do the du

After the complete physiological drain of Italy, there could not have been a better port than Dubrovnik, Croatia. Clearly, Semester at Sea knows what they’re doing. In Italy I visited six cities, took too many trains to count, consumed more calories than I would ever like to know, took 8 zillion pictures of 97 monuments I don’t care about and spent an absurd amount of money. In Croatia, I laid on the beach. I drank a cocktail out of a plastic child’s pail at a bar called Fresh. I saw a festival. I slept in. I walked around windy cobblestone streets. I only tripped once. It was, in a word, glorious.

Croatia’s history is actually really interesting and almost startling when you think about how recently the break up of Yugoslavia/the whole Tito thing/the whole Kosovo thing/the whole Serbs being assholes and Croats being assholes and everyone brutally slaughtering each other thing took place. It was only 10-15 years ago that this all went down. But from the peaceful and almost sterile city of Dubrovnik, you would have absolutely no idea that these streets were once soaked with blood. Everything is very neat and timely and nothing is offensively loud or dirty. The people are generally friendly and calm, namely the cab drivers who roll around in Beamers, Benz’s and Bentleys (okay not Bentleys) and all strangely resemble former Eastern European hired assassins. I’m not kidding. How can a cab driver charge me 60 kuna (around 11 bucks) for a ride into the city and afford an impeccably maintained Mercedes with a navigational system? They’re so anal they won’t even let you eat gelato in the back for God’s sake.

But that’s enough about cabs. The city of Dubrovnik is unexpectedly wonderful. The short ride from the port to the city’s hub looks like any other upper-middle class suburb: strip-malls, grocery stores and then hey all of a sudden you drive by the most breathtaking view of the ocean you’ve ever seen. It’s like a living panoramic postcard; bookended by lush green islands and rocky cliffs, lazy topless Europeans sunning themselves on the rocky beaches hundreds of feet below. And then you reach the main gate of Dubrovnik’s Old Town (or is it Old City? I thought I heard it both ways but maybe I just sounded like an ignorant tool the whole time) and in the blink of an eye you’re at the most authentic Medieval Times you’ve ever seen. Or a really realistic movie set for a period piece about princesses and knights. Or Eastern European Disney World. There’s a moat and a drawbridge leading into the walled city. Like, a literal moat. The streets are devoid of cars and covered by super-slick stones; you can almost hear the sound of horse hooves click-clacking down the main drag. Alleyways seem to stack on top of themselves as you navigate up endless staircases winding their way up the mountain Old Town rests upon.

Every former SASer who went on a summer voyage will undoubtedly get nostalgic at hearing the next thing I’m about to say, because this particular spot has become a bit of a legend for those of us traveling onboard the good old MV. Climb the city’s biggest set of marbly stairs, past the charming cottage on your left hang-drying clothes next to the swing-set, and the endearing old woman selling lace. Continue up a windy passageway to a wooden sign that simply reads “Cold Drinks” with an arrow. Sounds innocuous enough. Duck into a tiny break in the stone wall and all of a sudden you’re on top of the world. Known adoringly as “The Cliff Bar” to most, this haunt is one of the gems of the city. Only a few tables and chairs in all, complete with shirtless hippie bartenders, the bar is teetering off one of Old Town’s famous cliffs (even more famously jumped off by many a fearless backpacker, myself not included) with possibly the most spectacular view one can take in while sipping a local draught.

Aside from drinking in weird places and out of childhood toys, my time in Croatia was highlighted by being in the water. The Mediterranean (the Adriatic, specifically, being the section of the Med in which Dubrovnik is situated) has a crazy high saline content so you feel like a pretzel for the rest of the day, but it is so worth it. As was our Euro techno-blaring speedboat ride to our snorkeling drop-off point. Despite the fact that the sights of snorkeling are limited to minnows and rocks, it’s incredible to swim out to the rocky shores of the islands surrounding Dubrovnik, climb the dusty stone pathways up to the tips of the mountains and see lovely Old Town from a birds-eye view.

Dubrovnik is relatively compact so it seemed nearly everyone within the city limits was keenly aware of the presence of Semester at Sea. The city’s handful of clubs were crawling with SASers every night. My favorite pick up line of the trip slurred by many an inebriated frat boy: “hey are you ladies SASers?” …The poor perplexed Croatian girls would just stare back and keep walking. And once the local eligible bachelors caught wind of the influx of American girls inhabiting clubs like Fuego, they arrived at the door in greasy tank-topped masses. Ah, Eastern Europe. Land of romance. Things got so bad that club owners began to put up signs reading “No Semester at Sea” because kids were breaking everything in their paths. And embarrassing themselves in the process. Even cab drivers would ask if we were traveling “to the Explorer” and then proceed to charge us more. And the local grocery store at the port sent SAS administration a letter thanking them for our business (clearly they neglected to mention it was entirely liquor purchases because everything else they sold was the creepy packaged food equivalent of Ikea). Semester at Sea: alienating ourselves from a new Mediterranean country every week.

However, as daylight came over the top deck of the MV, all mishaps from the night before were forgotten. We ventured on a Semester at Sea-sponsored tour to the tiny bordering country of Montenegro which was more sleeping in awkward positions on a coach bus than actually seeing sights, but beautiful nonetheless. I feel like this region of the word is quite unknown to many Americans who would rather take their Euro vacations in the Greek islands or the South of France. But the natural beauty here is outstanding. The food is a little weird and a bit too mystery meat for my taste but it works because I was in a bikini for the vast majority of the trip (and I’m still in mild post-traumatic shock from how much I ate in Italy). It’s also very inexpensive in a lot of ways. The local currency is the Kuna, which easily freaks you out because 100 of them is like 20 bucks – hence, after a few drinks you’re into the triple digits. But the exchange rate is good and it seems like the population is eager to give foreigners a deal and show off their beautiful little corner of the world.

On our last day we soaked up as much Croatian sun as we could handle at the Nikki Beach of Dubrovnik – EastWest. Finally escaping the oppressive hoards of SASers, we lounged all day on an outrageously comfortable “beach mattress” amongst many a cute European family. At Nikki we would have be forced to buy bottles and look fabulous and probably would have dropped a g by the end of the day. At EastWest we spent around 15 bucks for the mattress, water-bottled our own drinks, passed out, and they left us alone. Love Croatia.

Other highlights include a guest appearance by French Prime Minister Nicolas Sarkozy, not only spotted in the street amongst suited minions but also at the same restaurant as us one night. And it gets weirder – infamous tennis loudmouth John McEnroe was playing a random exhibition game in Dubrov and we saw him strolling around, tennis bag in hand, looking embarrassingly too old to be playing competitive tennis. Sarkozy and McEnroe? What a duo.

All in all, I took Croatia in as a breath of fresh air. I feel recharged and well slept and pleasantly crispy from my days lounging in the Mediterranean heat. The UV rays continue next as we hit Greece. Thanks to some intense political instability, Greece’s economy is a piece of shit and everyone seems to be freaking out over it. Hence, ferry strikes. Please, Zeus, let me get to Mykonos and not be stuck in grimy Athens for five days? Keep your fingers crossed for me.