DAY 6 - Italy, Greece, Balkans ... For ten days our reporter travels to Southern Europe to understand how the inhabitants of these countries experience deconfinement. After Slovenia, go to Dubrovnik, Croatia. Here, the "pearl of the Adriatic" is unusually deserted.

REPORTAGE

>> For ten days, our reporter travels through southern Europe to understand how our European neighbors are living their deconfinement, the reopening of borders, the approach of holidays, but also to take the pulse of the local economy. A trip from Italy to Greece, passing through the Balkans and the Adriatic coast. After Venice and Milan in particular, for the sixth stage of his European "deconfinement tour", Jean-Sébastien Soldaïni has settled in Croatia, in Dubrovnik, which is impatiently waiting to find its usual tourists.

"Croatian customs officials are barely more attentive than their Slovenian colleagues. A quick glance at my mission letter and they let me in. The country is almost in the same epidemic situation. The coronavirus is about to to be mastered. Direction Split, through a landscape of fading forest. The maquis takes over until the Adriatic coast. The football stadium of Hajduk is in sight: a form of seashell that opens onto this port town This part is little frequented, but on the other side of the hill, a superb marina unrolls its terraces of bars and restaurants below the palace of Diocletian, splendid fortress.

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Summer already seems to be here, judging by the number of cocktails lying around on the tables. Croats enjoy, like their neighbors to the north, a certain carelessness. This time, only a few masks - mandatory for hotel staff and vendors - remind us that the coronavirus was also prowling around here.

Tourists and Croats absent

The stopover is short, I have to go to Dubrovnik, flagship of tourism in Croatia. The city must be crowded at this time of year, but no. The feeling of reliving a normal life, felt in Ljubljana and Split, suddenly disappears. The marina is not filled with luxury yachts. The car park closest to the old town is not occupied by gleaming cars. I find a place at -1. And I descend on foot to the vertiginous ramparts of the 16th century. Impression of deja-vu when entering the narrow alleys of stones. This silence. This atmosphere of another time: Venice last week. After a few steps, I notice that a noise comes back regularly to disturb the calm.

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Works: hammer blows, electric saws ... Owners of hotels and apartments for rent take advantage of the time to renovate and welcome tourists in the best possible conditions. June 15 is in the crosshairs. This is the date when most European countries will allow their nationals to travel. Open the valves, sort of. In any case, this is what the tourism professionals in Dubrovnik hope for, such as the return of Swiss and spending Germans. Because the Croatian clientele is not there. They are however free to move around the country, but like the Italians, confinement has emptied the portfolios.

I almost missed this meeting. On the return from Dubrovnik, the village of Trsteno catches the eye and smells. Huge cypresses protrude from olive trees and a smell of scrub fills the atmosphere. But the houses, mostly second homes, are empty. Around the church, two people are cutting wood. One of them is wearing pants and a black t-shirt. I ask if they speak English. "A little," he replies. Not won. The conversation turns short.

Padre David and "paradise"

But a few kilometers after leaving Trsteno, I realize that the man in black is none other than the parish priest. What if he spoke Italian? Bingo. The discussion takes place as he takes place under an olive tree. He apologizes for not wearing his faux-collar shirt. Behind his 3-day red beard, "Padre David" says he is 50 years old. It does not appear 40.

And it has already been a quarter of a century since he left his native Italy to settle in this small parish. Trsteno is in the south of Croatia. An enclave, wedged between the Adriatic, Montenegro and Serbia. A "paradise", smiles the priest. "Even at the time of confinement" because they "could enjoy the countryside and the good life". "With a few constraints," he admits.

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Being landlocked does not facilitate the supply of food: "We had to make our own bread, dig in the neighbors' vegetable patch ... For those who wanted fish, we had to go fishing." Nothing serious. "We had time." What about religion? On TV, except for Good Friday: "We had a procession for two with the sacristan", laughs "Padre David". "We were disconnected from the world and from Croatia for two months," he continues. But looking around, the connection to "real life" has not really been restored.

The rigor of Bosnian customs officials

I do not stay long to enjoy this marvel immersed in calm. I have to go to Bosnia, finally I hoped. A Croatian customs official suggested to me that I could transit across the country without stopping. Missed. Bosnian customs officials are not in the same frame of mind as Croats and Slovenes. The country is still in containment and the authorities do not want new imported cases. French people are not welcome. And since Montenegro is also closed to foreigners, I will have to bypass Bosnia to go to Serbia. My route draws a long square root from Koper to Zagreb, via Dubrovnik. Not the shortest path. Not the driest either. The semblance of Croatian summer was short lived. The rain falls on the north of the country and accompanies me to the capital.