Sometime in the summer of 2010 I was on a bus from Korčula to Dubrovnik. The journey took us through the medieval town of Ston, where the bus usually stops for five minutes to allow driver and passengers to stretch their legs. It was the peak of the tourist season and the bus (or at the least the part of it where I was sitting) was packed with young, mostly English-speaking tourists.
It was obviously a feast-day in Ston. A row of animal carcasses were being slowly roasted over open fires beside the road, just opposite the town’s central parking lot. “Oh my God, they’re eating dogs!” shrieked one alarmed passenger. Menfolk among the foreign contingent started moving down the aisle of the bus in order to inspect more closely what was going on outside, as if their resolve to investigate would somehow calm their female partners.