Sabbatikos

The plan, as always, was ambitious. After breakfast, we would return to Dubrovnik’s Old Town to explore its quieter corners. We imagined following narrow stone alleys, winding side streets, and stairwells to escape the tourist throngs. We had visions of discovering tucked-away shops and hidden gems, visiting Buza Bar, the cliff bar below the city walls, and riding the Dubrovnik Cable Car to the Fort Imperial, where we would learn more about the city’s strategic place in history. The sun was shining, the air was warm, and the day was full of promise.

And then, in the elevator, something happened. Maybe it was the angle of the sun glinting off the Adriatic. More likely, it was the collective ache in our feet from Rome’s epic trek across the cobblestones of Trastevere, Piazza Navona, and the Trevi, followed by the previous day’s marathon Game of Thrones tour across Dubrovnik’s walls and Lokrum Island. Or maybe it was simply Dubrovnik, whispering, you’ve done enough.

Someone (no one remembers who) said it first: “What if we just laid by the pool today and did nothing?” The elevator went quiet. We all nodded. Yes. That.

Plans evaporated in an instant, replaced by the blissful idea of not planning at all. We returned to our rooms, swapped walking shoes for flip-flops, put on our swimsuits, and made our way to the pool, where the Adriatic sparkled and the morning sun kissed the rocky shore. We swam in the cold but remarkably buoyant sea, floating without effort, and let the salty water rinse away our itinerary. It was the kind of nothing that felt like everything.

Refreshed and sun-soaked (and a few of us a little burned), we wandered down to the nearby village and across the Lapad Peninsula to the marina side. There, tucked along the promenade, we found Shelby Bar & Bites, a casual spot that surprised us with a truly delicious lunch. Over cold drinks and picturesque views, we decided to extend our lazy day into a picnic night.

We asked our server where we might gather supplies for a perfect picnic. He gave directions us to a nearby grocery, but also a nearby cheese shop he said would be better than the grocery. So we walked in that direction.

The walk itself became a highlight, taking us past grand old villas, sleek mega yachts, and a small memorial honoring those lost in the Homeland War, all the way to Gligora Cheese and Deli. It turned out to be an award-winning cheese shop. At Gligora, the shopkeeper greeted us with warmth and curated a glorious spread of local cheeses, cured meats, olives, crackers, Croatian sea salt, dessert wines, and aperitifs. We left happily, our arms full of flavors and provisions for the evening.

Too weighed down to walk back, we caught an Uber to the hotel. The only things missing? Beer for Ian and a Vespa ride to check off his European bucket list. Serendipity intervened: parked right outside our hotel was a rentable Vespa, app-enabled and ready to go. Ian zipped off to the store for a beer run, wind in his smiling face, box ticked, and mission accomplished.

Back at the hotel, the clouds rolled in and the sunset faded to gray, but it didn’t matter. We unpacked our treasures, set up our picnic on the veranda, fended off the aggressive seagulls, and toasted to the kind of day that rarely makes the headlines but stays in memory.

Tomorrow we’d set off on our next adventure: a private boat to Hvar, with a lunch stop to explore Korčula for a few hours. But today? Today we did exactly what we needed. We rested. We floated. We recharged.