Split Me in Two, So I Can Stay

It's 10AM, my Airbnb host has come to wish me well and collect the keys, and we sit on the balcony in the cool sun. She tells me excitedly about Croatia's history in the World Cup. How they haven't won anything since '98 and that's why everyone was losing their minds at the Argentina game. I've never been much into sports, but the energy alone, the pride of the Croatian people, gets me going. I feel like I got my timing right, coming here as they advance. Spirits high.

"Good morning! How are you today?" My Uber driver asks as I sling my pack into the trunk of the car.
"Do you like Croatia people?" He asks me about five minutes into our drive.
"Yes," I respond, "they are kind."
"Oh!" He exclaims, happily. "Thank you! I am Croatia people!"
I can't help but laugh. Thanks for proving my point, Mr.Driver.

Split from the lookout on Marjan Hill

Split, Croatia. I love it here. Everyone said I would, but my tastes are so often at odds with other people's that I didn't hold out much hope. But Croatia in general...wow.
The Riva (their promenade) is shiny and new. Modern. With clean white walkways and benches along the seafront. At odds with the old, crumbling buildings two blocks in land. Dilapidated roofs. Terracotta so neglected you have to wonder if it was ever red. Stucco fallen away to reveal the brick beneath. I love these buildings. Just as I love the contrast they hold with the shiny, tourist front. They look like magic to me. Like the reality of a fairytale. A Grimm's Brothers version. No fairy godmother's here. Just the magic born of small moments. Everyday life.

Walls around the old town of Split

Diocletian's Palace in Split

I take a six hour walk. Through the city and into the protected lands of Majan. Everywhere I look in Croatia there are outdoor spaces to be used. Well kept. And what I love is just how used they are. It's 10 o'clock at night as I make my way back to the hostel and there are still joggers running through the park. Bicyclists. People playing tennis in the courts on the edge of the world. I wonder how many tennis balls are lost to the sea everyday. People playing soccer. Children screaming with delight. All in the middle of the forest. Which happens to be in the middle of the city. All locals, it seems, as I don't hear a word of English as I explore.
Life here just seems...good. People greet each other when they enter stores. They are kind. They are curious. I find myself looking at foreigners living here, and thinking...how do you do it? Can I do it?

Views from my walk around Marjan

A local I spoke to on the bus last week told me that half a million young people flooded out of Croatia in recent years in search of better jobs. He was one of them. He said the corruption in the government makes it hard to earn any type of money here. That he had a good job in Croatia, and now he has an average job in Ireland and he makes 4x as much, doing nothing. This makes me sad. I wonder if this is why so many foreigners are able to stay here and work.

I make my way along the promenade and down onto the beach, following the twists and turns of nature, as sunset approaches. I'm the only fish swimming up stream. The only person walking this direction as hordes flood the other way, sunburned and salt saturated.
Ever wonder, when you go against the grain, if they know something you don't or if you're the one with the secret knowledge? I don't let this resistance throw me off. I'm on a mission.
At the hostel I asked the receptionist for advice.. "I read about a small beach at the tip of this island park that is quiet and usually not busy...can you tell me about that?"
"Oh, you read about that, did you?" Her eyebrows shoot up. "I see..."
Cats out of the bag I guess. Whoops.
She shows me on a map where I need to be and tells me it's the perfect sunset spot. So I set off.
This is how I accidentally take a six mile walk without realizing what I'm signing up for, but the view of the sunset from my own private beach is well worth it and the walk is lovely.
Turns out, I was the one with the secret after all.
Remember, the crowd doesn't always know best.

Making my way through the long parking lot near my hostel, winding around cars parked at awkward angles, a woman leans across her passenger seat and calls out to me in Croatian. I don't catch a single word, but the exasperation of her voice and the position of her car make it pretty clear what she needs. I smile, look at her front bumper, and hold my hands up, measuring distance between them. Motion her forward slowly. Hold my hand up telling her to stop.
She calls something else in Croatian through the open window and I can practically hear it in English.
"These idiots! Why would you park so close?!"
I chuckle and shake my head in agreement. When we've finally maneuvered her into an optimum angle I speak for the first time, "Okay, you should be good!" I call out, with a small thumbs up.
"Oh!" She switches immediately to English. "I'm so sorry, I thought you were Croatian!"
She seems embarrassed, but I wave it off.
"No problem at all, have a good day!"
Success! I have been mistaken for Croatian by a Croatian! It's silly, I know, but some part of me is relieved that maybe not all of the locals see me as another tourist taking up space. And now that I think about it...it's been a while since anyone has tried to hand me a flyer or sell me on their tour. I see these sales people standing on corners and at kiosks, luring in visitors, but they just nod to me. Small victories.
I love the people here. I love the atmosphere.

Killing it in the world cup. Let's go Hrvatska!! (Did you know that Hrvatska is Croatia in Croatian? Not sure why we call them something completely different then they call themselves.)

I cave and pay for a tour of Krka National Park. Typically I'd prefer to do these things on my own. Partially to save money, partially to have a more authentic experience. However, this time, I meet the tour guide the day before, as she works for the hostel. She's got an oversized pink button down shirt on, with matching pink platform shoes, and a unicorn pin in her hat. Despite the platforms, I still tower above her in my bare feet. She's like a living barbie doll, with the mouth of a sailor, and I immediately love her.
I do the math for getting to Krka on my own with the bus and realize it's only a few euros more to go with her, and I imagine, with Anna, I will have a much more exciting experience. Not to mention she will pick us up and drop us off at the hostel. Door to door service is hard to beat.
Screw it, I can pay for a tour.
No regrets on this decision.
Krka is gorgeous, and the 20 minute boat ride along the river into the center of the park is a beautiful way to see it. Though in high season, it's swarming with tourists, and I find myself dodging selfie sticks and crying children like it's some sort of video game.
Despite this, I'm able to find a quiet place to wade in the icy cold, crystal clear waters, and spend a decent portion of my time in the park doing this.
Back in the van, the 8 of us (Anna the guide included) jam to hits from the 80's and 90's. A-ha has united countries on this beautiful day. Take on me. You got it.

At our second stop, a secret beach revealed to us in good faith, I fall behind the group as we journey to the beach, intrigued by the huge stone wall dissecting the hill. I'm told it was built during the Turkish occupation of Croatia in order to protect the main land from invasions via the sea. Later it was used to quarantine plague victims from the rest of the population.
I have to climb it.
I must.
So I run to catch up, leave my stuff on the beach with the group, and scramble up the rocky hill to the base of the wall.
I haven't climbed in months, and the wind is violent up here, threatening to knock me over even when I'm flat on my feet. I get a few feet up when a gust comes which has me questioning if I can hold on tight enough, and a small burst of reality comes through my head. I'm out of practice...I have no rope should I actually lose my grip...the ground below me is nothing but jagged rock...I haven't specified to anyone where I'm going... I cling to the wall through the gusts of wind, and let these thoughts run in my head. But the thought that wins is much simpler than the rest of them.
"I know I can do this."
So I find the next hand hold and hoist myself another foot up. Fear is good for you, I tell myself and suddenly I'm at the top of the wall, and the view from there does not disappoint. Three hundred and 60 degrees of beautiful.
Everything I have ever wanted...is on the other side of fear.

Back on the beach, high from my endeavors, I share a beer and a laugh with the other people from the tour, floating on my unicorn floaty, sure to suspend myself far above the many sea urchins which saturate the ocean floor.
A fine day, indeed.

Vlady, one of the hostel staff, spends an hour explaining to me exactly which buses to take and which route is best for a hike I'm interested in doing out of town. He finishes the lesson and turns to me, "Number one rule of the mountain, take your cell phone in case something happens up there."
"I don't have a cell phone," I respond immediately.
His face falls.
"Are you going alone?"
"Well, yeah...I'm traveling alone..."
He puts his hand to his face and groans, and I have to suppress a laugh at this caricature of worry.
"Okay...I can tell you have something in your head, so if you say you can do it, I believe you. But god, just please be safe...this mountain took two experienced hikers last year, and just..." he trails off, head in hand again.

Vlady's concern and my desire for an easy day eventually converge and I end up scraping the idea. But I'd still like to get out.
Finn, the volunteer at the hostel, has been in Split three months and hasn't done much exploring, so we pair up and go for a slightly less deadly hike. The last 20 minutes of which is scrambling over and along boulders on the edge of the sea. The perfect challenge for my tastes.
We are rewarded at the end by a lovely view, gorgeous seaside, and huge boulders protruding from the water, perfect for leaping off of.

I climb to the top of one of these rocks, and suddenly I'm flooded with fear. The angle of the edge means I have to push off far or risk hitting my back on the ridge. I don't trust my legs to propel me far enough and I'm frozen for a minute.
"Hey, there's a jelly fish right there," I finally realize and say as I'm staring at the water below.
"There's no jelly fish in this water."
"Tell that to the one below us!" I laugh.
The adrenaline in my body has started to make my hands tremble and I feel it's now or never.
"Fear is good for you, right?" I say aloud.
"Absolutely," Finn answers immediately, and I push off hard to avoid both the rock and the tendrils of the jelly.
Everything I want...other side of fear.

Our path to heaven

A warning to ye who enter here! Sea Urchins abound!

On my last night in Split I go out dancing with two brothers from California, and they get down just as hard as me. What a relief! A group of lads approaches us and starts talking to one of them, who laughs and smiles and continues to dance. One of the strangers leans in again and says something, and the whole demeanor suddenly changes. Ian, the older brother, pushes the guy away and turns his back on him, his dancing suddenly aggressive. 

Shane and I look at each other.
"What just happen?" Shane calls out.
"They're Trump supporters," he responds, shaking his head.
We all turn away.
I'm sad for my country.
That this has happened.
And that we are so divided by it.

Finn and I sit on the terrace overlooking the city and the sea on my last morning. The day is bright and clear, and I can see the blue water sparkling in the distance.
"Oh man," I sigh, "I don't want to leave..."
'Well, too bad," Finn replies in an abrupt manner, "because you have to."
I've noticed over these four days that he replies often in this manner to sentiments like this. Things that start with "I wish"... as if he has no time for them.
At first I thought it was a little strange, to shut wishes down so quickly. I felt he was missing the point. But on this morning, sipping my coffee, I know that I'm the one who's been missing it.
These statements are not useful or helpful...if you want something, don't sit around thinking about how you wish it could happen...either make it happen, or put your energy into something more useful.
I created this life I'm living...if I wish something were different, that's no one's problem but my own. I think we can all say the same to some extent.
So I watch the sea, sip my coffee, and tell myself to suck it up and own responsibility for my  world. It's actually a relief, to know I hold the reigns.
Time to take full responsibility. 
Time to move on to the next stop.
Time to have the next adventure!