Report from the Clouds: Dubrovnik Edition

My little notebook and I take on Croatia.

Wah! It’s been almost one full year since my last “Report from the Clouds” post!!! That last report details observations from my home town of Munich, Germany, seen through the fresh eyes of a person who had just landed there merely weeks before.

For followers who have joined me in the past year, this origin post will help give you some context on Cloud (aka the name of my commonplace journal):

While I originally started carrying a journal around with me in February 2024 in an attempt to recapture my imagination, I quickly pivoted away from it once the imagination was, indeed, recaptured. I completed The Artist’s Way from May through October 2024 and subsequently wrote 75,000 words of a new fantasy novel. Cloud, filled to the brim with scribbles and random observations, was tucked away…biding her time.

Going through some old posts on my SubStack, I revisited my “reports” from Manchester, Paris, and Ireland. They made me smile, transporting me back to so many seemingly tiny moments of my life with stunning clarity. Reading those observations, I could close my eyes and picture the faces of so many strangers, hear their laughter, witness their waves to one another and their greetings in sharp or melodic accents.

I missed seeing the world in this way. I missed noticing.

My husband and I went to Dubrovnik at the end of April, and for the first time in a while, I could feel myself noticing again. My movements were slower. My eyes were always scanning. My ears felt like they were perked up like a dog’s.

I was absorbing Dubrovnik and her people; gathering these observations, turning them over in my mind and savoring them long after, reliving each moment with quiet affection. By the end of the trip, I was bursting.

In our last hour of Dubrovnik, as we sat at the shimmering water’s edge, waiting for the last possible moment to catch a ride to the airport away from this paradise, I rummaged through my bag for a notebook and pen. Finding both, I frantically copied down as many observations as I could remember, as if at any moment they’d be ripped from my mind forever. Getting them down on the page, my shoulders loosened. My mind was lighter, my smile easy. I knew they were immortalized. For me, for you, and for so many future stories.

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4.26.25: Overhead from the British couple behind me on the streets:
Man: “What do you want to eat? And don’t tell me you don’t know.”
Woman: “I DON’T KNOW!”

4.26.25: On the bus back to the hotel our first night, it’s quiet and calm, only a handful of us rattling down the dark road. In the distance, the bus headlights light up a large group on the side of the road. As we drive closer, I realize it’s a bus stop…and the group is about 50 pre-teens in matching uniforms. Erik and I have just enough time to shoot each other a wide-eyed look and scramble to the far window, away from the door. Two seconds later, the doors open and in pours ALL of the screaming pre-teens. Hyped up on their water polo tournament. Their name tags have the Italian flag on it. Sandwiched between a group of kids doing football chants and teasing each other, I look at Erik and let out an incredulous laugh. We’re in it, I think, we’re in the belly of the beast. Some pre-teens start doing pull-ups on the bars that are supposed to be used to steady passengers. The coach is grinning, recording the kids on her cell phone. Panic flashes through me and I wonder how we’ll get off. The problem sorts itself out, as a few stops later the entire team spills out. As fast as they came, they’re gone—and the rest of us are left to simply release a collective breath and be glad to have survived.

Reenactment of us on the bus with 50 Italian pre-teens. Source.

4.27.25: At breakfast, a man comes dressed in the hotel’s bathrobe, presumably straight from the spa area. He gets a double espresso from the coffee machine and grabs it before it’s even done brewing.

4.27.25: Erik sits on a chair beside the bathroom door in the gelato shop. A little boy and his mom ask him, “Are you waiting for the bathroom?” He tells them no, he’s not. The little boy earnestly asks, “Well then, what are you waiting for?” Erik points to me at the register. “My wife!” We all laugh. Later, when the mother and boy leave the shop, the boy makes eye contact with me and shoots me the biggest dimpled grin.

4.27.25: Our walking tour guide tells us Dubrovnik is a small city, only 40,000 people. I believe her, as over our 3-day stay I see the same tourists over and over again. Recurring characters in my personal Dubrovnik story.

4.27.25: Tour guide is describing the Yugoslavia breakup in the 1990s and tells us how it differs between generations. She shares how once, she teased her grandmother about how cute Montenegro boys were. Her grandmother snapped back, saying she’d die if her granddaughter ever fell in love with a Montenegro boy. When our tour guide argued back, her mother told her to drop it. Our tour guide explains that her grandmother’s generation has held so much hurt and hatred in their hearts for thirty long years, and that’s no way to live. We should pity them, and not turn into them. It felt like a lesson that we all could learn from—and, it seems, a lesson that humanity is forced to learn again and again, no?

4.27.25: Father and his two girls hang out by a statue of what looks like a friar. The girls are climbing on it. One sits in its lap; the other pretends to pick its nose.

4.27.25: Erik and I share a table at dinner with another couple. At first, we keep to ourselves, each talking to our respective spouse in low voices. We hear their accent—their songlike inflection, the pronunciation of vowels—and presume they’re from somewhere in England. Erik strikes up a conversations with them once our meals arrive. Asks them why they’re here. “It’s our first time in Europe!” the man says with a big smile. Erik and I laugh at this slightly off-kilter joke. Then, as he shares more, it quickly becomes clear they’re definitely not from England, but Australia.

4.28.25: A group of Korean tourists leaving on a boat. Worker on the dock twists his thumb and pointer finger together, making a small heart. “Saranghae!” he calls out. I love you! They erupt into laughter, clapping and cheering as their boat drifts away.

We 💛 Dubrovnik!