Croatia

But we weren't lazy. By mid-morning we'd embark on a daily adventure. We'd descend the dizzying steps our landlord had built all the way down to the water, and go snorkeling at the base of our cliff. The water was so clear and pristine that every day we were dazzled again. We would swim through clouds of plump white fish as big as trout, and others striped like underwater tigers, and masses of neon-purple fish that floated in place like Calder mobiles.

Sometimes we'd harvest our lunch before we got out of the water. The base of our cliff was covered with thousands of small mussels, like bouquets of black flowers clinging onto the rocks. We'd pry them off by the handful, then steam them in garlic and wine -- plus an occasional rosemary sprig from our giant bush.

On other days, we'd clamber into our outboard motorboat, putter across the bay and tie up at one of the restaurants with tables set at the water's edge. At Marko's, you don't even have to look at a menu; you just sit under the vine-covered trellis, sipping honey-colored wine as the owner and his son Darko serve whatever traditional coastal dishes his wife feels like making. She might start with mountains of tiny clams tossed with capers, then faintly charred shrimps bursting with juice, and fried baby calamari with a wispy and fragile crust, and whole fish with the skin grilled so crisp it crackles. By the time Darko serves his mother's crepes dusted with ground local walnuts, we're begging, thank you, please, we have to stop.

War-Torn Memories

When the Yugoslav army invaded the area around Dubrovnik, they seized our rental house and turned it into a command post. "And we were lucky," says Marija, our landlord. At the moment, we're sipping Antun's rose liqueur and nibbling olives with some of their family and friends, and watching another sunset off our terrace.

"Yes, lucky," Marija repeats, with a bitter laugh. She's speaking Croatian, which her daughter-in-law translates, plus a smattering of Italian that many Croatians speak. They tell us how Serb soldiers from the Yugoslav army burned some of the nearby homes on this bay but saved this house because it was a perfect lookout point on the shipping channel. The family took refuge in shelters in a nearby town.

They're here this evening because our month in Dubrovnik is almost over and they want to send us off with a traditional Sunday dinner. So Antun is back at the outdoor fireplace, shoveling glowing coals around an enamel casserole that's heavy with potatoes and chunks of lamb. Marija is simmering seafood risotto that's black and musty with squid ink. As we work our way through a bottle of local wine, we figure that we've finally become friendly enough to broach the issue that local residents usually avoid:

Have they put the war behind them?

There's an edgy silence. The Croatians look at their drinks. Finally, our landlords' daughter-in-law, Marijana, speaks.

"Do you know what it's like to live for months below ground, while there are bombs exploding outside?" she asks. "One day, some of the people went outside just for a few minutes, to smoke cigarettes." Marijana flushes and starts to cry, and nuzzles her baby. "And just at that moment, an artillery shell hit. Seven people died. Friends."

"And do you know what we found when we came back to this house after the war?" Marija says. "The soldiers destroyed or stole everything. All our plates, all our furniture, everything." Now Marija is wiping away tears, too. "And the Serb soldiers used our floors as a toilet. Can you picture that?"

We murmur something that we hope seems supportive but objective, but ends up being inadequate. Both Serbs and Croatians committed atrocities, according to all the evidence, and both Serb and Croatian military officers have been charged with war crimes. It's the innocent civilians who are always caught in the vise.

Their friend Stefi cuts us off, her voice trembling. She works part time at the Croatian tourist bureau. "Only last week, a man came into the tourist office and wanted some information," she says, "and I knew he was Serb by his accent. The Serbs are coming back to visit our Dubrovnik for the first time since the war."