Blog 2007 06 03 Sunday 03 June 2007
Dubrovnik
Being Sunday, there were few things open in the newer part of town, and after breakfast, we made our way down to the historic old town to check things out. My cold was still on my chest, so Bob left for his run on his own, finding dirt trails overlooking the Lapad peninsula in the woods with a friendly squirrel.
Pedestrian access to the old town was a little difficult, with footpaths (as they were) disappearing behind trees, parked cars, or ceasing altogether especially on blind corners. The views along the cliff faces were amazing though, and on a clear, mild day the water sparkled and was clear to the bottom at every view.
Just as we reached the Pile gate into the old town my breathing had became especially laboured, and there was the distinctive rattle of air seeking it’s way though the corrugated pipes of the throat accompanying every breath. Tourists were now thick on the ground – how dare they – and the paving stones of marble had worn smooth over countless feet over centuries providing little grip for my sandals. At times the unpleasant sensation of skating downhill was like aquaplaning in the car – one has no control and you can only hope that by not over correcting and maintaining a good grip that one comes to no harm.
Once over the bridge which spanned the now drained moat (I do like moats!), the crush of tourists was breath taking. I understand that we were there, doing much the same thing (on one hand) however I feel no affinity for this gaggle of pasty, fat, over indulged Americans and Germans who talk in loud voices and had little regard to the people or wider culture of the place.
Escaping up a side street to the narrow corridors that edged near the perimeter of the town was a different experience all together. Here we were away from the crush of cruise ship
Dubrovnik
Being Sunday, there were few things open in the newer part of town, and after breakfast, we made our way down to the historic old town to check things out. My cold was still on my chest, so Bob left for his run on his own, finding dirt trails overlooking the Lapad peninsula in the woods with a friendly squirrel.
Pedestrian access to the old town was a little difficult, with footpaths (as they were) disappearing behind trees, parked cars, or ceasing altogether especially on blind corners. The views along the cliff faces were amazing though, and on a clear, mild day the water sparkled and was clear to the bottom at every view.
Just as we reached the Pile gate into the old town my breathing had became especially laboured, and there was the distinctive rattle of air seeking it’s way though the corrugated pipes of the throat accompanying every breath. Tourists were now thick on the ground – how dare they – and the paving stones of marble had worn smooth over countless feet over centuries providing little grip for my sandals. At times the unpleasant sensation of skating downhill was like aquaplaning in the car – one has no control and you can only hope that by not over correcting and maintaining a good grip that one comes to no harm.
Once over the bridge which spanned the now drained moat (I do like moats!), the crush of tourists was breath taking. I understand that we were there, doing much the same thing (on one hand) however I feel no affinity for this gaggle of pasty, fat, over indulged Americans and Germans who talk in loud voices and had little regard to the people or wider culture of the place.
Escaping up a side street to the narrow corridors that edged near the perimeter of the town was a different experience all together. Here we were away from the crush of cruise ship
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