Where the Streets Have No Shame
by Deborah Brand Probst
In 1993, long before Game of Thrones, I had a friend, frustrated by the prices of things in San Francisco, who would regularly passionately declare, “I am moving to Prague!” to which I would equally passionately answer, “I am moving to Dubrovnik!” I don’t know why. I just liked saying Doooo Brrrrooov Neek, rolling my r’s sufficiently for effect. Yes we were hipsters, and yes it was the beginning of the dot com mayhem in San Francisco, so the idea of making a go of it in “Eastern” Europe at the time seemed appealing.
Croatia, and specifically Dubrovnik, was a mystery to many, but it was fast becoming the hot spot, replacing the coolness factor of Prague and Budapest.
Then came the worldwide phenomena of Game of Thrones. All of a sudden running off to cold, medieval places seemed terribly cool, especially if you went dressed in fur lined, floor length coats, and could skulk around pebble stone alleys. Dubrovnik, and Croatia in general, were now Disneyland for Game of Thrones fans. Alas, Croatia shamelessly pedals its connection to hit HBO series, setting up tours and Instagram photo ops with iron thrones, while selling T-shirts that proclaim “You know nothing John Snow.”
When Mark and I finally got the opportunity to go to Croatia last fall, we wanted to base our travels in Dubrovnik. But it was November, and a good friend of ours convinced us to stay in Split instead. As a bigger city, it would have more things open off season, and he thought we would enjoy it more. Ultimately, we were grateful we took his advice, but that is how we found ourselves braving the rain on a weekend trip to Dubrovnik.
The Jesuit Steps
In the fifth season of Game of Thrones, Cersei is forced to walk through the streets of King’s Landing as punishment for her sins. The scene was filmed in Dubrovnik, and the steps where Cersei begins her walk are known as the Jesuit Stairs. The path she takes is filled with an angry mob and she has to push her way through barefoot, naked, and humiliated, while followed by a nun chanting the word “shame” repeatedly. It is one of the most memorable and disturbing scene in the entire series.
In November, Dubrovnik is a different place. The crowds have thinned, and the city has a quiet, almost eerie, atmosphere. The rain adds to the sense of mystery, and it is easy to imagine that you are walking through the streets of a long-forgotten city or the movie set of a tragic story. The rain falls in sheets, obscuring the view of the old city walls. The streets are empty, save for a few stray cats and the occasional tourist huddled under an umbrella. The only sound is the patter of the rain on the cobblestones and the echoing the bell tower, reverberating through the ancient city walls.
The castle, perched high above the city, seems to loom out of the mist. It is a reminder of Dubrovnik’s rich history, which dates back to the 7th century. The city was once a powerful maritime republic, and the castle was its stronghold. Today, it is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and one of the most popular tourist destinations in Croatia. But that weekend we had the town seemingly to ourselves, and we followed in Cersei’s path unmolested by crowds.
An Angry Adriatic
It is easy to see how a summer sun kissed Dubrovnik would look. Entering the Pile Gates, you would smell the fresh baked bread coming from the bakeries mingled with geranium spilling out of window boxes and doorways and the ever present salty air. You would see clear blue skies and cerulean seas, and a pregnant cruise ship would disburse its hoard of tanned tourists throngs to flow through the walls like a flash flood before collecting themselves back on board for the evening.
There is none of that in November. The bakeries are closed for the winter. The geraniums bravely holding on to the few petals not blown away by the whirling winds. And the handful of tourists cling to helpless umbrellas, heads down, grateful to tuck into the warmth of the few open doorways. It is not that cold, but the wind and the rain in the empty streets exaggerate the chill.
We gaze at the melancholy walls of the Lovrijenac Fortress, otherwise known as the Red Keep, defiant on the rock under the lashing of the waves. When little bits of blue peek out among the grey clouds we continue our exploration of the beautifully preserved Gothic, Renaissance, and Baroque buildings, all blending together harmoniously into a leaving breathing entity. We watch the angry Adriatic toss small fishing boats in the harbor, the spray wetting our coats and faces.
The day is short. Sheltered in a delightful restaurant and reinvigorated by steaming hot bowls of fish soup, squid ink risotto, and Croatian red wine, we enjoy an early dinner as the few remaining shops close up for the night. After dinner, we walk the 1000 steps up the hill away from the city, grateful to have had this treasure of a town to ourselves.
