Dubrovnik, Croatia

I thumbed the interior leather flaps of my decidedly sorry-looking wallet despairingly as the increasingly impatient waiter stood over me. Fortunately, I was able to pay for my €3 coffee after performing the perpetually tedious task of counting out copper coins on the table. I may still have been in Croatia, but anything that could have even been loosely described as a ‘budget’ had long since departed.

No matter, I thought. After one freezing cold ferry ride, another lengthy bus journey and by far the trip’s best sunset watched over Bosnia i Herzegovina’s far-flung fishing village of Neum, I had reached my final destination, and the end of my trip was nigh.

Dubrovnik, otherwise known as ‘The Pearl of The Adriatic’, is incontestably Croatia’s main tourist attraction. So it came as no surprise to find myself but a sprat amongst the hordes jostling along the Stradun on the afternoon of my arrival.

The limestone-paved walkway is contained within the city’s famously fortified stone walls, and teems end-to-end with busy restaurants and stunning architecture. At its onset, tourists queue unwearyingly for the opportunity to secure those essential take-home snapshots of Dubrovnik’s oceanfront from the pinnacle of the wall, while standing imposingly at the opposite end of the concourse is the city’s grand cathedral.

Much like Split, another of Croatia’s tourist magnets, Dubrovnik’s old city is encumbered with cobbled and winding alleyways certain to baffle ambling tourists. These stretches are themselves littered with souvenir shops, (inevitably) overpriced cafés and art galleries. I stumbled upon a local artist’s museum-converted house, which recounted the horror of the Serbian siege upon the city at the start of the Civil War in 1991 through striking images and short narratives, in an oddly lighthearted way.

Later that night, after checking in to my lively abode for the duration of my stay, I met Darshowa, the owner of the exceptionally well-run and backpacker-friendly hostel, who, not before revealing to me that he was in fact uncharacteristically drunk, described in profound detail just how severe and traumatising the war had been for the Dalmatian people. He pointed solemnly to the sky where he remembered watching the planes approach before dropping mortars, and then to an entirely re-constructed section of the city where he took shelter in the basement of the hotel he used to work in. He stayed there for five days, too scared to come out.  It was evident through the somber tone in his voice that the pain suffered all those years ago hadn’t subsided much. In truth, his words were deeply moving, and echoed in my head as I gazed broodingly at the shimmering city lights.

As a family-run hostel, everybody had a part to play: Darshowa handled the invoices, Milka cooked and cleaned, and the sons took guests out on day trips. Luckily, I was able to bag a spot on one such trip: the following day’s island tour, which, judging by the photos on display at the hostel, and providing the weather was on our side, looked certain to be nothing short of epic. I say ‘luckily’ as the pre-allotted seven places for the excursion had already been filled, and after some intense pleading with Milka I had been granted my wish.

Next day, eight of us piled into the KIA people carrier and chatted excitedly as we made our way to the tiny harbor 5 km away. The weather most definitely was on our side, and according to Andrija, our guide, was the best in weeks. When our boat for the day came into view I immediately realized why Milka had at first been so apprehensive to let me go; there was barely enough room for six, let alone eight. Conscious of the fact that others may suddenly have become slightly displeased at the decision to let me tag along, I vacantly offered to lie down between everybody else’s legs.

This suggestion was instantly rebuffed by Andrija, who informed me that I would instead be perching atop the bow of the dinghy-sized carrier. This suited me fine. I was quickly joined by two others and off we went. The views, for the umpteenth time this holiday, were mesmeric. Before long, we were weaving our way between completely uninhabited rocky islands, rich with unspoiled verdure and host to hundreds of birds, weary after completing one half of their seasonal migration.

Soon, we arrived at the famed Blue Cave, where at noon the sun’s rays are able to shine through a submerged side entrance, which in turn illuminates the entrancing cavern in an eerie and gleaming blueness. Due to the narrowness of the entrance, the cave can't be entered by boat, so we strapped on our snorkels (there were only seven and I got one) and paddled in. We had hoped to see an octopus, due to the supposedly and abnormally high amount of them in the area, but unfortunately it wasn’t to be. We were, however, joined by scores of multi-coloured fish and a large lobster.

That was about as exciting as it got in terms of marine life, but the cliff jumping that followed certainly made amends for it. I was one of the last to go and had been contemplating the possibility of achieving a front-flip from the 10m high standpoint. Ever since that little kid had showed me up on the rope swing at Lake Bled I’d been keen to give it a go. This was my chance.

I still hadn’t made up my mind as I clambered up the rocks, badly grazing my back and whacking my head in the process. I made it up and readied myself. I was going to do it, I thought. It was pitiful. Rather than rotating forwards I ended up spinning sideways and landing on my back, legs akimbo. Suitably embarrassed, I quietly paddled away from the splash zone and joined the others, where we looked on in awe as the ever-zealous Kiwi leaped from a staggering height of 18m. Crikey.

We spent the rest of the afternoon chomping on freshly caught fish and lounging in the sun on the first sandy beach of the holiday, before slowly making our way back to shore under yet another golden sunset. Then we went back to the hostel and got absolutely smashed. What else would you expect from a group consisting solely of Brits, Aussies and Kiwis?

The next day was spent for the most part reading a book in a café overlooking the city’s harbor (I’d become quite accustomed to such views by this point and the loveliness of it all had waned slightly). I’d completely run out of money and in truth I was spent. Dubrovnik may have deprived me of my last penny and shred of energy, but the cherished memories it had given back in return were infinitely better to take home.