Undisputed beauty of the city is often countered by ugliness of greed and corruption.
There are things I really like about Split – those are easy and most obvious ones, the five-senses things I can see, smell, hear: the sea, the salt in the air, the smell of pine trees on Marjan, the crickets’ song, the stone houses of the downtown, the triple horn-blasts of the ships leaving the harbour, the church bells tolling an invitation to a mass, the song sung along a guitar somewhere in the neighbourhood and another played by the retirees gathered around a bench in Matejuska, the casual conversation with strangers during the morning coffee, the din of the fish market, the song of an old man serenading the waitresses every morning at Bobis cafe at Prokurative, the scent of fritule in the afternoon air on Riva.
Then, for a balance, there are the other things – the stares of people who never learned it’s impolite to stare, the way the men walk dragging their feet as if always spoiling for a fight, and the way they dress all the same in shorts and flip-flops with a murse (man-purse) across shoulder mailman-like in the summer or worn-out baggy sweatpants and sweaters at all other seasons, despite the fact that their women are dressed like they just came off a fashion runway; the way they all – men and women – follow the same trend and wear the same style at the same season; the way they greet me with “bog”, a short-form greeting which I grew up using only with a very close friends and now can’t help but consider disrespectful and slightly rude coming from total strangers.
Things have changed in this country we chose to call home since last I lived here. Like everywhere, some changes were for the better, others not really so. There’s this refreshing frankness among people saying what they really mean, which is in equal measure a blessing and a curse, depending whether I wanted to hear it or not. There’s also that unabashed corruption and greed displayed so openly that it’s beyond shocking. Politicians are corrupt and they don’t even try to conceal it – former mayor of Split openly swindled many projects, from shopping centres to beaches and hotels, and shamelessly distributed them to members of his family. He bought – or tried to buy – votes by organizing gatherings for voters with free food and drink – usually a roasted lamb and a lot of free beer. Amazingly, despite his widely known crookedness, it almost worked! Luckily, he is also prone to bursts of aggressive profanities of the worst kind usually addressed to his opponents, and that didn’t quite work well in televised debates. Unfortunately, he still made it in the city council where his cronies and sychophants hold enough sway to keep him a major player, though his real place should be behind the bars. Such obvious examples are too many throughout the country, from the overblown ego of the prime minister unable to comprehend that he is supposed to serve the country and not the other way around, to the very bottom where the crook with a pocket knife slashes the tires of the tourists’ cars because he wants the spot for himself.
One of the things most painful to observe is the insane greed of everyone involved in tourism. Every business – from restaurants who are openly shooing away locals to free tables for the tourists, to tour operators, taxis, etc. who hike the prices a bit higher every season – tries to milk the visitors for every penny without giving them what they actually came for – an experience of real Croatian soul. By the time they realize we overcharged selling nothing but the sun and sea, the tourists will be gone. Already, they are grumbling about the too-high prices and the underwhelming experiences, the crowds and grumpy locals. What will happen when they stop coming to this country that sports tourism as the bedrock of its economy? Do we really have to lose it all before we understand what we have?
I love meeting foreign people who came to stay at our apartments. I love the look in their eyes when they first discover our city and its beauty. I want them to tell their friends all about it. I want them to go home full of positive impressions, and I want them to come back. To me it’s almost more important than the money they paid for their stay. How difficult is it to disseminate such attitude among local people here? I know for a fact that most of us are friendly and welcoming. Why can’t we show that face over the call of quick profit? Why can’t we be what I hope we still are deep down inside? Or, am I seriously mistaken about it? Is this short-sighted greed a one-way street from which there’s no way out?
