Dubrovnik is a great place to live — or at least vacation to. According to the locals, the government is corrupt (shocker), and there isn’t much for young people to do at night. Nevertheless, the party scene is there, even though there aren’t too many clubs or after hours to go to. I guess it helps that there are plenty of drugs and alcohol to keep interesting conversations flowing and bodies dancing. In the end, it’s still one hell of a time.
There’s only one main “club” in Dubrovnik, or at least that’s the only one I’ve seen and been to. It’s called Lazereti. The music’s less than mediocre and not worth paying an entrance fee for, so we’ve only been there twice. The constant “boom boom boom” follows you home in your ears at night. The locals seem to love it. There was a kind and pretty girl named Carla who gave me a line in the washroom stall. She enjoyed the music so much she had to bite herself. Thinking of her makes me laugh as I imagine the bruise she must have had in the morning.
We’ve been in Dubrovnik for almost three months now. It’s probably the nicest country I’ve been to so far. The Adriatic sea captivates you by sending fresh air soaring through the valley and into your bedroom window at night. It smells like traveling. When the winds are really strong our patio furniture gets pushed onto the side of the balcony and our apartment creaks and shakes. It’s kind of scary but the locals don’t act phased, so that makes it normal, right?
Rocco and I are taking a ferry to Ancona from Split in about a week. While I’m excited to leave Dubrovnik and switch up the scenery (beautiful sceneries grow tiresome quickly, I’ve come to find), we will be leaving a cat named Poubelle behind.
Poubelle is an outdoor cat we’ve come to feed twice a day. She spends her days sleeping on our couch, basking in the sunlight. She’s cute, but feisty and unpredictable like most cats are. While she has left us a considerable amount of scratch marks, we can’t help but love her and worry about her well-being after we’ve gone.
There are hundreds of stray cats in Dubrovnik, maybe even thousands. They line the streets and beg for food, but will settle for a pat on the head. The other day in bed I was wondering why there weren’t any dead cats in sight. A troubling thought I know, but the mind does have dark pathways one can’t control. I silently hoped that the cats here looked out for one another, and imagined hundreds of cats gathering for their loved one’s funeral, like humans do. In a way this silly thought was comforting. It’s only highly unlikely, not impossible.