. Once the private retreat of nuns, it now seats the regional government. Next door stands the Basilica di Santa Croce with its elaborate façade of carved demons, ogres, gargoyles, and beasts.  It’s enough to send any parishioner questioning his faith inside to seek sanctuary.  Fortunately, our timing to visit Lecce was perfect, as just the month before the façade of the basilica was still under wrap from a multi-year renovation project to freshen the sculptures after centuries of erosion.  Its architect Giuseppe Zimbalo took full advantage of the abundant local rock, called Lecce Stone, with its warm color and malleable characteristics.  His opulent Baroque style along with the lavish designs of his contemporaries is credited with earning Lecce the distinction of being “The Florence of the South” during the 17th century.  The talents of the city’s stone carvers rivaled those in Firenze. 

We had a few minutes to view ruins of the 2nd century Roman Amphitheatre that was undiscovered until construction in 1900 unearthed it. Its full size wasn’t realized until further excavation in 1938 determined it could seat 24,000 spectators.  We think it’s wonderful that ancient archeological discoveries are still happening in cities that have been continuously lived in for over two thousand years.

After joyfully greeting Giulia and making introductions all around, we sat at an outdoor café on the edge of the piazza and relished hearing each other’s adventures over the past year.  “The best way to experience the ambience of historic Lecce is to just wander slowly, discover the small details, touch the walls, enjoy the brilliant light and the warmth of the buildings,” Giulia offered as she stood to lead us through the past glory of Lecce. We followed her along shaded lanes, nearly empty of tourists in late October, past Baroque churches and shops shuttered for the afternoon siesta, still a time-honored tradition in southern Italy. “It’s quiet now, but in the evenings the historic district is transformed into a spirited hot spot. The passegiata brings families into the streets, and later the university students keep it lively with their barhopping.”

Large palazzo, with their arched entrances wide enough for a horse drawn carriage, lined the larger streets. Above, stone buttresses carved with gargoyles and animals supported balconies over the street. Interesting antique door knockers beckoned passers-by to rap on ancient doors, some so covered with cobwebs we wondered how many decades ago they we last used. We resisted the temptation.

As we turned a corner, the large Piazza del Duomo spread out before us.  Unlike other piazza in Italy where there are multiple entrances and shops, this piazza only has one way in and out.  The Lecce stone facades of the Museo di Arte Sacra (once a seminary,) Palazzo Arcivescovile (formerly the Bishops’s residence,) and Cathedral of Maria Santissima Assunta with its belltower enclose the plaza on three sides, giving it the ambience of a tranquil cloister.  The first church on this site was built in 1144 and repaired several times over the next 500 years until 1659 when hometown master architect Giuseppe Zimbalo was commissioned to rebuild the cathedral and design the freestanding 230ft tall belltower in the “Baroque of Lecce” style he helped popularize.  His burial under the altar of the cathedral reflected the honor accorded him.

Sitting on the steps of the museum, we admired the warm glow of the late afternoon light as it lit the walls across the piazza. “I would love to live there,” Giulia said, as she pointed to a small, corner terrace brilliant in the sun on an old building at the entrance to the piazza. I think there was a collective “ah, yes;” we understood.

Later in the week Giulia invited us all to visit her in Nardo, her family’s hometown.  It would be our farthest point south on the “heel of Italy.” The GPS directions from Alberobello suggested the fastest route to Nardo through Lecce, but we chose an alternative route that gave us our first glimpse of the Ionian Sea. Following backroads, we drove through vineyards and olive orchards.  Many of the orchards, though, were suffering from a deadly olive tree disease caused by a bacteria, xylella fastidiosa, that is ravishing southern Puglia and its important olive oil industry.  To curb the bacterium’s further spread drastic measures have been implemented. Infected trees and those within 150ft of it are culled from the orchard. Unfortunately, it has radically changing the landscape and farmers’ lives.

We met Giulia and her family at their winery on Via A. Volta, located just outside the historic district. Giulia’s grandfather started Cantine Bonsegna in 1964. Today her father and uncle continue vinting wines in a 1930’s era industrial building on one of the main thoroughfares of Nardo.  Wines from their vineyards in the countryside are brought into town, then pressed and fermented at the rear of the building, where they cork about 150,000 bottles of wine a year, while the front serves as a retail store.  On the second floor a wine bar is open in the evenings and specializes in small plate fare.  Their Danze della Contessa, Dances of the Countess, label was inspired by Giulia’s love of ballet. We might be slightly prejudiced, but we thought their wines were very enjoyable and definitely worth a visit to taste some fine regional wines and buy a case or two, maybe three. We purchased several bottles to enjoy during our trip, and were disappointed to learn that the Bonsegna label was unavailable in the US.

Heading into the historic district we were treated to a festive lunch at the Hostaria Corte Santa Lucia, a local favorite that specializes in “the forgotten recipes of the Salento region.” Plate after plate of mouthwatering local specialties were placed before us; our young men did justice to the platters, but were soon groaning for mercy as more and more food appeared. Mr. Bonsegna wouldn’t hear of us paying the bill, and afterward our boys marveled at the warmth and hospitality our host showed to us. “It is the Italian way,” Donna explained. “This is how I grew up – family and friends are lovingly embraced, and everyone is fed!”

We followed Giulia’s father into the old town, hugging the shade to avoid the intense sun still strong in late October.  The colors of the buildings were softer here, pastel colors chosen to reflect the nearby sea and surrounding farmlands.  Being close to Lecce, Nardo shared a similar history and the Baroque style adorns many of the town’s ancient churches.  The façade of the Church of Saint Dominic is the best example of that opulent exterior decoration, and was the only wall to remain standing after a 1746 earthquake.  

The Cattedrale di Nardo was our destination.  Partially damaged in the upheaval that shook the region, half of the 11th century church needed to be rebuilt.  Interestingly the effects of this could be seen as we looked down the center nave of the church.  The arches on either side reflected different styles.  The surviving arches were slightly pointed at their apex, while the newer ones are completely curved, a fine detail that Mr. Bonsegna enthusiastically revealed.  Farther inside, original medieval frescoes survived, untouched from the catastrophe, while along the outer wall 19th century murals replaced ones lost to the earthquake. 

Nearby the Guglia dell’Immacolata, a 100ft tall ornately carved baroque spire dedicated to the Virgin Mary, centers Piazza Antonio Salandra. “The piazza is jammed with people every December 8th to watch a fireman climb to the top and place a wreath of flowers on Mary’s head, to honor the Immaculate Conception,” Giulia shared as we crossed the piazza to a still-flowing, ancient public water fountain decorated with a relief carving of a bull. 

Legend says the fountain marks the spot where 3000 years ago settlers watched a large wild bull scuff the earth and uncover a natural spring.  Behind us stood the small Church of San Trifone, built in the 1700’s to honor the martyr who saved Nardo from an infestation of caterpillars. We were disappointed that an explanation of this odd plague was not provided.  Most likely it was an infestation of oak processionary caterpillars. Contact with their toxic hairs can trigger an asthma attack, but most often results in a severe, blistering rash that lasts for weeks. “We have it all here and yet we are still far off the tourist track,” Giula happily joked. “We get very few foreign visitors, and rarely, if ever, Americans.”

Heading back to the car we stepped through the heavy wooden door of the Aragonese Castle of Nardo. Formerly the private residence of the 15th century Acquaviva family, rulers of the fief of Nardò, a reward from King Ferdinand II of Naples.  Today the once moated fortification serves as the city’s town hall.

A very enjoyable day was celebrated and “till next time” was said over coffee before we said our farewells and drove to the seashore to find one of the numerous watch towers that were built along the Ionian coast to warn the country of imminent invasion. 

The sun was setting as we came to a stop behind a car about to turn onto the coast road. A car on the opposite side of the road turned the corner and stopped to wave at the person in front of us. Quickly both parties were out of their cars, hugging and chatting away, oblivious to us. I rolled down my window and photographed the dark silhouette of a square “Nardo tower” against an orange sky. No impatient honking, just enjoying life in Nardo.

Fino alla prossima volta – till next time,

Craig & Donna

Puglia: Alberobello – Trulli, Troglodytes and the Sea

| 2suitcasesfor2years

One of the characteristics we most appreciated about traveling through Europe was the ready availability of a cup of delicious coffee, even in the most unexpected of places. The bar on the ferry from Dubrovnik to Bari came through with two tasty cappuccinos the morning after our overnight passage in a windowless cabin. As a hazy sunrise dawned over the Adriatic Sea, we sipped our revitalizing espresso and milk while the ship docked in Bari, capping an otherwise uneventful crossing to the Puglia region – “the heel of Italy” or the “spur of the boot.” 

Behind the wheel of our rental car, we passed through verdant olive groves in the Valle d’Itria, alternately known as the Valle d’Trulli or the Valley of Ancient Olive Trees. Olives trees are celebrated for their age in the region, and several top two thousand years old.  One ancient millennarian called the Elephant is 3,000 years old. The orchards on either side of the road were busy with workers covering the ground under the trees with collection nets in preparation for the olive harvest.

A little aside – we are olive aficionados. All things olive we enjoy. We have even brined our own, ordering California olives, then scoring and soaking them for three months in salt water to remove the extremely bitter oleuropein.  As tasty as they are after this process, they are downright vile beforehand, which has always made me wonder how it was determined that they were edible.  Did a starving hunter-gatherer pluck a floating olive from a salt marsh and make the discovery of a lifetime?

Farther along we sped past a farmer selling yellow melons from the back of his three-wheeled Piaggio Ape, a small truck that is ubiquitous throughout the farmlands of Italy. We did a quick U-turn to buy two from him, and they were delicious.  Our progress slowed through another small town as a brass band led funeral mourners across the road ahead of us.

Our destination was Alberobello, to meet up with three of our sons and especially to live in a trullo for a week.  This was the culmination of a decades-long desire ever since becoming aware of these enchanting, whitewashed dwellings capped with conical-shaped stone roofs with a pinnacle at the top.

Trullo comes from the Greek word for circular domed construction, tholos.  But it is thought the “a secco” style, without mortar construction technique, was brought to Puglia by North African invaders when Sicily was under Arab rule in the mid-800s or even earlier. As the Valle d’Itria surrounding Alberobello was deforested (albero bello translates as “beautiful tree”) to make way for cultivated crops and olive orchards, the building material of choice was the abundant limestone rocks removed from the fields or the wells dug beneath their homes.  The flat stones, called chiancarelle, are precisely pitched so that rainwater runs off the roof and the interior remains dry.  Their local design was firmly entrenched in the 14th century when the King of Naples granted the desolate Alberobello region to the first Count of Conversano as reward for service during a crusade. 

In a ploy to recruit tenant farmers from neighboring regions the feudal landlord offered trulli with the caveat that when the king’s tax collector visited the area, homes would be destroyed by the count’s horsemen using a rope to pull the pinnacle, a key stone, from the roof, collapsing it.  The homes could then only be rebuilt when the tax collector was safely far away.

This miserliness inflicted upon the already hard lives of the peasant farmers was to avoid payment of “new settlement” taxes by the feudal lord.  No wonder there were constant peasant uprisings. This threat literally of “the roof coming down on your head” was used to intimidate or evict rabble rousers and farmers who didn’t pay their crop share to the landowner.  As peasants’ rights changed over the centuries the homes became more permanent, though tenant farming was common in Italy until the end of WWll.

Our Airbnb trullo was located on one of the narrow, steep lanes of the Monti district not far from the Church of Sant’Antonio with its steeples mimicking the stone roofs of the surrounding homes. It was a compact space with two small bedrooms and combo kitchen/living room area.  When the front door was closed it felt like a snug cave, but fortunately the entry had a classic beaded curtain over it as a privacy screen that let in plenty of light and air when the door was open. 

The charm here was a vertical ladder that led to a hatch which opened to a rooftop patio with a grapevine, chairs, a table, and a clothesline. It was delightful and we made daily use of it, bringing coffee up the ladder in the morning and then wine to enjoy while watching the sunset. Immersing ourselves totally in the local lifestyle, we flew our laundry from the clothesline, like a proud flag symbolizing our occupation. 

It took the better part of a day to coordinate the arrival of our tribe; Craig and Gary stayed with us, while Jack and his partner Brian stayed near Matera. The plan was to tour Alberobello, visit Matera in the neighboring Basilicata region together and then spend a day in Lecce with our friend Giulia, whom we met at the very beginning of our journey, fourteen months earlier in Ecuador.

Many visitors savor all of Alberobello’s magic in one day, but if you don’t like changing hotels frequently, like us, it was also the perfect spot to base further exploration of Puglia, which is what we intended to do.

There are over one thousand trulli in the Monti district spread across seven narrow streets that twist and turn in an enchantingly confusing way, yet the area was small enough that we were never really lost.  Early in the mornings or late in the day the neighborhood had a unique ambience, with its cobbled lanes, whitewashed walls and pointed stone roofs painted with various religious, astrological, or folkloric  symbols. The latter were meant to ward off evil or ensure a bountiful harvest. Similarly, there are different thoughts about the meaning of the various shapes of the pinnacles atop the roofs. I prefer the theory that they represent the ancient stone mason’s calling card. Most of the trulli have now been converted to shops, restaurants, small inns, and rental properties. 

Across the main road at the bottom of the hill we climbed a shallow slope to a second, smaller borghi, or neighborhood, equally charming but with a more residential flavor than the Monti. The Aja Piccola is comprised of about four hundred trulli.

Farther afield on the outskirts of town we walked through Alberbello’s central cemetery.  Spanning centuries with classic tombs and modern mausoleums, the graveyard architecture presented a strikingly distinct dichotomy to the rustic trulli.

It was backroads through farmland most of the way to Matera, past larger trullo with multiple rooms, each represented by its conical roof. Some along the way were abandoned or used as barns, while others were pristinely refurbished and doubled as the farmer’s home or agrotourism business.

Matera sprang to notoriety in 1945, at the end of WWII, with the publication of Carlo Levi’s novel about his political exile to the region, Christ Stopped at Eboli, when Mussolini was in power.  He described the squalid conditions in which peasants lived together their farm animals: they inhabited caves, without electricity or running water, and diseases ran rampant.  The Italian government was internationally embarrassed by the neglect the sassi of Matera received, and in a restitution effort, relocated the entire population of some 16,000 cave dwellers from 1,500 sassi, small caverns, to a new town built on the plateau above the honeycomb of caves.

Archaeologists have determined through excavations that Matera grew from a series of water-eroded caves along the walls of the Gravina River canyon, which were first inhabited sporadically 9,000 years ago during the Stone Age.  Permanent populations have existed here since 3,000 BC, making it one of the oldest continuously inhabited settlements in Europe. 

The Romans declared Matera a town in 251 BC. Centuries later the safety of cave dwellings appealed to many during the turbulent dark ages and the populace grew as folks expanded the natural caves and randomly dug new sassi, above and below their neighbors, from the soft rock of the canyon walls.  During the Middle Ages the prosperity of the city supported many churches and convents.

In the 1200s the Cathedral of Saint Mary ‘della Bruna,’ Saint Eustace, and the Church of Saint John the Baptist were built on opposite sides of the ravine.  Prosperity continued in this area into the early renaissance.  The exterior of the some of the sassi were squared off and ornately carved with columns, while others were expanded with additional rooms and vaulted ceilings.   

Political intrigue over the centuries put Matera on the losing side of several rebellions against the various Kings of Naples. The coup de grace came in 1860 after unification with the Kingdom of Italy, when many of the lands and properties owned by the church in the Basilicata region were confiscated and sold off to wealthy aristocratic families. With support from the church, peasant opposition to the broken promises of the new Italian government grew and soon the countryside was controlled by roaming bands of brigands.  The province was too dangerous to travel through, further isolating Matera even though it was the capital of Basilicata.  Many decades of governmental neglect followed and pushed Matera into major decline.

For three decades the sassi were an abandoned no-man’s-land, the caves used as drug dens and warehouses for smugglers until the first gentrifications began with several small boutique hotels in the 1980s.  During years of renovation and exploration, 150 cave churches, 90 wine cellars and numerous cisterns have been rediscovered after the removal of debris and muck from their last use as barns and stables.

The uniqueness of Matera’s “spontaneous architecture” as it is officially called was recognized in 1993 when UNESCO named it a World Heritage site.  Further interest followed, after Matera was used as a film location to double for ancient Jerusalem in several movies: The Passion of the Christ (2004), King David (2005), and The Nativity Story (2006.) Even some scenes from the 2017 Wonder Woman were filmed there. In 2019 Matera received distinction as a European City Capital of Culture.  Today sixty percent of the sassi of Matera have been restored into small hotels, shops, galleries, and digital workspaces.  

When we arrived in Matera the historic area was hidden from our view by the buildings of the new town on the plateau above the Sassi district. We made our way to Piazza Vittorio Veneto while searching for stairs down into the ancient district. There was a tremendous WOW! factor when we emerged from a narrow alley onto a scenic panorama above the old town, the city’s silhouette frozen in time.

Around the city large surrealist sculptures by Salvador Dali stood in wonderful, whimsical juxtaposition to the surrounding monochromatic walls of the city. One day was not enough to uncover all the mystery that Matera had to offer. Hopefully, we will return in the future. 

A day at the beach, more like a day on the cliff above the beach, drew us to Polignano a Mare on Puglia’s Adriatic coast.  It’s a picturesque town known for its dramatic buildings balanced on a cliff edge that follows the sea, thirty feet below. 

The rock face is incredibly soft and over time sections have fallen into the sea creating grottos, under the homes above, that can be toured by boat.  White-pebbled Lama Monachile is a classic, small Italian beach nestled between cliffs, from which the brave dive into the calm turquoise waters of the cove. 

The quaint historic district is relatively small, and homes are painted in cooling colors which echo the sea. Alleys meander to small piazzas above the water, each with a unique view of the cliff and just large enough to support a small café with a few outside tables.  It was a brilliant sunny day, pleasantly uncrowded, and the weather was gentle enough that we could dine outside in a sunny spot during our November visit. 

Till next time, Craig & Donna

Dubrovnik: Dragons and Castles

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Our first glimpse of Dubrovnik caught us by surprise as we rounded a curve on Croatia’s RT 8. Its thick limestone walls and brilliant red tile roofs, saturated with color, reflected brilliantly on cobalt blue Adriatic Sea.  Its nickname “pearl of the Adriatic” rightly earned.

Fortunately, mid-October was considered off-season and we were able to find a wonderful apartment, Old Town Sunrise Apartments just steps away from the Babic’ Bakery and the 14th century Vrata od Ploča or East Gate with its ancient drawbridge.  The agony of lugging our bags up three flights of stairs was rewarded with gorgeous views from our roof windows, since the studio apartment was directly across the harbor from Fort St. Ivana. 

We couldn’t have asked for a better location. The sunrises and sunsets were spectacular over the Adriatic and the citadel.  A brilliant Hunters’ Moon one night was an added bonus, as was watching a group of elderly friends take an early morning swim, their daily ritual.

Fort St. Ivana today houses an interesting maritime museum and aquarium, but when it was built in the 16th century its canons protected the city-state’s merchant fleet from the Venetians and Ottomans.  Over the centuries Dubrovnik’s maritime merchants rivaled Venice’s with trade representatives in Goa, India and the Cape Verde Islands off Africa’s Atlantic coast.  Its merchant fleet even traded during the Middle Ages with the English court of Elizabeth the First.

Blame it on Drogon! Since the medieval fantasy Game of Thrones was filmed in Dubrovnik the city has lost its previous reputation as an under-visited and affordable destination on the sunny shores of the Adriatic.  Ever since the TV show’s premiere in 2011 the city has become a mecca, big time, for fans eager to visit the show’s filming locations.  Thankfully, it hasn’t risen to placards of “Jon Snow slept here” or “Rhaegal roasted a nobleman on our roof” level yet.

We had been on our journey fifteen months now and aside from a brief stay in London, Dubrovnik was by far the most expensive destination.  I think this explains why we saw so many people walking down Stradun, the city’s main pedestrian boulevard, eating slices of pizza.  The impact of these high prices was especially acute since the affordability of Kotor, Montenegro (only a short drive away) was still fresh in our minds.  It was actually easier to find an affordable restaurant in London.  It was captive pricing for sure within the fortress walls that encircle Old Town and the only reprieve was to eat in the new town portion of Dubrovnik, outside the citadel. 

Stradum, aka Placa (Stradone or Corso) is the city’s pedestrian-only main boulevard, running 300 yards east to west, connecting both ancient gates and harbors on either side of town.  For us it was too pristine.  An unfair comment, as this resulted when Dubrovnik was rebuilt after the 1991 Balkans War, when the city was shelled for seven months from the top of the mountain above town. Two hundred eighty civilians and soldiers were killed during that prolonged bombardment. Today an aerial tram takes you there for panoramic views. Shrapnel scars, signs of the conflict, remain etched into the stone walls on some buildings.  But the newness of the polished limestone boulevard running past upscale shopping reminded us of an amusement park.

We were drawn into the narrow, arched alleys with steep stairs that climbed the hills and weaved through older neighborhoods on either side of Stradum. The farther away from Stradum we got, the more the crowds diminished. 

Our other alternative was to walk along the fortress walls that encircle the city for slightly over a mile.  Thirteen to twenty feet thick and towering eighty feet high in some sections, the walls once held 120 cannons to protect the city from land or sea attack.  This walk is a popular activity with fast moving tour groups, but we found if we just let them pass there would be a tranquil void until the next group which allowed us to linger in one spot for a while. 

Standing above the West Gate and looking down the Stradum was a prime view that included the circular Large Onofrio’s Fountain built in 1438 and which still supplies fresh spring water, from mountains miles away, to carved faces that spurt water. Farther down the Franciscan Church and Monastery houses the oldest continuously operating pharmacy in the world dating to 1317 in its muraled cloister. Farther along the wall there were several small cafes and stairs that lead to roped off swimming areas at the sea’s edge.

At the far end of Stradum the city’s 100 ft tall clock and belltower zooms skyward over an area that was once the city market in the 1400s. Famously the belltower has two bronze figures named Maro and Baro, zelenci (green) twins that strike the bell on the quarter, half and full hour.  Interestingly, several generations of the same family have maintained the clockworks for over 100 years. Next door the 14th-century Gothic-Renaissance style Rector’s Palace exhibits vestiges of Dubrovnik’s history. Especially noteworthy were the intricately carved exterior columns.

Across the street the statue of golden statue of Saint Blaise cradling a model Dubrovnik on his arm crowns his church.

The city’s 16th century granary and mill has undergone a beautiful and innovative renovation and now houses the Etnografic Museum Rupe. It has a prominent collection of Croatian Cultural items, particularly traditional attire from the regions surrounding Dubrovnik.

Weddings are a boisterous affair in Dubrovnik, with the bride and groom following a flag waving entourage parading through the pedestrian-only streets on the way to their church ceremony.

Walking east one morning away from the city, along Ul Frana Supila, a quiet road that hugs the water, a small village ambiance prevailed with colorful homes, flowering plants and wild pomegranate trees set into the hillside. 

Villas for the well to do, many built on the ruins of previous civilizations, line the road, beautiful none the less. Bored? There was a rainbow-colored selection of wheels for rent at the exotic car dealer to satisfy that zoom, zoom craving. 

Eventually the road narrowed and a chain across it prevented cars from going farther along a treacherous, serpentine stretch that hugs the cliff face.  The road used to connect back to the highway near one of the scenic overlooks.  But it was determined to be too dangerous when its guardrails tumbled down the cliff into the sea.  Now only walkers and bicyclists use it to traverse a dramatic section of the coast. 

A memorial, Spomen ploča žrtvama komunističkog terora, to victims of the communist terror, stands on a curve in the road. It commemorates the lives of five young Yugoslavian partisans thrown from the cliff to their deaths by communist “liberation forces” loyal to Marshal Tito at the end of WWII.

Across from Dubrovnik’s West Gate and harbor, the 11th century Fort Lovrijenac, the “Gibraltar of the Adriatic,” sits atop a towering rock monolith 121 feet above the sea. Climbing to the top of the citadel along well-worn footpaths and stairs satisfied us with great views back across the harbor of walled Dubrovnik and kayakers paddling along in the cove below.

Many kayaking tours leave from West Harbor. Today Lovrijenac’s walls, some reaching a thickness of 39 feet, support theater and music productions during the summer months.  The dramatic setting is also the backdrop for Red Bull Cliff Diving World Series and Knightfall, a historical fiction TV drama about the Knights Templar. 


Behind the fortress, wandering the narrow lanes along the water’s edge felt like we were in a quaint seaside village.

We thought the Three-Day Dubrovnik Card was a good value for us, since it offered free entrance to six museums, two galleries and the city walls, as well as six free rides on the local buses. Staying just outside the fortress walls permitted us to avoid a premium room rate yet allowed us easy entry into the citadel early in the mornings and to find those quiet vignettes and ancient architectural details hidden amidst dramatic shadows.

 For moments we felt like we had this beautiful medieval city all to ourselves.

Till next time, Craig & Donna