For 10 months of the year, Croatia is a Mediterranean paradise. The thin, C-shaped country skirts the eastern length of the Adriatic Sea directly across from Italy. In season, tourists flock like salmon to the "cleanest seas in the world" to relax on the beach, rent a sailboat, go scuba diving or snorkeling or swimming... When it's warm, the locals are said to be kind, accommodating, generous ... but in November, when it's cold, the response to "what is there to do in Dubrovnik tonight?" goes a little something like this:

Enter stage left, a smoky (surprise!) café with only two other patrons (who I found out later were Norwegian and very talkative. The older one patted me on the head when I said something funny.)

"Excuse me, miss?"

"Eh?" no eye contact. Hunching, she sucks a cigarette. She has dyed hair, and wears a solidly plastered frown.

"Hi. I'd like a coffee, please."

Why am I smiling?

"No coffee."

"Oh." I look confused.

"No, no damn coffee. I don't want make coffee."

"You don't want to?"

"No, I'm tired."

"Okay..."

"Order a beer, yes?"

"Oh, no thanks." A moment passes. "Could you tell me what there is to do here tonight?"

"Tonight?"

"Yes."

"Here?"

"Uh huh."

"To do here ... heh. Now? You're here in the cold. Why are you here now? There's only drinking! Order a beer."

So, I bought a coat (from a beautiful merchant) and we walked the shiny wet streets of old city, Dubrovnik. Of my friends, several have been to Italy. They all said this is Venice, this is Venice, this is Italy ... so walking through alleyways so narrow I could flatten my hands against both walls with bent elbows was especially exciting for me. It was wonderful to see a city of white --even if we were shivering and wet.

Old City is only one small section of Dubrovnik (which is more of a large-ish suburbia than a city) filled with lemon, tangerine and fig trees, cats young and old, dogs rat-like and horse-like, fashionable dark-haired people, old fishermen who remind me so much of my grandfather, flower stands selling gerbera daisies and roses, grape vines draping the stone walls of neighborhoods, crosses dotting the snowcapped mountains.

Every view of the sea stops dead a person's momentary agenda. Even if we couldn't swim in it, we did nap on a dock above it, climb down a mountain and touch it, stare at it in awe, walk along it on a stone beach, watch it constantly for hours as it passed outside a bus window moving in twists up the Dalmatian Coast, through Bosnia, on our way to the more city-like Split.

Encounter numero due with friendly locals. ... our "private accommodation."

We're in five, four girls, one boy. We're all freezing. I spent a few days with constantly numb feet. (That is difficult on stairs.) We finally find the hostel, late in the afternoon. (Oh, the sun set around 4:30 each day.)

Knock knock. Oh, there's the buzzer. Buzz buzz. Bzzz. Open the building's door. A man stands at the top of the staircase.

"Yes?"

"Uh, hi!"

"Yes? What do you want?"

"We ... rented this room?"

"The what?" (muffled sound behind him)

"The room? We rented this room tonight."

"How many people?"

"Eh, we're five."

"Oh," (muffle muffle) "Okay!" he shouts behind him. "Come in then."

A skeptical look thrown behind me.

We climb the flight of marble crumbling stairs that separated us from the door guy, who turned out to be in charge of this business. But it was his father who came out to greet us carrying six glasses filled halfway with sherry (which we also got at every restaurant before eating.)

"Cheers!! Ey!! Hey!!"

The father, probably 70 years old with a 15-year-old poodle at his feet, was a sailor in his youth, and had hundreds of bills from the world over in one giant jar in the hallway. A few nights prior to this, the Norwegian man I talked with over Sambuca was a sailor, too. Then the guy in a Split church who lives in Naples is in the Navy. Something about waterfowl, I guess.

A new thing. Here are some photo blurbs

Sheryl, Zoya and I walked the shoreline in Split for about an hour. Some parts were rocky, others pebble covered. This photo is in front of a funky coffee shop on the beach where we had a cappuccino to warm up.

Old city's shoreline was jagged against all the docks and inlets where summer sailboats rocked. After an espresso and pastry, Zoya and I walked Dubrovnik's neighborhoods. We stopped to play with a family (or three) of cats for at least an hour. I have developed a great respect and love for the street cats (and kittens) of Europe. Ah, the life of a cat. After the beautiful beach scene, Sheryl, Zoya and I made our way up to a church on a hill. It turned out to be Sveti Stefan (Saint Stephen)'s Church. Zoya, Sheryl, Kaya, Matt and I went to Split via bus. We drove on the skin of a mountain the entire way, overlooking a cliff the Dalmation Coast. Zoya, Darby and I rode the local bus until it stopped. Fortunately for us, it stopped on top of a mountain, which we climbed down to get to the water and nap on a dock.

It's a real live fig tree!!

Again, on the ride to Split (which was worth every penny of the $20 ticket) a view of rural southern Croatia. We passed fields of tangerine and lemon trees, wheat fields, unidentifiable bush fields (tobacco?) That's the fort Zoya and I climbed the last day. Here, it's illuminated at midnight. The sea below was very active and splashing tourists who stood one floor under us. View from halfway up the fort. View from the top of the fort. That's old city, completely walled in. Grape vines! I snuck this photo when the woman whose home it was turned to sweep the left side of her porch. Bear still has my heart, of course, forever ... but. Her name is Christine Pickles. After the so-called famous actress who narrated a film I watched in my women's studies class just one day prior to our meeting (the kitten and I). Shout out Mary Thacker! This is the view from atop a bell tower in Split. I know it's a famous bell tower, but I lost the paper and can't remember the name. (My short-term memory is embarrassing these days.) A street in Split. Find our ship! Christine and I will make our home here. Okay, only one more cat photo. This lady is blind and very old. She sat waiting for us to climb three quarters of the way up the tower in old city to give us an encouraging snuggle. She literally crawled from the wall, to my arm, across my chest, stopped to knead my chest a bit then went along the other arm and ended up on the other wall. She was quite the lover. Enormously famous Croatian artist Ivan Mestrovic's sculpture in Split. We saw his gallery. Look up his stuff. It's great. Find the road to Split! Since Turkey, my pants have felt a bit more snug. Could it be the long-johns I've been wearing? Sure!

Speaking of conflict. A few of my friends (sh) went to Bosnia. A few went to Sarajevo, a few went to Mostar. They all had brief, intense, jarring experiences. One guy told me of his staring at a building that was covered in bullet holes. Completely covered. It was decaying, he said. A girlfriend of mine told me she saw the bridge in Mostar that was obliterated in the 90s, and then rebuilt. She wept. We read and hear so much about all the horrifying conflicts in these regions, and then go into the empty stages where people died. There is so much hate in the world, so much terror, destruction, secrecy.

Today is Tuesday, Nov. 27. Later today, there will be a meeting in Annapolis.

Here are the rest of Croatia's photos: