Heaven on Earth. Travel Writing.
There are few places in the world that make me want to keep the location a secret forever. And this little house on the hillside, looking over the oceanic mountains is just one of them.
Echo and I arrived two days ago, from Zadar (a city in Croatia) in a taxi driven by a man who never told us his name. He told us all about his daughter, as if he was her representative. Her name. How she went to university to be a chemist but dropped out two years later, dyed her hair pink, got breast implants, and became a pole dancer. He spoke about his wife, and how she was a badass, a world champion taekwondo instructor, and about his stone house he owns in the mountains, where he visits every summer with his dog and giant surplus of weed. Apparently his taxi sign got stolen an hour before he picked us up, therefore we were illegal passengers. He thought it was funny. So did I. I’m not sure why? I just did. I liked him. He had a merry laugh attached to every word. He was from Zagreb, ‘the big city of Croatia’ he boasted. He said people in the South are too slow. ‘I am here because my other daughter needs help … moving into her new house.’ He proclaimed. ‘I … helping her move in. My daughter is at new job. Working. I am retired. Working too long … managing supermarket. I have spare time, so I drive. Drive you …’
He went on and on about how Southern people take one month to get a day’s job done. I liked that too. I can get used to slowing down if I had the chance.
We pulled up to the village, population, barely 50. It looked ancient. Roman cobblestone houses. We got out and explored. There was one shop, it sold cheap Pringles, milk, protein shakes, and strange looking sausages. There was also two gigantic roadside restaurants that had no customers. Maybe they served ghosts? On our roam to our accomodation we passed a tall church. Children, maybe eight? were riding their bicycles around it, blaring police sirens from their phones. Grass was everywhere, green as green comes. And so were flowers. Old wrinkled ladies, bent over, picking at their flowers in the garden.
When we arrived to our stay I almost vomited. It was too brilliant to be reality. A gorgeous yellow house, window panes everywhere, newly built on top of a plot of land overlooking the mountains. If you peeked over the brush, you could spot the crystal clean ocean too. The owner greeted us with a pleasent handshake. He was a grey haired professor who walked with a dip in his neck, as if he was searching for gold on the floor whenever he walked. His name was Evan. He showed us around the garden. He showed us his six turtles. Eight kittens. A dog called Poppy that liked to roll over and let you pet her belly. She had eight nipples. And the special spot on the lawn where you could lie in the shade and watch the clouds roll for hours and hours. Our room looked like a dream, an open planned space overlooking the garden. If heaven ever had a hotel, this would be it. When I shut myself in the bathroom, I slapped myself four times to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I wasn’t. It was real. And so was the pain. I quickly ran out into the garden after Evan left us, and inhaled the air. Fresh as citrus. I looked at the spot of grass and imagined myself lying there all night to watch the stars shine silver until the moon dropped.
We didn’t do much on our first day, besides from visit one of the two restaurants. When I walked into the store, the cook looked at me as if I had just invaded his home, tattoos covered his arms and neck. He didn’t look evil, he just had the look of a man who couldn’t speak English and didn’t want to. I was in his country after all, I shouldn’t expect him to speak my foreign language. Luckily a girl behind the bar could speak English, so she helped with the order. Her responses were dry and sharp. Not the most welcoming of reception, but the landscape surrounding the village dissolved any tension.
I ordered a burger and some onion rings. Echo ordered a ham and cheese sandwich. When the food came, we burst out laughing. We got four onion rings. I think it was a statement, a funny one at that.
When we returned from our little adventure, we headed down to the water. It was a seven minute walk through a plot olive trees. Again, I slapped myself. It was still reality. When we reached the water, Echo pointed out the little boats bobbing over the glassy surface. We dreamt of stealing one of the boats for an hour. But we didn’t. We couldn’t do that. Echo pointed out the thousands of sea urchins mating beneath the surface. She wanted me to catch them, so she could eat them. Echo grew up in a coastal city in China, she knew how to cook every type of fish. The only fish I knew how to cook was the kind you buy at the supermarket. I told her I would catch the urchins tomorrow, knowing I wouldn’t. I’m terrible with hunting and fishing, I always get sad at killing things, even though I eat meat. I’m such a hypocrite.
When we returned to our room, night was falling. We laid on the grass and watched the stars shine silver, talked about our lives and where we are going. About the dreams we are going to achieve together. About the house we will have in England together. We talked and talked as if we were talking our way to the moon. I was talking my wishes to the stars.
For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was living again. Overwhelmed by the beauty of life. And all the hard work I had put in this past year, slogging myself through the city for the almighty cause called money. It was worth it after all. For the next six days, I can feel alive. Again.
