The 5 things I learned about myself in Croatia.

1. I need to chill.

To quote my fellow bus passenger 8 hours into a 6 hour trip – “Welcome to Croatia. No one gives a f@#k about anything here.”  Followed by “- it’s awesome”.  He was right. Not caring about time made for longer, more glorious days. It took my eyes from my phone to the window where I was able to capture two extra hours of the most beautiful coastline I’ve ever seen. Waiters didn’t rush us at restaurants – ‘cause they too “didn’t give a f@#k” – so we always lingered.  We ate more, drank more – it was glorious. I’m still trying to channel this level of ‘chill’ back at home. I’ll let you know how that goes.

2. I love meat.

Vegan friends please skip to #3.

Beautiful salads were on the menu in Croatia. I know this because I noticed them on the tables of other restaurant patrons, and every family member had a massive garden– but I was a maniac about all of the meat dishes and didn’t sample anything else.  My inner Croat couldn’t get passed the cevapi (the royal cousin of hamburger) and Janjetina – pronounced Yanye-tina which sounds kinder than ‘lamb’, especially since I liked it roasted on a spit, perfectly salted, served with green onions and bread.  A-MAZE-ING.

Then there was all the cured meats – sausages, bacon – in endless supply.

I’m working on a theory that the 5 pounds I gained isn’t actually ‘fat’ because the meat was so lean.  I’m clearly ridiculous.

3. I’m ridiculous.

It took me 3 beach days – in two different Croatian cities- to realize I was the only person in a tankini.  Looking back, I think I was getting some eye rolls early on, but at the time I assumed they were just jealous of my ankle length sarong.

But on that third day, I realized I was the only moron covering herself.  Men were in speedos and all the gals were in bikinis.  Itty bitty bikinis –  from toddlers to Bakas (Croatian for Grandma). That third day was highlighted by a 90+ Baba (another name for Grandma) snickering at my head to toe coverage.  Mine was literally the ONLY belly button covered both at the beach AND pool that day.

Baba’s disdain gave me the courage to chill (see #1) like a Croatian, drop my wrap and enjoy the Adriatic with some freedom. Not giving a crap how I looked really did amp up the pleasure in my experience.  If you’re out there Ana or Marica (I figure that’s her name since 90% of Croatian gals of that generation are one or the other) – thank you.

4. Heritage matters.

I am a very proud Canadian.  My pride comes from my parents who were welcomed to Canada years ago.  As a first generation Canadian I was taught to appreciate my birthplace and be thankful for my endless opportunities.  Canada is without a doubt the best country in the world.

But being in Croatia, I felt a deep connection with the country that housed my ancestors. Music that has been played for generations, food created in the most challenging of times-  filled with flavour, love – and served the same way generations later.

Hearing the language spoken by my father that I adore, standing in the streets he played, smoked, got shot (at age 4 – that’s another story!), I felt I belonged there.  Maybe it’s my age, but knowing and experiencing the seeds of what started you as a human, the fragments of your DNA, really changed me. I’m not exactly certain how  – I’ll need to eat some more cevapi and drink some more vino (with soda water … what?!) to really ponder it.

5. I’m a miracle.

Two people, likely strangers, need to meet, hopefully fall in love, and then with some luck make a baby.  These two people usually go to school together, or cross paths in a small town, or are perhaps introduced by friends.

Standing in my dad’s humble village of Brajakovo Brdo (right on! Named after us!) in the middle of Croatia, I was absolutely struck by the sheer geography of it all.  That my dad would leave at age 17, and make his way to a small city in Canada. My mom, born in Athens of Armenian descent, would be raised in Argentina, then leave for Canada as a young adult.  Years later, these two would end up pumping gas at exactly the same time, at an A&W in Windsor, Ontario, Canada.  These same two would then have 3 children and build a life together.

I’m usually pretty self-critical, but even I can’t deny that my mere existence is a miracle.  Just try to disagree.

It’s safe to say I learned much, much more on this trip.  Like – I enjoy travelling with my son, that same son is mortified by my every action, I can’t drink beer (sorry Brett Kavanaugh), and I can love family that I’ve never met before.
I’ll be back soon Croatia. Start stocking up on meat!