Nestled between the Adriatic Sea and the Dinaric Mountains, the isolated Croatian village of Vinjerac lies asleep, haunted by the ghostly few who live there and the destruction inflicted by World War II. The coastline remains scarred from the bombs dropped upon it by the Allies over sixty years ago. The small stucco houses, varying between antique white and palomino gold, roofed with Spanish-style clay tile, create a quaint, cohesive atmosphere. Broken-down doorways to stone and mortar buildings lace the stucco walls, leading to uninhabitable rooms filled with debris: felled wooden beams, branches, discarded bottles, grass growing wildly and shifting in the breeze, and sculpted crosses that lean upright against the house's side. Paint-chipped rowboats are scattered throughout the town, housing fishing nets and rusted fishing cages. Small prayer stations appear around each curve of the street, each painted two complimentary, earthy colors. Cats stalk the streets--prowl across tops of crumbling stone ramparts imbedded with seashells--and lounge under leafy sanctuaries.
The azure sea meets the slate-blue rock in the distance. Green fir trees dot the landscape. The coastline of Vinjerac is like the V of a woman's neckline; motorboats and rowboats adorn the collar, plunging into the heart of the village, bobbing up and down, creaking as they dance with the gentle waves.
At sunset, the mountains bask in purple, blanketed by a full hovering thistle-colored cloud.