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The morning sun had melted into an afternoon kiln that baked the dusty streets of Dubrovnik on another June day. The Old Town lay quiet to the winds that Wednesday morning had brought across the Adriatic Sea, before the breeze became a hot whisper lingering around each stone wall. The whisper beckoned me to shade and so my feet pirouetted around a corner and there she was. My lips, still specked with salt from a kayaking adventure the day before, began to form a British “hello” in the form of an apology. But she appeared unfazed by my sudden arrival as her eyes measured me coolly, in spite of the sweat beads adorning the forehead of myself, the stranger. Her hair had seemingly claimed its own independence. Dark, wavy strands caressed the odd artistic streak of white before frizzing up to salute the humid air. She was stationed in front of her wares; A trove of slightly creased cotton dresses, wooden trinkets and plants that cringed in the heat. No words were exchanged for Croatian Kuna (as if either of us could understand each other anyway). I wasn’t looking to buy anything, and she wasn’t looking to change my mind. She was peaceful, unbothered and exactly where she wanted to be. I motioned to my phone camera, hoping my eyes would translate the question for me, and her eyes repeated back the same indifference as before. I took a quick photo, nodding my head in thanks and venturing on down an alley. The rest of my trip in Dubrovnik was measured in sensations, like warm stone grazing legs or icy bubbles of soda on the tongue. Months of studying under the grey skies of Manchester were erased by waves of glittering turquoise water and smatterings of sun-cream on my skin. Most tangible of all, however, was the lifting sense of unbridled optimism. The inescapable voids of fake images and hateful thoughts that churn in the depths of social media evaporated from my mind. In the constant ebb of likes and flow of shares that dominate everyday experiences, it was a time to switch off and appreciate a city that had been unabashedly charming since the 7th century. It withstood besieging and bombarding to stand on the coast, as it always had, greeting the sea at its gates. The people were likewise ready to welcome their flushed and wide-eyed visitors into family-run restaurants and local bars. I felt free to roam streets popularised by the magnetic Game of Thrones filmography, yet there was an unspoken sense of respect between tourists and architecture. Neither infringed upon the others boundaries. When I look back on this trip, all of these emotions are drawn back to her. The image I took of a merchant on the steps remains to be my favourite travel photo I’ve ever taken. I named her Devana, after the slavic goddess of the forest, wilderness and hunt. To me she is content with her world and proud of her place in it. There is no need for an online media presence, just some patience for passers-by who got lost in the hazy heat. But as they say in India, “only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun”. (To view the photo, please visit the following link: https://www.instagram.com/p/BuWK_ABF4NK/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link )