Tag Archives: Dubrovnik

EVA GLYN’S HIDDEN CROATIA: EATING WITHIN DUBROVNIK’S WALLS

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First let me say that I am one lucky, lucky writer. Long have I dreamt of eating at Dubrovnik’s only Michelin starred restaurant, and on my last visit, I did it. It’s a very special place (with prices to match) but I had cause for celebration – it was publication day for The Collaborator’s Daughter, my novel set in the city.

I had visited Restaurant 360 before, but only through the pages of The Olive Grove. Where else would wealthy businessman Josip Beros take Damir to impress him?

‘The design of the place alone took Damir’s breath away, the cubed rattan furniture in turquoise and grey in the lower courtyard contrasting in both colour and style with the honeyed stone of the old fort into which it was built.’

It is, indeed a stunning location, and in the summer open air tables grace the tops of the walls giving stunning views of the harbour, but on a breezy evening right at the beginning of April I was pleased we would be eating inside.

Everything about Restaurant 360 is precise, except for the service which is as friendly as it is knowledgeable about the food and wine they serve. As well as a la carte choices, there are two tasting menus; Antalogica, which showcases the chef’s latest signature dishes, and Republika, a modern take on heritage dishes from the time of Dubrovnik’s Ragusa republic.

We were delighted when the sommelier was able to match a different Croatian wine with each course. Croatian wines are hugely underrated (and my husband knows a thing or two about wine, having worked in the industry) and we were able to enjoy a selection of the best with our meal. We were especially impressed with a Grk from Lumbarda on Korcula. All the more delicious to me because that’s where The Olive Grove is set.

All the food was wonderful, but it was with fish that Restaurant 360 excelled. We do sometimes treat ourselves to Michelin starred food, and some of the dishes bettered anything we have eaten. Anywhere. The absolute star of the show was what sounded an unlikely combination of smoked eel, foie gras, melon, and date cream. The man who thought that one up, and then delivered it, is some sort of genius.

A great deal of time goes into perfecting the dishes. Our waiter told us that the ‘fish soup’ accompanying the brodet (a very traditional Croatian dish) of grouper and clams had gone through almost forty iterations before it was deemed worthy of serving. And I would imagine it was the same with everything else; the sea bass with leek and langoustine was one of the most amazing things I have ever tasted. And the scallop tartar with kohlrabi and yuzu gel was as delightful as it was refreshing.

Great care was taken with my gluten free diet and I felt very safe all evening. The bread was delicious and plentiful, accompanied by a colourful array of butters, and where a dish could not be adapted, (as with one of the amuse bouche) the chef made something specially for me. Nothing was too much trouble for kitchen or staff, which made dining at 360 a wonderful experience.

I couldn’t resist taking a copy of The Olive Grove with me, and gave it to our fabulous sommelier when we left. He was delighted to hear it was set on Korcula, where he and his wife had honeymooned. It seemed such a small thank you for a night we will never forget.

EVA GLYN’S HIDDEN CROATIA: DUBROVNIK SYNAGOGUE AND JEWISH MUSEUM

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I would never have even realised Dubrovnik had a Jewish Museum if I hadn’t been researching the city’s Jewish community during the Second World War. As it happens, their story – and the museum itself – became an important part of The Collaborator’s Daughter.

I tracked the museum down online first. There are walking tours of the city with a Jewish focus that appear to be aimed specifically at the cruise passengers, and through this I discovered the heart of the Jewish community in the old town. The name of its location, Zudioska (Jewish) Street might have given it away if I’d thought about it.

As with many medieval trading cities the Jewish community in Dubrovnik were important and the synagogue is one of the oldest Sephardic ones in Europe. It is on the top floor of the rather anonymous building and is a beautiful and calming sacred space even today. The dark wooden seats are rich with age and the Wedgwood blue decorations on the ceiling reminiscent of the Mediterranean sky.

Even more interesting to me was the museum that takes up the floor below. It is tiny but showcases the community’s history so well, from the fabulously embroidered vestments and ornate fourteenth century torah scroll that represent the Jews’ proud history, to a second room with chilling artefacts from World War Two.

Compared to other parts of Europe, overall Dubrovnik’s Jews suffered less because initially at least they were under Italian control. While Croatia’s (and yes, it is correct to use that term for the period) home grown fascists persecuted the faith with even more vigour than the Germans, in this small enclave they were safe. For a while at least, and their numbers grew.

Then, in 1942 the Italians were told the clamp down. Curfews were imposed, yellow armbands issued. All the awful paraphernalia of ethnic hatred. Finally in the November the eighty or so members of the community were interned near the harbour at Gruz and on the island of Lopud. Eventually they were moved north to a larger camp at Rab, and during the chaos resulting from the Italian surrender the partisans took the area and a majority were saved. In all twenty-seven of the Dubrovnik Jews died, many more moved to Israel, and the community never recovered.

Although the synagogue is rarely used, helpful volunteers are available to show visitors around and to talk about the artefacts and history. The museum is open all day, every day, and is well worth half an hour of anyone’s time.

EVA GLYN’S HIDDEN CROATIA: THE SIXTH OF DECEMBER MIRACLE

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I remember the Balkan war in the ‘90s. The horror of it all; of Sarajevo and Srebenica, of genocide and ethnic cleansing. I remember the Siege of Dubrovnik too, almost the place where the fighting began, but I didn’t understand why. I still don’t to this day.

We stand next to the Amerling Fountain, Mato and me, and we look at Mount Srd, beyond the belching buses and their fumes, above the terracotta tiles of the Pucic family’s elegant summer residence,  beyond the houses stacked behind, and on to the mountain itself,  sentinel as ever above the city.

My eyes travel upwards, following his pointing finger. Above the luxuriant leaves of cypress and pine, above the scrubland strewn with rocks, steep and ever steeper, up four hundred metres to the grey bulk of Fort Imperial perched on top. The fort that saved the city.

The Serbs and Montenegrins attacked from the south, sweeping a wave of refugees before them. The attack on the mountain began on 30th September 1991 and a day later the communications centre was captured and the power cut off. No electricity, no water, would reach the city below for months.

Pockets of resistance remained. Mato’s own family home was fought over bitterly, changing hands several times as desperate local defenders staved off an army. By the middle of November the invaders had taken all of Mount Srd. Everything, that is, except the fort.

And then Mato tells me of the greatest act of heroism of all. How thirty-eight men saved the city. And it happened in front of us, at the top of Mount Srd. The miracle of 6th December 1991.

Thirty-two men manned Fort Imperial. Exhausted men, hungry and thirsty, the enemy surrounding them on almost every side. An enemy with tanks and weapons that hadn’t been made in a converted broom factory. And ammunition. The men in the fort had nothing left at all, so under cover of darkness they started to creep down the mountainside.

Meanwhile, in perfect safety, the politicians were negotiating. The Serbs and Montenegrins had one demand. Give up the fort and we’ll stop shelling. Somehow, somehow, the message got through to a detachment of men climbing Mount Srd with ammunition. They met the shattered defenders coming down. The enemy thought they were still holding out. So they turned around and crept back.

Thirty-eight men with basic guns and not enough ammo. Thirty-eight men against an army. But what could they do? They went up to the roof and used them. As Mato explained, a man defending his home will fight like a tiger. An army of conscripted attackers is not so brave.

The fighting became hand to hand, the defenders desperate men, believing themselves as good as dead. But eventually they had to retreat inside. All felt lost, so they kept up their spirits by singing.

Most say it was a miracle, but Mato told me the fort’s unusual acoustics helped. Their voices filled the barrel vaults, swelling from shattered windows and walls. Sounding like a thousand men. Men the invading army were not prepared to fight.

We walk through the cool shade of the Pile Gate, into the main street, Stradun. In the walls of the buildings, on the glossy paving stones, the bullet holes are everywhere, once you know how to look. On the morning of 6th December alone almost 700 missiles landed in the old walled city; some from ships out to sea, the rest from Mount Srd.

Like the men in the Fort, it buckled, but it did not break. The world watched as smoke blackened the skies, a bombardment so heavy that finally, finally, the world condemned and the tide of the war turned.

 

 

 

 

 

 

EVA GLYN’S HIDDEN CROATIA: ON TOP OF MOUNT SRD

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Anyone who’s been to Dubrovnik will quite rightly question why I would call Mount Srd hidden Croatia. After all, it stands proudly four hundred metres above the city, a wall of rock protecting it from the outside world.

But that’s the point; we see it, but how well do we know it? The majority of visitors who actually venture up there do so by cable car, to admire the spectacular views for half an hour, perhaps drink a coffee, certainly take any number of selfies, then head straight back down again.

To discover Mount Srd properly you need to hike, bike (neither recommended in the height of summer), take the bus, or even better book a knowledgeable driver or small group tour. Because it’s what the majority don’t see that is so very fascinating.

To say we got lucky with our choice of driver is an understatement. We were staying in Cavtat along the coast so decided booking a car was the best option, and I’d ‘met’ Dubrovnik 4 U Transfers on Instagram so chose them. Kresimir is an absolute gem with a knowledge of, and a passion for, his city rarely seen in the UK. But then in the UK we haven’t had to fight for our homes.

To me that’s what Mount Srd was all about. It was certainly the focus of my visit there. I was in Croatia to add the final touches to my research for next summer’s book, where one of my main characters is a veteran of the Siege of Dubrovnik and I wanted to visit the Homeland War Museum in Fort Imperial that sits on top of the mountain.

But there was somewhere Kresimir wanted me to see first. The village of Bosanka that had been raised to the ground by the aggressors (Serbian and Montenegrin troops) during the autumn of 1991. Of course much of it has been rebuilt, but there are some ruins left amongst the trees, and a roadside picture board in Croatian and English, making sure that visitors understand what happened here.

In fact almost the whole of Mount Srd was taken. Everything except Fort Imperial and that was to make all the difference to the survival of the city below. How it held out against all the odds on 6th December 1991 is a miracle in itself, but that is a story for a few months hence.

The fort was built by Napoleonic troops, a long, low slab of the grey-gold rock of the region, almost blending into the hillside beneath it. Even now much of it is in a semi-ruined state, but a number of rooms have been turned into a museum where visitors can learn about the Homeland War. And if you want to understand Dubrovnik and its people, you have to understand what happened here thirty years ago.

There was a sepulchral silence as we wandered through the barrel-vaulted rooms, stunned by the images of destruction displayed on their walls. The museum tells the story more or less chronologically but it is the images that hit home the hardest; iconic sights in the city below in ruins or in flames, the faces of the refugees. You don’t have to read a word of the commentary. You just have to look to understand.

But deeper understanding comes from talking to someone who lived through the conflict and Kresimir shared his memories freely. For the first time I knew what it had been like to live in that city under siege; no power, little water, even less food. People dying around you.

After our visit to the museum he took me out to the viewpoint, where there is a memorial to 6th December 1991 and a Croatian flag. I watched him take a photo of it, his pride heartfelt and genuine. To me, that said it all.