The Walls of Dubrovnik and the Bay of Kotor

"I have crossed the mountains of Gelt and hunted the long-horned buck on the plains of Kabin. And I have crossed to Deelguy and stood two hours up to my neck in the Lake of Klamsid to net the golden cranes at dawn."

Thunder. You could tell from the sound of it, that the sky was black. Then it wasn't. Lightning. I did the old trick where you count the space between the two. The storm was moving away. Loud rain, gutters emptying into the hard marble alleys. Everything was washed clean.

Dubrovnik was nice enough yesterday, but I wasn't overwhelmed by it. Maybe I was spoiled by Split. Does Dubrovnik's reputation stem from it being a popular cruise stop, and the boat people hadn't seen anything else like it back in Idaho?

God, though, it was so beautiful seeing the people running around for their festival yesterday. I saw a sweet little girl holding holy candles to her throat, one on each side. St. Blaise is the patron saint of throat ailments and speech impediments. Her face was so full of hope and belief. She wanted everyone to see she was doing it right.

Loved watching a fussy priest scurry across the plaza, his robes billowing out.

The plan was to see the city walls and zip over to Kotor, Montenegro. That would be a two-hour bus ride with the only available return bus leaving two hours after that. So... two hours on the bus, two hours in Kotor, and two hours back. Would I do it?

It was still very early. I rolled back over. Woke up to the sound of drumming and some kind of cannon fire. Whatever it was, it was the same thing I missed yesterday. Grabbed my little Russian navy sweater, pulled on my jeans and got out there. 7am. The rain, so fierce just a few hours ago had stopped.

In the plaza under the bell tower was a marching band, about twenty dudes in traditional costumes, and a line of dudes with wooden guns. A man with a sword would indicate a soldier, and the soldier would fire. That was the noise. It was very loud up close.

There was no one there. It was like they were doing it for themselves. The drummer started, and they all started marching. I followed them.

I followed a marching band around the walls of Dubrovnik.

At specific checkpoints, they would stop and fire the guns. The rifles were loud, but survivable. These dudes in goofy hats at the end, though, had these crazy hand cannons that woke up the world. Crowds were gathering now. After the second checkpoint, I figured I'd seen it all, so I ditched the circus, bought some bread, and walked around.

The cats were waking up, and I had bought a box of cat food at the store. One of my jacket pockets was full of kibble. I made a million friends. With all the action outside now, the town was deserted. Just me and the cats. One little lavender and orange guy was very vocal about his appreciation.

A Scandinavian-seeming tourist came out of an alley and whistled at a cat. I offered him some cat food, and when he refused, I felt ridiculous. I went to see if the walls were open yet. There had been a locked gate yesterday.

It was still locked. I sat down and read about the city in my guide book. The forearm of a statue I had seen earlier was used to determine a standard measure of length. Rope and wood and cloth and whatever was measured in "elbows." Wild.

Unabomber-looking dude came up and unlocked the gate. The Walls are the main attraction here when they don't have a parade, so I was excited to see them. They cost money, but the gate dude was moving on up some other stairs. The ticket booth was unmanned. Should I... sneak in... and feign ignorance? Could I claim I was disoriented by the cannons?

Why is my heart so full of deceit? Why is my first thought always to be a sneak? From whence comes my snaky soul? Friend to cats and criminal to man! I waited for the ticket booth to open.

Nobody came. I took a few steps toward the entrance. A sign read: "For the Festival of St. Blaise, the Walls will be free today." How do you like that? Climbed up on them.

They exceeded the hype. What a beautiful city. What a magnificent experience. Winding around above the city, protected by the walls, ducking into little forts and guard towers. Everything spread out before you. The sea. The sky.

And I had it all to myself.

In the distance, a cable car took men into the hills. Birds soared high and disappeared. I was the king of the castle. I was the last line of defense. I won't say something cheesy like "I felt connected to history!" but it was every "build a medieval village" activity book and King Arthur coloring page I'd every enjoyed as a boy brought to life.

Perfect day and no crowd. Having fooled around inside the city yesterday and having followed those goofy flag people this morning, I "knew" the city. I felt oriented and knew what I was looking down on. God, it was fun to duck behind the fortifications and pop up pretending to pour oil down. The way these things twisted around, there's no way anyone was sneaking up on this place. Or taking it.

They film Game of Thrones all around here, so I made a little video of myself singing the theme song. All the towns bells began to ring in the middle of it. The parade was coming back in. From high above, I watched them stream into the city and down the wide main avenue. They were headed back to the cathedral.

I've never chosen a patron saint, so there's an opening. I choose St. Blaise. I hear you get a nice white dress and a party on your confirmation.

A stirring hour circling the city, and I went back to the room. I had thirty minutes to catch the bus to Kotor. Would I do it?

I did it. (Saint) blazed out of there, grabbed a cab at the ancient gate (Autobus Stadion! And Autobus Step on it!) and made the bus. Not sure what instinct reminded me to grab my passport on the way out, but it was a good instinct. Montenegro is another country.

Very easy ride over there along a beautiful coast, with the beauty only increasing as we approached the Bay of Kotor. The border check was the wave of a matador's flag. Easy. BUT, when it was revealed by the appearance of my passport that I was an American, this dude, another passenger, had plenty to say to me.

When the bus is empty and the next person who gets on sits next to you anyway, you know they're a lunatic. This is true in every country and on every form of public transportation. Sometimes they are merely touched with lunacy and not full-blown moon-crazy, and I was fortunate he was one of the milder cases.

Before the border, he hadn't spoken, just sat next to me breathing, but now:

"Well, I don't like the way America treats the world, and I guess you're going to get special treatment around here. Nothing better happen to you or America will cause trouble for us." He was a big man. His glasses had round frames. His sleeves had pockets in which were stuffed blue Sharpies. I have never seen sleeves like that before.

Instead of arguing with him, I just asked him where he was from.

"Well, there's a question! Where is anyone from? I can tell you this by way of answer. I live in Canada." His accent was Eastern European. "And even though I live in Canada, they stop me at the border coming from New York and back home. There is no open border, you know. They asked me what my purpose was. They asked me why I had been in the States. And do you know what I told them?"

Vacation?

"No. I told them I was in the United States to buy Milky Way bars."

I laughed, and he frowned. I had thought he was being sarcastic, but...

"They opened my bags and they found my fifty Milky Way bars. But, since the label on a Milky Way says 'made in Canada,' I had a lot of explaining to do. They wanted to know why I had left Canada to buy Canadian chocolate. They don't know that Milky Ways are the only chocolate bar that is made in Canada but not sold there, and they don't know that Milky Ways are my favorite."

I told him I thought they were good.

"You must never leave your credit card. You think I am joking, but in America you must always escort your card, or a waiter will steal it. You must follow them. You must always escort your card."

I told him I would try to.

"Here it is safe. There is no crime here because the villages are small and there is too much shame. Shame keeps them from stealing."

I thought I was going to enjoy his company all the way to Kotor, but he bailed in some no-town. I watched him make his proud way across the street, and then we were off. It only occurred to me a while later to check my pockets. Wallet still there. Passport still there. Shame had done its work, and he hadn't robbed me.

The journey to Kotor was astonishing. Carving a little curve around mysterious islands with benign stone goliaths surrounding you. A massive round-topped mountain rose over the others like a domed ivory church.

We arrived right on time, which was important, since I only had two hours. Booked it out of the bus station and hustled to the old town. Just steps away, really. The main draw is the crumbling fortress in the hills. You climb these marble stairs forever and get treated to marvelous views.

It's like a mini-Dubrovnik, but it's smaller and less... preserved. Much less of a Disney feel, though. A lot of Dubrovnik feels like the Croatia ride at EPCOT, but Kotor felt real. No goofy costumes here. Just people trying to scratch yams out of the dust with sticks. In Dubrovnik, I kept waiting for Grimace or Donald Duck to come out waving.

Long climb up the mostly shattered stairs. Very clear and beautiful. I was breathing hard from the climb. It was not easy. I was alone, so of course I fantasized about turning my ankle and being trapped up there bleating like a sheep for hours.

At the mid-point is the Our Lady of Health Church. The perfect stopping point for a fat American who had already circumnavigated a city today. I tagged it and went down.

That all took about an hour, so I had an hour left to explore and make the bus again. Quick little ramble around a scattered little town. No tourists, but around a corner were one million cats. The mother lode. At least twenty. I was prepared for them. I still had that jacket pocket full of kibble.

It was the miracle of loaves and fishes. Their kitten's kittens will speak of this day. I loved trying to make sure everybody got some. Even the sick-looking ones. Especially the sick-looking ones. Stray animals will break your fucking heart.

Some of them were wet and dirty. I saw a badly wounded cat in Mostar I couldn't write about. He sat so still. Suffering with such dignity. Oh, the world. It was heartbreaking. Feeding these guys won't help him. Loving Ruggles won't help him, but it means there's love somewhere in the world. I don't know how to articulate it.

They were really swarming me, so it was hard to get the picture. I had thirty minutes, so I ducked into a pizza place, It was the only thing open. I realized I didn't have any Montenegrian (sp?) money, so I asked how much the special was in Euros.

"It is the same," said the waiter, "The Euro is our money."

I got something called The Sara Special, which was enormous with crazy cheeks of meat all over it, blobs of sour cream with olives, and an egg over easy vibrating in the middle. It was cut all wonky. No triangles here. It was hilarious and delicious,

Wolfed it down. I ate with my wristwatch on the table staring at me. Booked it back to the station.

I made it!

I wanted to doze on the ride back, but it was too beautiful. Read more Shardik, Really liking it now. It got me. I can't imagine anyone I know reading it, though. I wonder what books they've read that they think I'll never read.

At the station, I scrimped a couple of Kuna by taking a city bus instead of a taxi. Fun to be with real folks. When we got to the gate, the parade was limping out. It was all the same people. Had they been firing those guns and marching in circles for eight hours? Is this what it means to serve St. Blaise?

I hope he takes my age into consideration.