In a bus heading up the Croatian coast on the narrow looping highway from Dubrovnik to Split, the Croatian equivalent to California’s Highway 1, C., M., and I are settling in for our five-hour ride. I’m on the left side of the bus, so I have a beautiful view of the steep hillsides stretching down to the coast, the mountainous islands jutting up out of the water, and the deep blue Adriatic stretching out to the horizon.

We took this trip in precisely the opposite order we should have. Upon arrival at the airport, we hopped onto a waiting bus to Split, caught a ferry immediately to Jelsa, a port town on the first island we wanted to see, and then a bus to a more remote, smaller, and less visited town. Thus, within a few hours of landing, we were at our most remote location, and we slowly worked our way to more populated, more touristy, and less authentic places as the days passed. Already in Dubrovnik I found myself pining for the idyllic Mediterranean meadows and unpopulated coastlines of the islands, as though I’d been booted from paradise into the harsh glare from the unflattering light of the temporal world. There would be no wine, olive, and cheese picnics on the rocky beaches of Dubrovnik.

Europeans seem to have known about Croatia for a long time. Even under communism, the former Yugoslavian coast thrived on tourism. After all, we only came here because so many Czechs recommended it as a holiday destination. We did, in fact, overhear many Czechs in all the nooks and crannies we visited. But most Americans seem not to have heard of this place. Perhaps, as I used to before I came here, they hear the name of the country and think, “Aren’t they having a war there?” But no. The war in Croatia ended eight years ago. Even Dubrovnik, which was 70% bombed out, has been almost completely repaired. Since Croatia’s economy depends heavily on tourism, the government started repairing anything even remotely interesting to tourists before the war was even over. (They cleaned up most of the minefields too.) Countless travel memoirs have been written about southern France, Italy, and all sorts of better known Mediterranean destinations, but not much has appeared about Croatia, which is their equal is almost every way save crowds.

Dubrovnik is distinctive because of the completely intact city wall that surrounds it. All the other walled cities of Europe seem to have demolished their walls at some point. Perhaps they’re too expensive to maintain. Perhaps, as Dubrovnik illustrates, walls have been obsolete as a protective measure since the invention of the airplane. Many towns will make a big deal about the small piece of the town wall still standing here or there near a river or built into the side of a building. Tour guides will drag groups of tourists with sun-reddened necks and sunglasses past the non-descript patchwork structures, pointing out the ten stones at the bottom that date from the thirteenth century. But in Dubrovnik, the entire wall—with all its gates, towers, and ramparts—is still standing. It lends a very medieval feel to the whole place.

The hostel industry has had trouble finding its niche here because of all the grandmothers and their sobes—private rooms—which they rent to tourists for a fair sum. They line up at the ferry landings and bus stations holding up signs that read, in five or six languages, “rooms for rent.” It’s actually a funny sight. While some are younger women and others are men, the majority are gray-haired grandmothers loudly hawking their spare rooms for $15 a night, forceful women who haggle loudly and refuse to listen when you say “no.”

Our sobe was on the side of the cliff that overlooks Dubrovnik; 371 steps up the side of the hill, to be specific. I know because I counted them. The cliff has a couple of roads that cut switchbacks up the cliff face, but most of the houses are only accessible by stairs—rough-hewn and uneven sets of stairs set at random angles. The stairs are given street names, and the houses that adjoin the stairs have addresses that ascend as the stairs ascend. The word for one of these staircase roads, put, is the same as is used for “journey,” and the daily march up the narrow stairs to our sobe was precisely that.

That's awesome! I have a big picture of Dubrovnik on my bedroom wall, it's absolutely gorgous! (and even if I didn't think it was my Croatian girlfriend would kick my ass until I do ;) j/k ) Hope your trip went well! (I'll keep reading to find out for sure though.)