Balkan Ghosts
The exact spot I sat in March of 2000 to bask in the Dalmatian sun on the walls of Dubrovnik
In my 20s, I spent more than two years in various parts of the Balkans. The idea of returning in my 40s filled me with both anticipation and anxiety. Anticipation because I was excited to share the magic of this part of the world with my family & reconnect with that part of my past.
I felt anxiety because I was afraid that it wouldn't live up to my stories, that my friends would have no interest in reconnecting, or that my hard-earned language skills would have totally atrophied.
The Pans to Zagreb flight (after a brief scare in Paris around COVID testing requirements) ended in a breathtaking view of the coastline that had both Paul and I bouncing in our seats.
Croatia did not disappoint. We were split Into two houses, with Theresa and I staying with friends who had come to visit us, while the Granos stayed with the kids in their own place (which had enough bedrooms for everyone to have their own room for the first time on the trip. Naturally two of the kids slept together in a twin bed). The driver who picked us up at the airport was patient with my slowly returning language, and the coastal views from the airport were a precursor to amazingness, though the nearly vertical roads tested the engine of our mini-bus, the gear-shifting skills of the diver, and our nerves in equal measure.
The Grano's continue to astound me with their resilience & flexibility. As we got them settled in to air (beautiful) spot t connected to the host, Maria, I flattered about thinking about food & getting around, and where they wud get breakfast. Bill stopped me, looked me in the eye + said, "Relax. he got this. Go have fun with your friends."
OK.
Our friends had plotted a set of local adventures, leaving us in the unusual (for us) position of passengers. Paro and Julie, who lived nearby, plotted trips to the winery owned by a cousin, a swimming hole frequented by Paro in his childhood, a restaurant dating back to Roman times, a traditional dance, and a concert by Paro at a waterfront restraurant.
All along the way, I was reminded of why I love this part of the world. The people take hospitality seriously, welcoming us warmly into their lives. The pace is human: respectful of agreements, but with an understanding of delays and unexpected circumstances. There’s a “don’t take it too seriously” vibe that can be infuriating if you’re used to the “people are productivity machines” of urban America, but is like a warm bath once you surrender to it.
My local language skills slowly scraped the rust off, and I found myself conversing reasonably with drivers, neighbors, waitresses, and random people we met along the way. That enabled me to hear the history of the places we stayed, the frustrations of the people about regional politics, and the life stories and aspirations of our hosts.
One of my favorite interactions was with Ivo, the Grano’s landlord, who worked in Germany, at first in an unsafe factory and later as a taxi driver. He built the place they stayed year by year, with what money he could (the whole region is full of half-built houses owned by people with similar ambitions). Now, as the tourism industry booms, it’s his retirement income and his daughter’s primary occupation. He gets to garden (he shared amazing plums with us) and lives on the lowest floor with his wife, on whom he dotes.
Another was with Paro, the musician boyfriend of Julie, our Louisvillian friend who has lived in Croatia for the last five years. Among many other conversations, Paro, having been the recipient of 100 business and professional ideas (how my entrepreneur friends show love and appreciation), said to us, “thanks. But I’m happy. I teach music. I play music. I have enough.” We were dumbfounded.
We reconnected with the kids and Granos for a day of Dubrovnik adventures. It was such a fun experience to engage with the kids in a place so special to me - and to see our 3 areas of history come to life: Medieval (Venetian), American/French Revolution (Austrian), and modern (Serb bombardment of the city). From the comfortable touristy enclave of Dubrovnik, we took a passenger ferry to the rural island of Sipan, where we stayed at a converted olive oil mill, uphill from a rural fishing village. It was beautiful, quiet, and gave us a chance to catch our breath.
We livened it up with a boat ride up the coast, stopping to swim and visit the medieval village of Korcula.
The rest of our time was spent in Croatia enjoying the company of our friends, eating amazing food, drinking fabulous local wine. The kids were in heaven, with six skilled parents who loved them and them as the only kids.
It was sad for us to leave, but I was also excited to take the leap to my home for several years…Bosnia.
