We mistakenly set out for Dubrovnik on a Saturday.  We realized our folly by the line of over 50 cars crawling towards the border.  With some quick back of the napkin navigation we decided to flip a fast 4 point U-turn and burn out to a different border crossing.  

Roads on maps are lines of varying sizes and colors ranging from white to orange to red.  Roads in real life have giant pot holes, climb horrifically steep hillsides cluttered with impatient (bordering on insane) drivers that are somehow they are coming at you from all angles.  

Driving the van that day felt more like playing a game of Asteroid.  We eventually found ourselves in an unfrequented dry valley that was indistinguishably bombed out in the war, or just dismantled by its own citizens desperate for any supply, resource, or just something to do.  Draped in dusty rags, a ghostly old man refused to yield the road.  Senile from age, years of intense sun exposure, or bombed out memories, his eyes, somehow still crystalline and sharp, revealed nothing but emptiness and desperation.  He has since haunted all of my dreams.  It was shortly after this that we abandoned our adventurous spirit and settled for the highway.  

All in all it was no short cut, but the things we saw were far more memorable and troubling than anything we could have encountered waiting in line at the first border crossing.  We were rewarded by our efforts with a reasonably private beach that we donated our afternoon to.

Glam shots were abundant as a cognizant need to document our bodies before they too became shriveled and hopeless was thick in the salty Mediterranean air.  

The scenic intensity of Dubrovnik demanded that we extend our stay to allow for a day of exploration uninhibited by rental car returns or bicycle maintenance.  

The TV show Game of Thrones has provided a boost in Dubrovnik’s already over-the-top tourist industry.  Consequently, I thought the town would be made of a lot more gears…

When other tourists asked my colleagues if they knew who build the impressive fortifications around the old town, they were not humored by our response that it was probably HBO.  At any rate the wall doesn’t seem to be working.  

Even though the wall was rebuilt after the war for this purpose it seems comical to try and explain to the original builders that their efforts amount to little more than the creation of a labor intensive, dysfunctional, primitive mall that welcomes rather than deters people from all over the world.  

Somewhere beneath all the cookie cutter magnets, postcards, cheap sunglasses, beach fedoras, and selfie sticks is a rich history I feel ultimately dissuaded from discovering.

The thought of spending the next week biking through the mountains in 90 to 100 degree heat is daunting in the extreme as we seem to manage little more than sleeping and drinking water between the hours of 11am and 5pm.  

Without the van, Van Daddy is like a hermit crab without a shell, frightened and helpless.

In other news I seem to have broken my foot… I’m not sure.  At some point in the last week it began to swell.  I’m quelling the fear of it being and arthritic episode with the possibility that I’m so tough, I could break my foot without even noticing.  Either way, the two days of rest has been good.  The first night I just iced, elevated, and passed out.