Week 4: Croatia (Zagreb, Split)
Things were a lot quieter in Croatia. My extroverted predisposition was scrambling to re-live the social highs of Budapest. I was already having withdrawals, and entering a new country at night only exacerbated my feelings of isolation. It didn’t help that my hostel was practically empty.
I spent my first day in the country exploring Zagreb, Croatia’s capital, where I visited the Museum of Broken Relationships (filled with artifacts of failed relationships paired with heart-wrenching stories) and a private art collection that prioritized quality over quantity. The museum boasted a meager 50 pieces, but included sketches by Picasso and paintings by George Braque. I went for a stroll through the city’s cathedral, farmers market, and botanical garden before heading to bed early to rest up for Plitvice Lakes National Park.
I slept through most of the four hour ride south, arriving at Plitvice Lakes around noon. I ate half an edible gifted to me by a friend in Budapest and took in the pristine autumnal landscape, pristine lakes, and paradisaical waterfalls. After completing the first half, I was off to Korenica. I stayed at Falling Lakes Hostel, which caters to nature enthusiasts making their rounds at the park or people just looking to get some rest between Budapest and Split. I met a guy from the UK who’s biking around the world for the next two years. It’d been a dream of his ever since he saw a documentary on BBC about some guy doing the same a decade a go.
I visited the lakes the next day with the biker and we chatted about our motivations to see the world. We split ways. He made haste to complete the half of Plitvice I had seen the day before. The forecast suggested thunderstorms, so I caught a bus back to the hostel and took it easy, striking up conversation with a politically progressive student from Pittsburgh named Alyssa on the way back.
The next morning, I was greeted by a wet dog outside the front door that proceeded to walk me to my bus stop. Apparently, it’s one of two that accompany travelers on their hikes and to their bus stops in exchange for small snacks. I wrapped up my blog posts and processed pictures on the bus. Each weekly update takes about 10 hours to complete, which can feel daunting, but it’s nice to have a low stakes space to refine my writing and share my travels with anyone who’s interested enough to read them. Hi Dad!
When the bus pulled through the tunnel overlooking Split, my jaw dropped. Large rock faces parted to reveal a picturesque beach town of clustered, stone buildings dating back to 305 CE. Seeing water after satiated my inner Californian after being landlocked for the past month. Hungry and exhausted, I headed towards my hostel.
There were two staff members smoking a joint in the hammocks out front and a woman named Roxanne making an intricate line drawing with a compass. Roxanne had just come from camping in Portugal and Spain, and spent time in an ashram centering herself under the guidance of a guru. She had gone to the ashram with her boyfriend, where they broke up and dealt with the fall out in complete silence. Since then, she had been selling art on the streets of Croatia to get by.
Somewhere around midnight, four dutch tourists arrived with a backpack full of beers and we all got acquainted. We exchanged the usual travel banter about locations, accents, and itineraries. Out of nowhere, one of them opened up about his battle with alcoholism. He shared how his health was starting to give; his heart palpating harder than ever a year ago, his weight increasing. He’s trying to drink less but thoroughly enjoys the social aspects of it. We had a healthy discussion about addiction and worked out some new approaches as to how he might balance or moderate his drinking.
Roxanne and I ended up sharing a room and continued talking until six in the morning like kids at a slumber party. I was surprised at how well we connected, sharing stories, insecurities we were fighting, photos, and poems. We fell asleep in each other’s arms. She would be flying home to Canada that evening. I spent the next day wandering the streets with Roxanne, a pair of sleep-deprived zombies, before sending her off the airport. I walked around the old town at night for the first time, the stone walls were lit up. I was in a fairy tale. I found a pub that used to be an old military store during roman times. It was an emotionally tumultuous night, dealing with the aftershock of falling in and out of love over the course of a day, made easier by cheap beer.
After 10 hours of sleep, the previous 24 with Roxanne felt like a dream. I wandered around on my own, getting a feel for some of the other neighborhoods until I worked up an appetite. I acquired a new lease on life after eating wild hare stew & gnocchi with creme brulee’d parmesan for lunch. Don’t fret foodies, I’m putting out a food post soon.
When I returned to the hostel, the staff was getting ready for a day at the beach. The sun’s reflection off the water was blinding. The temperature: perfect, given it was late October. We sunbathed at a bar on the coastline before I went off on my own to meditate on a beach further down the road. I took a quick dip in the Adriatic sea.
I wrapped up my last evening in Croatia getting dinner with the Dutch travelers and having a fun conversation about video game mechanics with a game developer from Germany. Your boy obviously had an emotionally draining week and wrote an emotionally draining blog post. Luckily, I would be nursed back to life in Mostar, Bosnia the next afternoon.
