Church and Marco Polo tower in Korcula.

From above, the walled city glows red, resplendent terracotta roof tiles converging like a complex jigsaw puzzle. From on top of the two-kilometre city walls, the roofs lead me on a merry dance, slanting randomly before Dubrovnik meets the soothing blue water of the Adriatic.

A narrow staircase leads me down past faded stone buildings and women in floral dresses.

Along a cobbled street there is evidence of a mortar round. Occasional bullet marks can be spotted in the baroque architecture, memories of an independence war that ended less than 20 years ago, but scars that are fast becoming forgotten as Croatia joins the EU.

Last Monday, Croatia became the latest country to join the European family. It was recognition of its progress since the break-up of Yugoslavia, and confirmation that it is no longer another obscure destination in eastern Europe.

Croatia is very much European, even if prices haven’t caught up with the western part of the continent. Dubrovnik is its jewel, a Unesco World Heritage Site that has been carefully restored – the odd war wound outstanding, which reminds me that the city’s beauty has been a fought over possession.

Croatia is very much European, even if prices haven’t caught up with the western part of the continent

But before Dubrovnik, I start in the waters of the Adriatic, island hopping from north to south. Near Italy, the unimaginatively named Krk, Rab and Pag cater for an equally unimaginative group of tourists, with camping families determined to not stray more than 300 metres from the rocky beaches.

The islands are fringed by quaint fishing villages, atmospheric concoctions of wooden boats and 18th-century stone rather dampened by the sound of screaming children demanding ice cream.

Further south, the islands grow more appealing, adding their natural tenderness to the Dalmatian coast. Blanketed by woodland, Korcula once supplied the timber for Venice’s wooden walls. Its bewitching old town is a labyrinth of tightly packed 18th-century buildings.

Lost among the alleys, I come across a remarkable claim. Locals believe legendary explorer Marco Polo was born here in 1254. While defending his city in 1298, he was captured and spent his remaining years in prison documenting his travels in one of the first-ever travel books.

Livres des Merveilles du Monde (Book of the Marvels of the World) was Europe’s first introduction to central Asia and China. I muse on the irony as I write about the marvellous stone arches and elegant cafes of his hometown more than 700 years later.

Beside Korcula, local hoteliers on the island of Hvar have enough faith in the weather to offer a money-back guarantee if the mercury drops below zero. Taking up the offer is the millionaires’ yacht club – the harbour is filled with monstrous examples of egotistical wealth.

They’ve come for the island’s rugged beauty, and rustic Hvar town filled with quaint terraces and elegant streets. While gleaming, white yachts have replaced old, wooden boats in the harbour, locals have turned from fishing to tourism for income.

Cute detached houses stand on the green hillside. Families cram into one room downstairs so they can rent out the rest.

Ensuring we immediately understand each other, my host pours two hearty shots of homemade grape schnapps. It burns, horrifically at first, but later with the flush of slight sunburn.

Agreeing on the room, we celebrate with another, and I’m introduced to the family, including Grandma (judging by the clothes in the wardrobe, it’s her room I’ve rented.) Nobody speaks English but 50 per cent proof alcohol at 10.30am enables effective communication.

My room is basic but clean and touching; net curtains blow in the morning sea breeze, silence greets the afternoon siesta and sunsets arrive slowly from the wide balcony. The smell of lavender surrounds me as Hvar’s chief crop delicately scents the island.

While the boat club’s ungainly opulence clashes with the 18th-century architecture, their presence has also resulted in a succession of gourmet restaurants opening.

Tastefully restoring old cellars and spilling onto narrow alleys, they bring sumptuous seafood at a price that reminds me we are still in an underdeveloped part of Europe.

Giving Grandma her room back, I take the twice-weekly ferry to Dubrovnik. The walled city has always been the centre of the region’s tourism industry and some hotels date to the 19th century.

The city’s recent restoration has brought a proliferation of designer clothing labels and overpriced cafes along the main street.

However, when I walk among the back streets, I find the city’s working class history is very much alive. Barber shops await customers in hidden alleys, washing lines hang between adjacent house windows and men crowd around an impromptu card game.

Daytime brings crowds as tour groups are bussed in from nearby beach resorts, a different marauding enemy looking to overtake the city walls.

Dubrovnik’s charm lies in the quiet times – early mornings when locals join me on the streets and look bewildered at my attempts to ask directions in Croatian, and evenings when the light dims and cafe terraces exude relaxed laughter.

After dusk, lanterns illuminate steep steps through the maze, and the sound of footsteps echoes precisely.

Dubrovnik’s streets weave and meander, turning casually into each other before jutting off at strange angles until I’m completely lost and slowly going around in circles.

It may be small, but with each day lost in the maze, I find new delights, such as bronze statues, city fountains and old forts. Judging by the number of 18th-century churches and monasteries, this was once an extremely religious place.

While Croatia may have joined the EU, its idiosyncrasies and lack of spoken English suggest you’re much further away from home.

In Dubrovnik, Hvar and Korcula, it has ancient towns with a distinct flavour... just make sure you get there before the whole of Europe finds out.