Dubrovnik: a Game of Thrones, early morning tranquility, crooners are shot at dawn and arise in Bosnia.

Plavac Mali Sivi. Interesting to see this grape used to make an off dry wine. But the wine bar is a joke - I know wine bars can be so beyond everyday ease; it comes with the cravat wearing, faux sommelier charmlessness and "higher than thou" grape descriptions that I would swear are memorised before bed every night; a cliché that has very little to do with wine, but everything to do with Jilly Goulden monsters. Don't fall for it.

Fucking Game of fucking of Thrones. I nearly choked on my over priced cheese. So this is actually worse than Split - I've brought myself to the end of a sock - cut off from the rest of Dalmatia. And now I am surrounded by Game of Thrones walking tours. This room will be a base, even if Magdalene was virtually forcing me to eat below in a restaurant run by one of the cartels who control the carbon copy Konobas and Pizzeria. No. I have some garlic and while I do I can stick to Prsut, cheese and tomatoes and sit next to the bus stop at the entry to the old town feeling sorry for the state of tourist towns. Zombies walking at a pace rigid as a cadaver without ever witnessing themselves.

Nothing much will occur here - it is intact because it never did - I am sure Ragusa was a powerful commercial hub when Genoa and Venice led the Mediterranean. Early I will disappear south to see if Cavtat is less damned or have a Sunday stroll about the new city, following the coast. This world might be a purgatory, prison or an illusion however it is the only world I know. Forgive it. Fear nought. Give love a chance. I'll come back to sleep and head into the hinterland Monday fresh as a daisy, but not waste money on Dubrovnik. Bed. A little meditation again.

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Without crowds Dubrovnik old city is a creation of brightly white polished stone. Those who get it back to clean work vigorously so it can appear to keep itself spotless throughout all time and in the morning. The swallows dominate the air, swirling everywhere. Locals introduce their dogs to decedent leftovers. The coffee houses get ready for another turbid days as I get old; worn to the bone reflecting the age of the limestone where feet displaced dust, and the gilt rusts below the drip of time, crushed and wearing thin. An hour of Dubrovnik alone. Now at 7 am it gathers pace with a yoga workout below the clock tower. What impression of this charming mediæval city would one feel if auxiliaries didn't keep it spotlessly clean; the pigeons struggle to collect crumbs. And finally the yoga ends, the auxiliaries vanish yet the crowds are not awake yet. Next will be mass then the day will be injected with masses more. Coffee time: it will extort for its fix. Some locals here as back into town from a late one, stumbling over each step they make. Back to room to wash, before looking at the other town, as the sweet smell of jasmine drifts over me.

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If you are willing to set out prior to the cruise ship hustle then Dubrovnik has plenty of splendid views of the Adriatic and the mountains above the town. If you leave the old city by the west gate turn left down some stairs, as soon as you are able, and follow it up and down to the Saint Mary Church, graveyard and convent to the base of the cliff. Coming back to the room while the hubbub continues in the alleys below. Its OK. I am leaving this all behind and heading inland for sure. But you always must return to the Old City to sigh at the tour guides holding umbrella aloft like one carrying a crucifix. With it's Frankly Shitara - three hours of Caesar's Palace, Las Vegas "Sammy Davis Jr - A personal friend of mine" bullshit. I left the room above twice before the morning. Tried very hard not to fry with the windows shut and shuttered trying to keep that crooning cat-call out. It was around nine when I recalled air con! Then I was happy. Earliest bus to Autobusni Kolodvor Dubrovnik. A coffee emporium filled with locals opposite the station (price per cup ...). Bus to Sarajevo at eight 183kuna three days until more income, but I shouldn't need a cent more - there is an overnight sleeper to Zagreb. This might be a way out on Wednesday?

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Get me out if here! Even when you think someone is being genuinely interested about conversation it suddenly dawned that this was the hardest hard sell of my life: it took me half an hour to wake up! That was when the miracle occurred: I saw through the faux friendship. If you think I am coming back to Dubrovnik ever again you are living in an alternate universe to the one I now inhabit! A large hand, or another earthquake, is overdue here. At first the conversation of his time during the war was interesting, but once he'd got past his summary of 1943, bombings, Italian soldiers being shot by German soldiers because of Mussolini being deposed (didn't the German Elite know that Italy would switch sides once the egotist was turned on by his own side and hung?) and minesweepers in 1945 from the Royal Navy, but his dogged determination for me to see the entry in the 1984 edition of Lonely Planet (which I never use), and the local of his €70 abode, he was talking to the wrong person; oh and he has relatives in Sarajevo too; meh. The bus is here. No more Croatia for a few days - A New Kind of Kick.

Crossing the border I look down at my Passport, hardly stamped, and think Disunited Kingdom of London, Southern England(Wessex), Northern England(Danelaw), Wales, Cornwall, Scotland, Ulster and Nationalist Northern Ireland. Breathe in and breathe out. Such an illusion of unity! And European Union until like an Onion it goes rotten in layers down to core, where it then turns to a woody inedible and is not even good enough to feed to pigs, and then fear, jealousy and unsupressed anger take over once more?

At first I thought we had passed into Bosnia, but at the third crossing point it seems we might now be about to head towards Mostar. There are many coaches so it is a tourist magnet. We've be halted by the border a while and I wonder if this is a usual time gate? They took away all our passports and two individuals had to leave the bus but it's tedious.

What is the discontent I often feel on a long distance bus journey. I know it's slow, but you get the grandeur of the landscape, unlike flying, but it's the stopping and starting, parking up, tight leg space and moments of half sleep when the brain is semi damaged by the repetitive dull monotony. Found a place to sleep after a hasty walk towards the old centre. First person who assaulted me off the coach was a woman with child; such a silent child ... did you drug it? Be gone pest. If it is men forcing you out this way please collectivise and fight back.

Brewery: Sarajevska reminds you that their beer is extract/ekstrakta. Telling everyone it isn't true, but a little bit faked. Tried three because I needed a beer that was less than £1.50, but it's Carlsberg, Heineken or something else disappointing. The unfiltered wasn't so bad. Out of the corner of my right eye I can see a male and female decadently waltzing down the platform, but I think this was an echo of proto-1914.

Such a happy caldera on my right shoulder blade: juicy mosquito in the night. So! I like scratching; it is a nervous tick motion of mine. There was a desperately lonely, wild, dog who had the last of my self constructed sandwich. He ran away startled by my throw, but then realise I was providing a little food. Times are bad, but dogs are not to blame for our mistakes. They're still our happiest friends. A little tearful because a Instagram friend had her Weimaraner put down because it was poisoned: that will hurt forever: where ever my old friend is I hope to know him again.