Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Showing me the mortar that destroyed his home, Pero smiled.
I took Pero's photograph. He held the mortar…and smiled. I didn't want him to hold
the mortar and smile…but that's what he did. He seemed determined to smile—as if it
signified a personal victory over the destruction the mortar had wrought. It's impressive
how people can weather tragedy, rebuild, and move on. In spite of the terrors of war just a
couple of decades ago, life here was once again very good and, according to Pero's smile,
filled with promise.
From Pero's perch, high above Dubrovnik's rooftops, I studied the countless buildings
lassoed within its stout walls. The city is a patchwork of old-fashioned red-tiled roofs.
Pero explained that the random arrangement of bright- and dark-toned roof tiles indicates
the damage caused by the mortars that were lobbed over the hill by the Serb-dominated
Yugoslav National Army in 1991. The new, brighter-colored tiles marked houses that were
hit and had been rebuilt. At a glance, it's clear that more than two-thirds of the Old Town's
buildings were bombed.
