The stones of the old town gleam at night as if they were wet, even though it hasn’t rained in weeks. The limestone cobblestones of the Straca, the main street of the Old Town, are the colour of milk, and slippery. The Straca is trodden upon by so many feet that the city of Dubrovnik has to come along once and awhile and rough up the stones to prevent any serious accidents. I narrowly avoid three in the three days I’m there. I feel as closed off as one of the green Venetian blinds over my head.
After crossing the ancient stone walls into the Old City and making my perfunctory rounds, I tend more for the sea and for quieter residential areas. At the Gospino Polje Sports Field I sit and watch children play soccer on a Sunday afternoon and remember all the years that I was forced to play soccer on a Sunday afternoon. When it gets dark, I walk back to my hotel, past Aleppo pines and olive trees with bitter, black fruit.
