Dubrovnik: : MUSIC IS IN THE AIR

DUBROVNIK, Yugoslavia — It was a warm summer evening and the crowds that filled the wide stone plaza favored the shade, but a stage-full of children stood tall, the bright intensity of the western light shining in their faces. Their voices carried the echo of centuries in a lusty rendition of a Yugoslav folk song.

The smallest children in the crowd sang the words along with them while their parents watched with obvious pride. It was a lucky day for visitors, to happen upon this scene.

For weeks the youths of Dubrovnik had been rehearsing the intricate steps of traditional national dances. The musicians among them had put in hours of practice on their accordions and violins, and the choirs had been meeting nightly in halls and lofts and classrooms to do justice to the songs they love so much. Music was a recurring highlight of our stay.

These preparations were for the annual Youth Day in Yugoslavia, but the music itself seemed not to be something that was hauled out and dusted off once a year, but a beloved part of daily life. Maids and carpenters and taxi drivers hummed the same tunes.

A national unity is strongly in evidence, even though Yugoslavia has six republics, each with considerable autonomy, and four languages (Serbo-Croatian seems to be edging to the forefront) and even two alphabets. The nation that Marshal Tito held together at the end of World War II and kept together under decades of strong central leadership has survived him and (in spite of serious inflation) seems politically stable as an independent socialist system.

If Americans haven’t put Dubrovnik high on the list of favorite places to go, Europeans have. They’re here in droves. It’s hard to imagine a city more jammed with tour groups or one that is more deserving of the attention.

But for all the Germans, Brits and French circling the old town in large guided groups, there are plenty of chances to avoid the sense of teeming masses. Just duck into a side street, climb a stairway or wander beyond the looming walls of the old town and head for the small cafes and restaurants, the grocery shops, the ancient churches warm with the scent of lighted candles, or walk to rocky beaches a stone’s throw away.

Or just hop the ferry out to Lokrum Island for a refreshing swim in the clear Adriatic. Lokrum is a national park, complete with snack stand, government-operated restaurant, a few centuries-old ruins, and a third of the island is marked off for nudists. It’s that end of the island where small boats are anchored off the rocks.

The island is rimmed with rocks and more rocks. It is on these unforgiving slabs that the sunbathers bask; not a sandy beach to be found. But for respite from the sun’s glare, the island has piney woods with walking paths, a casually tended botanical garden and grassy meadows for a picnic lunch. The ferry chugs back and forth every half-hour, bringing its cargo of sun seekers and fetching the sunburned ones back to town.

Many of the hotels that line the Adriatic south of the old town also have their own rocky ledges near the water for sunbathing and swimming: the Argentina, the Villa Dubrovnik and the massive new Belvedere, to name my favorites. Visitors who prefer the solitude of distant suburbs cluster at a group of hotels in Lapad, a point of land a few miles north of town: the hotels Neptune, Plakir, Dubrovnik President and Argosy. Dozens of private homes have rooms to let, priced from $5.

My favorite time of day in Dubrovnik is sunset. One especially. We sat outside at the Villa Dubrovnik, on a patio shaded by a grape arbor, and watched the sky turn from soft pink to deep violet over the small islands beyond the walls of the old town. Inside, a guest sat at the piano and played the silvery notes of a Mozart minuet.

At the town gate, when evening comes, youths arrive by the busload and head for the main piazza. There they stroll, back and forth, by pairs and in groups, literally filling the ancient street with their wall-to-wall meandering on marble worn smooth by centuries of soles. Their voices reverberate from the walls.

Dusk also brings the musicians to town; many of the restaurants offer live music throughout the evening, and there was never any pressure to vacate a table merely because one had finished the meal.

The finest music in the best setting was at Restaurant Jadran, just inside the wall, and within what was once St. Claire’s nunnery and orphanage. Also very pleasant, just outside the wall, was Ocean restaurant for good food and live music outdoors beneath a large sycamore tree. North of town, in Lapad, is Komin restaurant, serving meats grilled in a traditional way under a cast-iron “bell” and served by waitresses in traditional garb.

On Zudioska Street, near the clock tower, is the third oldest Jewish synagogue in Europe, dating from 1352. The synagogue is upstairs in one of the old stone buildings on that narrow street, across from Nada restaurant. Any tour office in town will give you a city map pointing out most of the architectural highlights within the walls: the 15th-Century clock tower, Onofrio’s Fountain, the Rector’s Palace, the Jesuit and Franciscan monasteries.

Stroll on the Wall

Early evening, beyond the glare of the midday sun, is also a good time to take the walk that puts Dubrovnik in perspective: the 90-minute stroll around the top of the walls that enclose the old town.

The walls are among the best-preserved medieval fortifications in the world. They’re up to 18 feet thick and have a 1.25-mile circumference. The wall was constructed as early as the 7th Century, and fragments remain from the 10th Century, but what exists today is basically from the 15th and 16th centuries.

About 5,000 people live within the walls in stone houses that have stood for centuries. The red-tile roofs sprout TV antennas as well as ancient chimneys and occasional wildflowers that burst from the most unexpected crannies. There are rooftop terraces and in some places little gardens, grape arbors, pots of red geraniums. Lines of laundry hang over the narrow streets, taking forever to dry in the soft, warm air. Music drifts up from the doorways and windows of small cafes and private apartments below. Church bells clang every half-hour.

Top of Mountain

For a longer view of town, take the funicular on a three-minute nearly vertical ride to the top of Mt. Sergius, Dubrovnik’s backdrop. From there the scene is a panorama of the coastal islands to the north, distant villages, the red-tiled roofs ubiquitous in Yugoslavia, the terraced mountainsides on which farmers labor over the rocky soil to grow vegetables and grapes for wine. North of the old town are high-rise residential projects built by the government.

A devastating fire a year ago charred the mountains behind Dubrovnik for miles in both directions. And earlier, in 1979, some of the centuries-old towns of southern Yugoslavia, notably Budva, Kotor and Cetinje in Montenegro, were nearly reduced to rubble by an earthquake. Reconstruction is painfully slow and housing is of a higher priority than the restoration of historic monuments. Dubrovnik’s old town was mercifully spared.

Hotel prices in summer, for double room with bath:

Argentina, $43 to $104; Argosy, $84; Belvedere, $104; Dubrovnik President, $112; Neptune, $42 to $48; Plakir, $84; Villa Dubrovnik, $59 to $88.

Tours to Yugoslavia are arranged by Love Holidays, 5530 Corbin Ave., Tarzana 91356, and by Yugotours, 3440 Wilshire Blvd., Suite 1206, Los Angeles 90010.