Soul-inspiring architecture in a compact old town by the sea? Dubrovnik has not much to dislike, says Johnny Morris.
DUBROVNIK My friend Igor proudly pointed out the Latin inscription OBLITI PRIVATORUM PUBLICA CURATE (Forget private interests, concern yourself with public affairs) above.
The doorway leading from Dubrovnik's 15th-century Rector's Palace into its town hall. This reminder to the rectors.
Who ruled the Ragusan republic for just one month at a time helps to explain the enduring appeal of Croatia's most famous citadel. Old Dubrovnik is a dazzling example of shared civic responsibility translated into architecture: a red-roofed gem of urban planning elegantly laid out for the benefit of anyone lucky enough to work, rest and pray within its walls. And soul-inspiring architecture it is, too.
Surrounded on three of its five sides by the glassy waters of the Adriatic Sea, Dubrovnik is a jigsaw of piazzas, palaces, cafes, monasteries, fountains and dinky southern Italian baroque shops. Inter-locked on a neat grid system of car-free streets and passageways.
The buildings are harmonised in hue and texture by the local limestone and bound within one-and-a-quarter miles of ancient walls. As a model metropolis, the old town offers a gift parcel of European history, culture and cappuccinos that even the most jaded weekend visitor will find easy to unwrap.
Ironically, it is precisely this openness and emphasis on shared public spaces that have created the city's problems. After the dark days of the break-up of Yugoslavia in the early 1990s, Dubrovnik adopted an open-door policy to any tourists who happened to be passing. "We were so glad to see visitors return, it didn't matter what cruise ships came in from where," Igor explained.
Hence the weeks in summer (and some out-of-season weekends) when crocodiles of day-visitors from the gigantic ships clog the Stradun, Dubrovnik's main promenade, and when pedestrian queues in the Pile gate collide with traffic jams of coaches coming from the new port.
But to forsake the beauty of Dubrovnik because of a little overcrowding would be as foolish as missing Venice for fear of getting wet. All that is needed for a peaceful visit is good timing (if you are prepared to forego the festival.
July 10 to August 25, both April-May and autumn are warm and less crowded) and a guide to some of the more interesting historic offerings (see below). The first time I visited was in 1993 when the place was still in shock after the Serbian bombardment and I was one of only three tourists rattling around the bruised city.
This time, the place was bustling with business, and what a pleasure it was to see the jewel of the Adriatic serving its public once again. Dubrovnik is right to be enjoying its renaissance of both private luxury and public beauty; just watch out for those crocodiles – they can be deadly.