International efforts have helped restore war-ravaged Dubrovnik to its former glory, writes Susan Buckland.
This is the time of the year when the people of Dubrovnik prepare for the yearly onslaught of summer tourists. Almost certainly Maja Milocovic will be one of them.
When I met her at the start of a previous summer she had already been run off her tour-guide feet. But she wasn't complaining. On the contrary, she was delighted.
As we walked around her lovely Croatian town on the eastern shores of the Adriatic, she explained how persistent strife in the Balkans had kept her out of her summer job for more than a decade. She kept waiting and hoping for peace and for life to return to normal.
Maja reminisced about how things were before the region slid into war. How sandy beaches up and down the Dalmatian coast were thronged with bathers during the long summer.
There were constant pleasure boats and ferries carrying passengers between the numerous islands and the mainland. And sooner or later many of those holiday-makers would gravitate to enchanting Dubrovnik.
But the tourist traffic dried up as war escalated on the Balkan Peninsula. Then in October 1991 artillery began bombarding Dubrovnik. The world reacted in shock as the town, widely regarded as an historic and visual gem, came under attack.
The loss of her job was bad enough but insignificant compared to the loss of friends, Maja said. She still struggles to understand how Dubrovnik's Serbian population could have fled before the attack without warning the people they had grown up with. Many who remained had run into the streets and were killed.
Dubrovnik had always been a caring community, Maja explained. Education was prized. Tolerance was encouraged. "We have grown up with these principles." She shrugged her shoulders. "Those people who departed so suddenly will have to live with their consciences."
At the end of an eight month-long siege international efforts were mounted to restore Dubrovnik. So thankfully it is difficult to find parts of the old town that still await repair.
The people of Dubrovnik are grateful to many countries, Maja told me. Foreigners came and rolled up their sleeves as well as help to finance the painstaking work which, at last, is practically complete.
"Dubrovnik is beautiful once again, no?" Maja's affirmation came as we peered out from the walls surrounding her city. The view was stunning. Compact and peaceful within a girdle of stone, the tiled roofs of Dubrovnik were burnished by the sun. And the sea beyond was deep blue.
Cars are not allowed inside the old town. I watched people below strolling between Venetian palaces and along the polished stones of Dubrovnik's pedestrian promenades. Cars roaring along the cobbles would have been as welcome as boy racers tearing through one's garden.
Dubrovnik's architectural flair developed while the Venetian Republic held sway in Croatia from the 14th to 18th centuries.
By astute management, however, it was able to resist takeover bids not only by the Venetians but also the Ottomans and Austro-Hungarian Empire. Independently, it prospered in its strategic trading location between east and west.
Maja is proud that Dubrovnik has Unesco world heritage status, but not surprised. Nor am I. The town suffuses light, while from its medieval walls distant islands can be seen in a fading misty haze.
When George Bernard Shaw stood there in 1929 he decided that "those who wish to see heaven on earth should come to Dubrovnik".
Cruise ships haven't been holding back since the country has found peace. Several were lining up when Maja and I arrived at the docks.
"We already have had twice as many cruise ships in the harbour as the year before," she said with satisfaction. She will be hoping for another good year, being run off her tour-guide feet as summer rolls into the Northern Hemisphere.
