STON, DUBROVNIK, MONTENEGRO, CAPTAIN and TENNILLE

by Dan Winters (posted by his more techy savvy daughter)

I was pumped to score two retro bucket list check offs. A "retro bucket" is when you do something cool that you never thought of doing before. So you add it to your bucket list after the fact and simultaneously check it off. You do this because you might have a massive stroke and you want your surviving friends to admire your bucket accomplishments. It is the accepted definition of the term, see Wikipedia. Anyway, both items were in the difficult to check "Massive Stonewall Division." The first was in Ston, a tiny but pretty village north of Dubrovnik. Ston was surround by a twenty foot high, four mile long, damn good looking wall. It ran high up a craggy hill and was the second longest defensive stonewall in history. The Great Wall of China nudged it out of first place by a mere 13,166 miles. Rumor has it Donald Trump's people are studying Ston for our border issue.

Anyway, I walked up way too many stairs to the wall's highest point following twenty yards behind a surly German couple. They argued the whole way. When I got to the top, I gave them the fists in the air, Rocky victory dance from Rocky One, you know after Sylvester sprints up the steps in Philadelphia while training. They were not amused. The second retro bucket was walking the stone fortifications around Dubrovnik. I went with eight or nine hundred new friends. It sucked but was beautiful. Carol opted on both occasions to shop. She is not that concerned about her bucket list.


The road from Korcula was stirring—the vineyards of Peljesac, the salt ponds of Ston, the snaking two laner that hangs over the Adriatic, the insane BMW meatheads passing on the curves.  Dubrovnik appeared all at once, the Oz of the Dalmatian Coast.  It was a homecoming of sorts. In 1975, Carol and I had driven our new red Volkswagen van along the same road with the same insane drivers, but no guardrails, to Dubrovnik. We stayed for a week at an auto camp just walking distance from the main gate to the walled city. We spent an hour with our guide trying to find out just where the camp had been. It seemed there were new hotels everywhere. Shocking, it had only been 40 years. The guide Sanja was a kick, 1/2 Dutch, 1/2 Croatian, 100% vivacious. Turns out, her family home was a block up from our old auto camp. She was eight at the time. She asked if we were the campers playing Captain and Tennille too loud on a portable radio that summer.

We apologized. Even today, "Love Will Keep Us Together" brings back Dubrovnik memories. We took a back roads tour—the residential streets that looked back at the postcard battlements, the natural landscape, caper and rosemary bushes, laurel and olive trees, chapels everywhere. Yes, we visited the Villa that Clooney stayed in. One wonders does George get Villa weary? Does he yearn for a Budweiser, a Days Inn, a meat loaf, a Law & Order Special Victims Unit episode?  Does he get tired of us stalking him? (refer to said stalking moment from around this time last year).

The final day in Dubrovnik, our travel agency comped us on a trip to Montenegro and a dinner at a local Croatian farm. Early in the AM, the guide and driver showed up. Their names were Ranko and Danko. The driver Danko never spoke; maybe because the guide Ranko never stopped talking. This is the exact transcript of our first meeting:

Ranko (60ish wearing lime green jeans): "Hello, hello! I am Ranko and you are Daniel and Carol. Those are such good names I think, you must be proud. I am guide, yes. Now we plan our day together. We have car, we have driver, we have beautiful day, yes. We can do anything, yes?  Do you wish, how you say, a common trip or do you wish thrilling?

(We conferred) Carol: "Let's do thrilling."     

Ranko: "Ahh, I think we are one, yes. I am liking you much. Ranko promises three 'Wow's.' No, at least three 'Wows.' Can you Daniel and Carol give a big 'Wow'?"

(We wowed).

Montenegro is one of the smallest countries in Europe (750,000 people) and one of the most whacked. It is 95% lonely empty mountains and 5% congested, filthy rich beach towns. The Russians now own most of the filthy rich. Remember, James Bond played Baccarat there in Casino Royale. According to Ranko, the locals are legendary for being lazy. He told Montenegro lazy jokes: "Why does a Montenegrin male get married?"  "So someone in the family is employed." A lot of jokes.

We "wowed" first at the gorgeous Bay and City of Kotor. Actually, it was a "wow" because a cruise ship had parked directly in front of Kotor. It was three times as tall, twice as long. and slept five times as many people as this elegant, totally rad, walled medieval city. It was a "This ain't right" wow." After Kotor, Danko barreled from bay level to 4,500 feet on a crumbling, two lane road built by the Austro-Hungarian Empire Public Works Department in 1880. It took 29 switch backs but only 20 minutes. We had an eagle view of the entire bay. We skidded to a stop at a one-oxen gasthaus that hung on the side of the mountain. Those of us who weren't vomiting, ate. Ranko said he had a secret for us when we got to the top. Carol said, "Top? What do you mean, top?" Danko then swerved on to a park service, one lane road and gunned it skyward to the sheer summit of "The Black Mountain": Mt. Lovcen. At road's end was the world's highest mausoleum (6,000 feet). That wasn't the secret. The great Petar the Second, the nineteenth century Montenegrin fav, poet, politician and hottie was in residence. Ranko said that Petar's slutty good looks had driven the ladies of the European Monarchies crazy, even though he was five feet tall. The secret was that there were still 487 more agonizing steps to slug from the parking lot to the mausoleum. It was worth the pain. It turned out to be a Vegas quality mausoleum. Carol said it best, "I would like to party here." There was a 360 view of what must of been most of the country—the beaches, to the bay, to the layers of pugnacious black mountains. It was Ranko-thrilling, double wow and retro bucket worthy all at once. That's pretty rare.  

On the way back to Dubrovnik, we stopped for a prearranged dinner at a renovated medieval farm, now rustic villa-like. Eighteen people lived there—10 adults and eight children—the families of a sister and three brothers and somebody's in-laws. Our hosts Katrina and Ivo served up three kinds of brandy (honey, walnut, sage), a silky Merlot and an arrogant white, two kinds of bread, three spreads (hummus, cheese, red pepper), four jams, a mixed salad with olive oil and vinegar, roasted dates, sautéed unknown vegetables, sautéed green peppers and an entree of roasted pork on bay laurel skewers with potatoes. All of which were grown/butchered/ made/ distilled on site. It was delicious and humbling.