I learned a thing or two about a thing or two in Croatia.
Mostly about expectations.
I think I had in my mind (for some odd reason) that this side of the Mediterranean was smooth and sandy,
Still and steady,
Clear water and sweet fish.
I was met pretty quickly with the reality that Croatia was not willing to oblige to these ideas.
After two fast weeks in Italy, constantly exploring museums, different cities and so many structures of history, I was ready for a slower pace. The beach has always been a place of rest for me. Hours and hours of sun
Damp hair
Simultaneous heat exhaustion and relaxing vigor…
But tourists and locals alike filled every street and beach front I explored. Zagreb, Zadar, Split and Dubrovnik. All generous in variety but packed with unmet preconceived notions.
I think I had in my mind (for some odd reason) that this country was relaxed and meek. It wasn’t.
I thought the entirety of the Dalmatian coast obtained spotted dogs. It didn’t
And I thought the ailment of spinning anxiety would leave when I touched some clear water. It stayed.
Not that I didn’t enjoy my time (of course the sea bass and Game of Thrones culture was exciting, though I don’t know much about either…) I just realized that under the water I thought would cleanse my psyche were nothing but loud rocks; wildly abrupt.
Sometimes what we have in our heads isn’t what life has to offer; not for the moment at least. Sometimes what we expect isn’t what we are greeted by.
I met a group of three boys from Argentina on a ferry to Brač, an isalnd just outside of Split.
We spoke about traveling in their winter which was my summer and I realized my Spanish can most definitely improve, but isn’t as shabby as I thought.
They hollered and laughed and created an atmosphere outside of sound; a different kind of peace I didn’t know I needed. Chaotic camaraderie. They were so present in their circumstance. Something anxiety can’t coexist within.
Turns out the next day we were on the same bus heading to Dubrovnik which was 2 hours late.
As we waited and waited outside hot and windy port bus station, their loud smiles eased my impatience.
They had no where to be but together.
And I was so grateful to get a share in on their joy. Friendship. Presence.
Now that I’ve left the very beautiful country with tan lines and memories of gorgeous water and good food (Croatian cuisine is shockingly delicious and strange) I think I’ve also left with this:
Maybe none of us really need an agenda.
An idea.
A plan of a place. Or a plan at all.
Maybe all we need in right now.
And some water shoes.
First time swimming outside of a port in Split. It was cold. We do things scared.
Said rocks on the edge of island of Brač. Though the highest recommendation was to go to the Golden Horn Beach, my ferry stopped at the opposite end of the isalnd… therefore, we compromise. Luckily I met a Italian man and his wife, local to Croatia and we juggled together. Rocks. Who would’ve thought my 3rd grade juggling team experience would come in handy half-way across the world.
Any GOT lovers out there? Not me, but Dubrovnik really showed out with the water to architecture ratio.
Came upon my favorite restaurant in Europe thus far; Ficlek in Zagreb, Croatia. So good that we ate there twice during our short two-night stay. I am convinced it is absolutely impossible to go wrong on their menu. I ordered a type of Croatian sausage dish and a side of cabbage salad that I forget to bring home in a doggy bag.
Myself with the manager of Ficlek. He remembered our eager eyes (and stomachs) from the nigh before. I remembered the doggy bag this time.
Tapas Bar Alamaka in Dubrovnik. DELISH.
As many risks as I’ve taken on this trip, my boldest and most proud is this: a blonde trusting her roots with someone other than her hairdresser back in Texas. Safe to say, a dear success.
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