Kerry van der Jagt.

I’m picking my way along the marbled passageways of Dubrovnik’s Old Town, drops of rain dripping off my nose. Overhead, big bruised clouds have descended, pinning the forts in place, while at my feet street lamps strike golden orbs in the wet pavement. I pull my umbrella lower as another deluge falls from the sky.

It’s too early for tourists; most are still cocooned in the resorts further along the coast, or asleep in the cabins of their cruise ships. It’s the lucky few who spend the night inside the city walls.

I’d risen at dawn, keen to explore before the crowds arrive, but mostly because I’m on a quest. Before arriving in Dubrovnik I’d heard whispers about ‘‘the rope’’, a secret code known only to the 800 or so inhabitants of the Old Town. Taking a short cut through Gundulic Square I wonder – was the rope some kind of medieval symbol? A Blair Witch-style stick man perhaps?

I cross Gruz Markets, the ‘‘green’’ markets, where vendors are setting up stalls, swapping goods and gossip in equal amounts. The sepia-coloured scene is in stark contrast to the crush of people I had witnessed the previous day, shuffling along the pedestrian thoroughfare of Stradun like extras in a zombie movie.

And there lies the rub; given the Old Town’s sublime location, World Heritage status, intact medieval walls and Game of Thrones fame, it is becoming a victim of its own good looks. Last year the city saw 932,621 tourist arrivals, which when added to the number of cruise ship passengers brought the number of tourists in Dubrovnik in 2015 close to two million.

Given this, I’ve opted to join a small group tour with Gypsian Boutique Tours, a family-run business dedicated to delivering an authentic experience, with the luxury of a few days (not hours) in Dubrovnik. Founded in 2012 by Australian woman Candace Warner, the company is small enough to allow guests to feel like ent travellers (six to 12 people), but with the advantage of travelling with a knowledgeable person to take care of arrangements.

By mid-morning the sun is out, turning the Adriatic into a silken scarf of blazing blues as we join local guide Vesna for an insider’s tour. Her first task is clearing up the rope mystery, doubling over with laughter as she explains the rope is simply an entrance barrier put up at the Pile Gate on busy days to control the flow of cruise passengers. ‘‘If the rope is out the locals know to keep away,’’ she says.

Vesna tosses tips like confetti. ‘‘All the good stuff is away from the Stradun,’’ she says, leading us down a laneway where we pause to listen to the notes of a soprano drifting from the upstairs window of the Luka Sorkocevic music school.

Later she introduces us to an artisan selling hand-stitched embroidery from a makeshift stall on a quiet square. I buy a table runner, the blue needlework known as ‘‘konavle’’, the perfect house-warming gift for a friend.

Lunch is at Azur, a cosy Mediterranean-asian-fusion restaurant started by two brothers from Dubrovnik. Set back from the main tourist hub, Azur specialises in fresh, seasonal produce sourced from nearby farms or local fishermen. The tapas-style selection of wasabi salmon pouches, chilli and basil prawns, salmon ceviche tacos and fragrant meatballs proving that ‘‘local’’ can also mean ‘‘inventive’’.

We walk the walls in the afternoon, learning that the rash of shiny roof tiles are repairs made after the city was shelled during the 1991 war for independence from Yugoslavia. On a brighter note, Vesna points out rooftop gardens, explaining that every home will always find space for a fig tree, orange tree and a lily of the valley. Such nuances, set against what is perhaps the most brazenly beautiful walled city in the world, take days to unmask. Here are four more to discover:

The perfect peka

You haven’t experienced the real Dalmatia until you’ve eaten peka, a signature dish of lamb or veal ‘‘cooked under the bell’’, a terracotta dome heated for hours in an open fire.

One of the best restaurants where you can sample this rustic fare is Konoba Dubrava, a familyrun restaurant in the dry hills above the city; where the vegetables are home grown or bartered from neighbours, the cheese comes from the woman up the road who feeds her goats with