Last night in Dubrovnik

So I've landed myself in the Hilton Imperial Dubrovnik to catch some Wifi. It's working. And it's happy hour. There's a guitarist playing with a sax player whose beauty puts that Croatian dude from ER to shame. No one seems to know or mind that I'm not a guest here. The beers keep-a-coming, and the beautiful people around me keep smoking.

Yesterday I went on a little three island cruise. I drank homemade brandy and wine, flirted with the captain of the "ship" and met a couple of very civilized English English school teachers from Leicester. Lots o' fun, sailing, fresh grilled fish and Croatian moonshine for lunch, swimming and sunbathing in the afternoon. I witnessed my first nude beach ever, and I do believe I saw a woman's uterus. Walking around a cliff and looking down I saw pie to the sky, kittens. Took me back to my Planned Parenthood days, so it did.

An aside: I've seen about 20 Italian Paris Hilton look alikes walk into this lounge, all decked out in white cowboy hats, rhinestone jeans and dangly earrings, with smokes and red bull as their most important accessories. Or are they glitterati Croats? I don't know. There is something of an arts festival going on right now. In fact, I saw a whole bunch of folks decked out in traditional folk costume doing dances in circles in Old Town Square. The men wore dented felt hats and ties while the women looked like peasants from any old where. Did you know Croats invented the necktie? At least, they claim it as their own. When men went off to war or whatever, their lady friends would tie a tie around their necks as a symbol of fidelity. Or maybe it was a threat: the tighter the tie. . . .

I'm ready to move on. After a nice sail on the Adriatic, walking around the Old City walls, plenty of swimming and sunning on the pebbly beaches, some local eats and drinks and new friends, I'm geared up to move on. Mostar. First thing in the morning. I must see the rebuilt bridge with my own two eyes. And I'll wander into Medjugorje, see if the Virgin has something to say to me, before I head into Sarajevo. I looked into staying at the Holiday Inn that was the last stand for journalists during the war, but I need to save dough for Italy and France. I'll probably stay in somebody's house. That's the way they do here--people just register their homes with the local tourist board and then take in strangers. It's the cheapest way to spend a night in these parts, although a bit dodgy for a lone gal. The Brits I met let some dude they met at the bus stop haul them to his house and it worked out great. I just don't think it'd be prudent for me to do the same, alone. But there's an agency at the bus station in Sarajevo that can recommend places, so I think I'll do that. The Brits were each paying a quarter what I paid for my dingy little hotel. Though it sure is nice to have my own bathroom and breakfast every morning. I'm sure it's all worked out for the best.

From Sarajevo, I'll take a bus to Split, then either island hop a little bit, or head straight to Venice on a ferry. I could see more of Italy if I wanted . . . start in the south somewhere and make my way north. But I don't know. I'm itching for France, I must admit. I want to leave myself enough time and money to do the South of France properly. By that I mean not penny pinching too terribly. I want Bouillabaisse, people! And the real stuff costs something like $100 for two people to slurp, and they only serve it to two people at a time, so I'll have to pick up some fool who will partake with me, or just slurp enough for two (though I suspect the French might frown upon that). 'Course, if I run out of money, I can always lollygag on the beach and keep working on my Mediterranean tan as I read my books. Costs nothing. Actually in Nice, they make you pay to lounge on the beach, but here they don't.

Croatia is not nearly as cheap as I'd expected. Hungary costs far less. Although I am in what is the next Nice. Perhaps in Zadar or Zagreb the living is less dear. But not as easy. . . .