Member-only story
Why Croatia is My Happy Place
It’s all down to the women…
“You’re going to Croatia again?”
“I am. It’s my Happy Place.”
“Why?”
‘It’s the swimming, the backstreets, the pale stone buildings that turn to gold in the evenings. And the women who run the apartments, they’re so welcoming.”
My friend seems surprised I’m not concerned with ticking off countries, as it’s what everyone else seems obsessed with right now. I have no inclination to count the countries I’ve visited. I’m happier getting to know one or two of them in depth.
Croatia was my dad’s happy place. In their later years, my parents holidayed in what was then Yugoslavia, which reminded Dad of his homeland, out of bounds since it became the USSR after WW2. He’d make friends with the hotel waiters, able to understand the basics of a Slavic language.
My first time in Yugoslavia was in the 1980s, although I only passed through the country on the Acropolis Express from Salzburg to Greece. It was my first Interrail trip and I was nervous. The train had a reputation for Yugoslavian males giving a lot of unwanted attention to female travellers.
I was right to be uneasy.
Within 10 minutes, the young man sitting next to me began stroking my hair, and off…
