Dubrovnic Wine

Thursday 22nd September 1983

On the way to look for a more secluded (and free of charge) beach we paused for a mammoth breakfast of bread and jam on a park bench amongst a copse of trees. We trudged quite a way out of town, passed the old city and, further south, after a steep downward climb on concrete steps, we descended the cliffs. Here we discovered a lovely rocky cove and setup camp on a rocky ledge near the foot of the stairs.

The sun was beaming in a cloudless blue sky and we plunged into the clear deep sea. I avoided using George’s goggles as the deep black clefts in the submerged cliff face hinted at hidden menace: hidden sea monsters and lurking devil fish. The swimming was very enjoyable none-the-less, especially as we were joined by a lovely topless female. We were as “happy as Larry” and settled down to sunbathe with me reading and George still performing open surgery on his foot. This hazard of the sea also gave me scant peace of mind as I scrambled over slimy submarine rocks to get out of the sea.

I showed George how to dive off a rocky platform without fear of disrupting the spherical nature of his skull by diving too deep. He managed a passable belly-flop and we swam about like water babies. A woman’s voice loudly moaned and belaboured from the cliffs above and we surmised that it was due to people getting on to this beach before she could set up a table and charge a toll!

The walled city of Dubrovnic presents an agreeable picture to our right. A couple of lovely girls with us now would complete the picture and make our lot idyllic. We went for another long, refreshing swim from the rocky clefts on our right to the shingly cove on our left. The gorgeous damsel, clad in a skimpy bikini bottom, donned a white T-shirt and shorts and left the beach followed by our amorous thoughts. She was replaced by a soapy (slang: naïve, servile, obsequious, cringing, fawning, suave; unctuous; oily persons) looking cringe couple, the female of the two, porcelain white skinned as they come, has shed her top in a vain attempt to duplicate the proud feminine form of the previous occupant of the concrete stage.

The sun shines down harshly as we sit and ponder on our stony perches. When we tired of loafing about we wandered back for tea, tarrying at a café for cold orange drinks. Tomatoes, raw onion and apples washed down with local wine (and crisps) was our fare. We sat in peaceful tranquillity (even our landlady had quit yapping) and agreed that today had been the best yet. We dozed for an hour and then wandered again into the old quarter. We had a couple of coffees while a band played “The Blue Danube” and other tunes in that vein, and then sauntered around the floodlit alleys of the city.

Beautiful girls were everywhere, scantily clad in the balmy evening air and we returned to sleep and dream of “entertaining” such lovelies. We returned to our candle-lit cluttered abode via the stench that lurked on the corner of the harbour, gagging as it’s tangible tendrils clawed at our throats.