Cities And Memory

There is a little window, in the attic of a Dalmatian villa from the early middle ages, overlooking the dreamy cascade landscape of downtown Dubrovnik. It's early June, 8 am. A melody of old Mediterranean terracotta roofs plunging into each other is nursing a soft morning light. The polyphony of ages embedded in the stone makes the town glow from its neutron core. No corners are mislaid, and the fortress is keeping us safe. The window is slightly recessed, almost on the corner with Stradun, and a person with fine jumping skills could easily reach the roof of the church across the narrow street. It's Sunday, and the bells from the various towers across town are spilling their gongs. I needed to sleep a bit more. But the grinding machinery of tourism has its own agenda. Savagely squeaking swallows and the morning congregations of seagulls sound like a pastorale compared to the town’s growling bowels. Air conditioning units, pumps, kitchen ventilation, garbage trucks, delivery vehicles, wheels, and trolleys o