Dear Asma,

I checked into Villa Dubrovnik, in Croatia, in one of my favourite corners of the earth. I was welcomed by their new slogan, “At liberty to be…”, where you get to end the sentence. I didn’t feel the need to add a word, as I just felt at liberty to simply be.

There’s a softness to life here that’s difficult to explain. You arrive thinking you’ve come for the view, where Lokrum Island is floating like a secret just offshore, the Old Town rising in ancient stone, but it’s the silence, woven by the rhythm of waves and sea breeze, that stays with you. The kind of silence that hushes the mind. That reminds you you’re not missing anything, because you are exactly where you need to be.

The hotel itself is a quiet marvel. Newly reimagined yet rooted in its soul, its design speaks the language of the land: sand-colored stone, aged terracotta, pale wood kissed by sunlight. The lines are modern and clean, but somehow ancient too. Everything echoes the spirit of Dubrovnik, its walls, rooftops, lace, and legends stitched subtly into every space.

My suite is called Mirakul, and it feels exactly that – a dreamlike miracle. Intimate, open to the sea. Each morning, I throw open the floor-to-ceiling doors and let the breeze drift in, carrying the scent of pine and salt, and the distant murmur of waves against the rocks far below.

I’ve made a habit of lingering at Pjerin, the fine dining terrace that overlooks the city, where every dish is a love letter to the Adriatic. Tomatoes here are so sweet that they could be dessert. In the evenings, I sit at the rooftop bar, drink in hand, as the sky turns lavender behind the Old Town. The sea hushes between conversations like a soft rebellion.

The hotel staff are so warm and kind; it feels more like a family than a service. They wear bespoke uniforms by local artist Juraj Zigman, and even the fabrics shimmer with folklore. Art is everywhere: stone carvings, Croatian paintings, furniture that could belong in a gallery. Yet nothing feels curated or forced; it all simply belongs. Or perhaps it’s just at liberty to be.

I took the hotel shuttle to the Old Town and, as you know, I always do, I chatted with the driver. His name is Božo, and he just celebrated 15 years at Villa Dubrovnik. And it’s not just him, Marina, who serves breakfast, has been here for ten years. You can feel how they treat the villa like their own home. Their warmth filled my heart. I was home too.

And the hotel’s beach, oh, Asma. Carved into the cliffside like a secret, it gives off pure Sorrento vibes. But there’s no loud music. No crowds. Everyone is here for their quiet portion of peace, buried in the turquoise waters that shimmer from morning to night, showing off every shade of blue. It’s here I realised: blue might belong to the cold spectrum, but it can be the warmest colour of all.

Villa Dubrovnik invites you into a kind of personal history, not only of the city, but of yourself. There’s no time to rush here. No room for anxiety. Freedom isn’t just a slogan, it’s a presence. Soft-spoken. Constant. Deeply rooted in the soul of this place.

You would adore it here, I know. Just imagine: sipping something ice-cold on the terrace, speaking only when the sea allows it, watching a parade of birds glide above the distant rooftops of the Old Town.

With love from the Adriatic,
Milo