Sobe or not sobe

Dubrovnik/Sarajevo - 29/08/2010

Michelle had taken her throat singing to the patio and the cute French girl (we'll call her Laetitia) was staring at me lustily, an excellent start to the day. The old town of Dubrovnik is undeniably beautiful, a fact not lost on the world's population. It is unrealistic and unreasonable to expect such a place to remain unexploited, preserved for the select few that undertake to make the pilgrimage. Those days are gone in the shrunken world of today. I know not when they actually were but I cannot help but cast my mind back to when it was equally aesthetic but less ruthlessly commercial. It the cruellest of double-edged swords, the money that tourism brings rebuilds, renews and sustains these sights and, to cite the scientific maxim, 'whatever is observed is by definition changed'. What makes, breaks.
Enough cynicism and hypocrisy though, we've places to be and one hell of a coastline to cover. We had hired a car through Croatia as it was (nearly) contiguous and would give miles of scenic emergency stops along the Dalmatian coast. But there was one sight that drew us over the border into Bosnia i Herzegovina (though that is for tomorrow). As we entered Sarajevo the sun removed its hat and declared its day done. A judicious (fortuitous) turn led us down a tight, Turkic street and linguistic recollection found us a pension. The quarter we had stopped in was near dry, the people caffeinated rather than inebriated. Still me hearties, pirates always like a drink so a themed bar provided a sure bet of an earned beer. Byrek is fast becoming our staple meal and so it thus proved in Bosnia's war scarred capital (the bullet holes were resplendent on many buildings).
The Neretva river valley to the tune of Kalman FM and plinky plonky Eine Kleine Nacktm├╝sik was a wholly awe inspiring foray. Tomorrow Mostar, nos da.

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