Dubrovnik.org

Source: HoustonChronicle

The guns are silent. The war is over. And the baroque seaport seaport of Dubrovnik with its picturesque harbor sparkles again.

DUBROVNIK, CROATIA — Maro Jelavic isn’t a heartthrob by Hollywood standards. But if you called central casting and asked for a character actor for the part of a patriotic partisan, they would send over the lanky Jelavic.

Today, though, he plays the role of guide, introducing visitors to his beloved Dubrovnik on Croatia’s beguiling Dalmatia Coast. His leathery tanned face, lined with creases etched by wind and salt water, squints hard against the afternoon glare. Dubrovnik is bathed in sunlight intensified by glints rippling across the Adriatic Sea.

“There,” says Jelavic, pointing to a spot in the harbor, “is where my boat was sitting when it was set on fire by artillery shells.”

The harbor, where rosy-cheeked old women gossip on shady benches and sweethearts flirt, is bestrewed with crayon-colored sailboats and fishing vessels.

“The Serbians shelled Dubrovnik for a month, from up there,” continues Jelavic, pointing this time to a sloping mountain above the city.

“We took it for a long time, watching them destroy everything we loved in this beautiful old place.”

Then, one day the Serbs went too far. They lobbed a shell into the tiny turquoise harbor where Jelavic’s sailboat moored. It burned to the waterline and sank.

Smiling, Jelavic tells a sly story of three men who rowed a boat to a nearby island under the cover of a moonless night to cut down the enemy’s flag. The Serb commander had placed the flag there as a taunt, an insult, to the citizens of Dubrovnik. Then one day it was gone, forever.

“They went too far,” Jelavic declares. “Bombing a city is one thing. Sinking a man’s boat is another.”

Protective walls

Early in the day, the rising sun illuminates the thick, pale limestone walls that encircle the heart of Dubrovnik — the Old City.

The walls have protected the medieval city for seven centuries against numerous assaults. They are a testament of the impenetrable pride and strength of citizens like Jelavic. Standing beneath a swaying canopy of pine trees and pink subtropical flowers, it’s hard to imagine that 2,000 artillery shells showered down on this ancient city during the bloody ethnic warfare between Croatia and Serbia.

The sound of gunfire ceased in 1992, replaced by screeches of seagulls flying over waters so pristine you can see fishes fanning across rugged sandy bottoms from a rocky cliff high above.

Jelavic pauses, lulled by the waves crashing against the craggy coastline. He breathes in the sea air mingled with cypress, pine and eucalyptus trees, then strolls through the gate to the Old City.

We walk toward the Placa, or Stradun, the city’s widest and most famous thoroughfare, lined on either side with jewelry stores, wine boutiques, cafes and galleries. But most intriguing is the street itself, a glowing river of moonlight. Cars are barred from the Old City. But centuries of pedestrians have given the pale limestone tiles a polished lustrous patina.

Throughout the city are palaces and many, many churches.

“We have 38,” Jelavic says. “You know why we built so many churches? To keep the priests, mostly Jesuits, busy and out of politics.”

Left of the ornate Onofrio Fountain is St. Saviour Church. Next to it is the Franciscan Monastery and Museum. Inside is the third-oldest operating pharmacy in Europe. There I find handmade rose and lavender oils.

From dawn until dusk, the outdoor cafes are filled with worldly jeans-clad travelers who view this Mediterranean city through Fendi and Chanel sunglasses. Long before it was a UNESCO World Heritage Site, Dubrovnik attracted a tabloid-worthy roster, including Lord Byron, George Bernard Shaw and Agatha Christie.

More recently, the baroque seaport has caught the eyes of Tom Cruise, Prince Charles, Christopher Walken and John Malkovich, who owns a summer home here.

I wasn’t ready to leave the city, rich with medieval landmarks and alleys, leading to charming restaurants and shops. But, Jelavic insists, one of Croatia’s greatest attractions lies outside Dubrovnik.

Riviera sans crowds

The black car weaves up and down the sides of mountains, past terra-cotta roofed homes, vineyards, rosemary shrubs and olive trees. An hour later, we arrive in the coastal village of Mali Ston.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen water so blue,” Dutch tourist Caroline Hoope says. “It’s like the French Riviera without all the people.”

The calm sapphire-blue bay against the backdrop of green rolling hills looks like a still shot from an old ’40s classic movie.

The tiny 14th-century village is centered around Kapetanova Kuca, a patio restaurant known for its succulent oysters and mussels.

“They call this place the Island of Life because of the mussels and oysters — they’re aphrodisiac,” Jelavic says with a grin. “You will never taste better elsewhere. We keep this treasure for ourselves. You’ll see. Come, we’ll visit the old man.”

We board a small boat. Jelavic waves to the darkly tanned, muscular man in a boat across the narrow bay.

“That’s Loko,” Jelavic starts. “He’s now 82, my father’s age. He’s harvested oyster all his life. But he’s very rich. He doesn’t have to work. He just wants to. His family were the only people harvesting oysters and mussels back in the ’30s when restaurants from England to Paris fought over them.”

Learning about oysters

Loko flashes his visitors a bright smile that reaches his blue eyes.

“Loko, they want to know more about your oysters,” Jelavic says.

Loko reaches for an oyster. Its jagged edges would have cut most people’s hands. But not Loko’s toughened paws. He pries the oyster open.

It tastes unlike any oyster I’ve eaten before or since — intensely briny at first, then rounding off with a sweetness. The flesh has structure and crunch. Its unique flavors come from the spring water runoff from the mountains and salinity from the salt beds in neighboring Stol, Jelavic says.

The oysters mature on cords that hang from square wooden frames. They dangle from the poles like strands of Christmas lights.

“You’ll find the oysters at restaurants all over Dubrovnik,” Croatia tourism director Nena Komarica says. “And likely they were harvested that morning.”

The oysters mature in three years, a fraction of time compared to the other local favorite, the oblong finger mussels. About 2 inches long, the mussels require eight years to mature.

They’re rare. Protected. And forbidden.

“The mussels burrow into large rocks on the ocean floor,” Jelavic says. “The men harvest them with their fingers, one at a time.”

Although Croatians are outlawed from harvesting the mussels, their Bosnian neighbors are not.

So Kapetanova Kuca through “special” arrangements is allowed to serve them. Here, the meaty mussels are sautéed with onions, olive oil and white wine — the holy trinity of Dalmatian cooking.

“A simple dish but beautiful,” Jelavic says, “like many things in Croatia.”