Editors note: Weirdly, a pletheora of images (assummed) exist from this trip saved on a hard drive (along with millions of images tied to my past), but the dates contained from this trip have simply vanished in smoke. Luckily, I ripped some from my instagram page, but they lack the true contribution and, well, imagery, of the story. Regardless, please still enjoy the story without the intended graphic accompanyment.
When I was writing the original void post, a wholesome memory streaked itself across my periphery like a comet, and I launched into a whole musing about it. Unfortunately I found the story consuming the majority of the post, creating quite the tangential departure from my initial thoughts. Instead of scraping the story, I decided a ‘part deux’ would be in order.
In the previous post, I waxed poetic about how occasionally reminding myself about my place in the universe has always made profound impacts on my mental health (especially when I find myself in displacement). Maybe, in one way or another, it helped you, dear reader, discover how one can feel so small in the gigantic scheme of things (aka the universe), and the uncomfortable sense of relief one can feel in this revelation.
My fondest memory of encountering this reverent submergence was with one of my best friends back in 2017, as we were vacationing in Croatia. As I was still living in Ukraine at the time, he flew in from Portland to spend a week gallivanting together, in what I had described to him (and seemingly persuaded) as one of the most gorgeous, relaxing countries I had ever had the pleasure of stepping foot in. The Plitvice Lakes were a recommended stop-off during our journey, and having never visited the national park my first time around in Croatia, the visit felt like a necessity.
The morning of our departure had already felt drawn out. My head was still on the rocks from drinking with some Croatian brewer’s the night prior, and my friend was experiencing the perils of jet-lag from flying halfway across the globe. Scanning for empty rows as we boarded our bus, we noticed the only two left were placed right smack up front, next to the bus driver. Exchanging raised eyebrows and looks of slight panic, we reluctantly took our seats, unaware of what was in store for us.
It wasn’t soon before long that we realized we had the best seats on the whole damn bus. The front window was unobstructed from any bobbing heads, offering sweeping views of the vast Croatian countryside, its topography & climate seemingly changing every minute before our very eyes. Our mouths must have been agape in pure indulgence, the bus driver taking notice of our ceaseless neck craning. As I watched the driver pull out his phone, he quickly began typing a message into his translation app, grabbing my attention as he finished. As I curiously drew the phone from his hands, the phrase “I live in the most beautiful country in the world” appeared in bold black letters across the screen. Our eyes lit up, nodding in exuberant agreement. The memory still sends elated shivers down my spine, writing about it now.
Our enthusiasm and high from the bus journey was quickly deflated upon arriving at the Plitvice Lake bus station. A few minutes before being dropped off, I received a message from our Airbnb host, alerting us she had accidentally double booked our place - but not to fret! She had found a replacement room in a friend’s Airbnb. We stepped off the bus ravenous with hunger after the 5 hour journey, but filled with skepticism, scanning the horizon for our host. We found her leaning against a car, smoking a cigarette, patiently waiting for our arrival. Profusely apologizing for the mix-up, she reassured us we would love our new location, exclaiming it would be even better than our original stay. Our original room was primely located; close to the entrance of the park, and surrounded by a myriad of local shops & restaurants.
Driving further away from what seemed like the ‘civilization’ part of the Plitvice Lakes, we began to worry about this mix up. As we made pleasantries with our host along the drive, we casually snuck in comments on our concerningly growing appetite. She gestured to a few hotels with restaurants as we passed in the car, indicating she would be more than happy to drop us off after we unloaded our belongings. Similar to the bus situation earlier though, our worries began to shake off the further we drove along, as lush cascading hillsides and sneaking views of the lakes permeated our eyes. Knowing we’d be filling our bellies soon, helped as well.
Our host wasn’t wrong; the house was an adorable Scandinavian farmhouse style home, tucked away on a winding side street off a lightly trafficked Plitvice highway. And lucky for us, the southern part of the park was only a few minutes walk away. We greeted the owner of the home with a Croatian hello (her English was shaky), and were led upstairs. Our room was booming with natural light, the second story windows giving us a decadent view of a vibrant backyard, with a patio bench nestled near the boundary line. Similar to the bus driver earlier, we (hopefully) elated our enthusiasm about the beauty of the home to the owner through open gesturing and the cadence in our voices.
As the owner left us to enjoy the view, she ushered to a bottle of Croatian red wine standing mighty tall on the table near the beds, a thank you card leaning against it. The bottle stared us down. We quietly debated whether to uncork the wine and pour ourselves a glass prior to dinner, wanting to take a tad of the edge off of a hectic day. As much as we pined for nestling into our room, drained from travel, our insatiable hunger prevailed. Also remembering we were keeping our host waiting, we decided to savor the bottle upon our return.
By the time we were saddled up, riding in our host’s car to the hotel restaurant she recommended, the sun was beginning to dip into the adjacent hillsides. As the golden light streamed across our faces, the peaks beginning to cast long shadows against the road, I began to take full notice of the highway we were driving along. Not only was the road quite winding, fluctuating in elevation, and steep curving in nature, but there was a lack of actual sidewalk. At this moment, panic began to rear its face once again - after dinner, we would be walking back in the darkness along this highway. Nothing but a crude metal guardrail (in most places), with a thin ‘desire’ path to walk along, was all but keeping us from a tragic fall down the steep glunches to our deaths. My friend was on the same wavelength, leaning over to whisper if I was memorizing the road back to the house. Without hesitation, I immediately asked our host how we could return from the restaurant, a glimmer of wishful thinking she might stick long enough around to give our (finally) full sorry butts a ride back. With a cheerful demeanor, she reassured us we would have no issue hailing a taxi from the restaurant.
While her confidence was, of course, encouraging, the two of us were putting a lot of faith in someone who had double booked us. Without many options left, my eyes continued to scan the roads as we drove, prepared to accept whatever fate may throw our way.
The dinner was beyond exceptional. In traditional European style, the service was stereotypically sub-par. Upon our arrival, the wait staff seemed a bit confused as to what these two Americans were doing in their restaurant, far from the tourist center of the park (and so near to closing time). The restaurant was a relic of a bygone era, a lodge decorated in warm woods from floor to the heavens (though we barely focused on the aesthetic). Once seated, we discussed our return journey, knowing full well we would have to ask the staff to call a cab for us. During our attempts to shake the feeling of worry, and a hint of self-consciousness, the menus were plopped down in front of us. Scouring the menus, the previous feelings immediately dwindled.
We ordered with reckless abandon, inquiring like hungry wolves about the favorites of the server, saying yes to everything they recommended. Reminiscing about it now, I’m sure they could see us salivating profusely. We waited patiently for our food to arrive - seconds feeling like lifetimes - the supplementary bread demolished upon hitting the table. Maybe the beast of our hunger created quite the bias, but the leg of lamb I ordered, submerged in a vegetable filled broth is, still to this day, one of the best meals I’ve ever had the pleasure of consuming.
At the time, the aftermath felt surreal. We were uncomfortably full, the glass steins encrusted with the ethereal foam of consumed beers, and the plates still plentiful with food from us overordering. Our eyes were obviously bigger than our stomachs, but that didn’t matter. We were in heaven.
The feeling was unfortunately fleeting. As our young server brought over the check, we nervously inquired about a taxi ride back home. With snide indifference, he informed us all of the taxis were gone from the restaurant by now. Having seen the look of sheer panic fall across our faces, our server (begrudgingly) offered to call a taxi service for us. After taking down the address to our Airbnb, he told us to stay seated for a moment, leaving us to ponder (and panic) about what would happen next. Once again, waiting felt like a lifetime, as we fearfully imagined ourselves having to walk along the side of the highway in pitch black.
Our server returned, throwing a classic American idiom our way in broken English - “Well, I have some bad news, and I have good news!”. More than likely, I let out a concise, nervous “Ha!”, as we waited patiently for the server to resume delivering our fate. “The bad news is, no taxis will come here tonight. We are in a small village, and they will not come all this way at this time.” “…And the good news?” one of us must have replied. The server’s facial expression turned to nervousness, and maybe a tinge of embarrassment. “The good news is I will give you a ride back to where you are staying.” The server began to nervously laugh finishing his news, but more presumably after seeing our eyes widen, with looks of disbelief growing across our faces. The last thing either of us had imagined was one of the restaurant employees taking us home. Hey, we gladly accepted the win.
While I can hear your remarks of concern, don’t worry, dear reader, we arrived safely back at our Airbnb. The notion we were ever in any danger never occurred to either of us at the time. We were desperate, obviously, and after having a few beers in us, we could be persuaded to do just about anything. We waited around the restaurant, post-closing, for the server to finish up his occupational duties. He was easily in his late teens to early 20s, and thus, trustworthy in our slightly hazy opinion, especially in the idea we could ‘connect’ with him (Note: Unfortunately, I can’t for the life of me remember his name).With a sense of relief washing over us, we quipped to each other about how the restaurant staff saw us as two stereotypical ‘dumb Americans’. Funny enough, there was solace to be found in our blunders.
The restaurant didn’t offer much for natural light, focusing more on soft lit chandeliers and sconces throughout the building, complimentary to the wood. It wasn’t until we were strolling out the front entrance, to the server’s car, did we realize how immensely dark the day had become. Out there, street lights were non-existent, and the gloaming now a mere sliver. Walking back in the pitch black would have been a ruinous thought.
We were finally on our way home, meandering the roads in his old car. The glow of the dashboard illuminated our faces, and the beams from the headlights were the only eyes for what seemed like miles. The minute we began to profusely thank him, he waved his hand away effortlessly, replying it was no problem at all. We eased into the ride, responding to his myriad questions about ourselves, where we were from, what we did, etc. My favorite was his curiosity with the expansive metropolitan American cities, like NYC or LA; asking if we had ever been, lived there, our opinions. Living in Ukraine, this question cropped up quite frequently, many people always inquiring if the reality of these cities lived up to the romanticism shown through the media. Typically, disappointment ended the conversation as soon as they learned you couldn’t afford a 1250 sq ft apartment in NYC on a barista’s budget (A la the show Friends).
After the pleasantries, the sound of the road and the dead of night commanded a silence over us. From the passenger side, I gazed up through the window, in awe at the amount of speckled dots occupying the sky. Breaking the quiet, our server asked if we wanted to see his hometown, a short scenic detour from our final destination. Without hesitation, we delightfully agreed.
Despite the lack of visibility surrounding us, the server played tour guide as he drove leisurely through a seemingly small village; his home. As we attempted to make out shapes through the dark, our turn came to exchange questions about himself, his home, the future, the whole cornucopia of it all. My memory is fuzzy in recollecting, but he had been working at the restaurant the majority of his life, planning on attending college at some point in the near future. One of us asked if he had ever given thought to living outside of Croatia, outside his hometown. I’ll never forget, though, his great proclamation of the encapsulating beauty of Croatia, and how he could never leave a place such as this. Gleeful remnants of the bus driver from the following morning filled my mind.
Without realizing, we had reached our Airbnb. Our server (now driver) announced our sudden arrival, parking adjacent to the house, the headlights pointed into the vast abyss of the park. We had been so entranced by the entire journey, we didn’t realize the darkness had cuddled us into a time vacuum. Once again, we profusely thanked the server for seriously saving our skin. I insisted we pay him, and while at first he graciously refused, we acknowledged we would still be walking along the stretch of highway back here if it wasn’t for him (if not, presumably, extremely lost). After a bunch of No-way-we-insist-please-take-its, he finally accepted 100 kuna (~$15), and wished us well on the remainder of our vacation. It’s still one of the best ‘taxi’ rides I’ve ever spent money on.
Watching his tail lights fade into the resounding darkness, my friend and I confided to each other that despite our complete spell of exhaustion, there was a sense of exhilaration from the car journey; and making a safe return. Quietly making our way to the room, the visions of sleep creeping closer into our minds, the bottle of Croatian red wine peaked proudly into our view. We paused at the table, peered down at the bottle, looked out the window, and then at each other. We were on the same wavelength once again. Uncorking the bottle of wine - forgoing glasses - we tip-toed back outside.
Setting foot in the backyard was like plunging through a portal into another dimension. All at once the great expanse of the night sky whooshed into view, opening up before our eyes. The wooden picnic bench at the end of the yard beckoned us, as though naturally put in place for this exact affair. The only light that night were the stars guiding our way. Laying down on the bench, the rough wood against our entire backsides, we felt the stress and chaos accumulated thus far immediately start to release. We simultaneously let out audible sighs, and upon opening our eyes, they slowly turned into whispered holy shits. By now our eyesight had fully adjusted to the rich darkness, and we were stunned by what we were experiencing. Miles of beacons overflowed above us. We could clearly make out the Milky Way, attempting to recall the last time I had seen it. The weight of the universe left us completely floored and without words. When you’re gazing at the stars, you’re peering back in time (literally)… And it’s quite impossible not to find yourself lost in its eyes.
All we could hear in the darkness was distant exotic birdsong, and the rustling of trees nearby. Combined with the entire galaxy thrust in front of us (and exhaustion), the feeling was hypnotic. We sat in silence for quite some time, exchanging swigs of the wine, pondering our existence in the cosmic theater before us. This may sound quite absurd, but the feeling was though everything that was, and will be, lead to this moment in time, as though catered specifically for us.
At some point, the silence was broken after one of us chuckled over how we should have asked the server/driver for weed (We had attempted many times to acquire some throughout the trip, but to no avail. We were almost caught by the police, too, but the story is for another time). We were released from the hypnotic spell of cosmos, but the feeling of being insignificantly small still lingered.
We ran through the serpentine nature of the day, pausing every so often to embrace the fierceness still before us. After the final drips of the bottle of Croatian wine were consumed, we decided to call it night. Trudging ourselves back inside, I snuck peeks of the night sky from the bedroom window as we prepared for bed. Knowing full well we needed to rest up for our day of vigorous hiking the next morning, there was a momentous feeling as though the stars provided the rest & energy we needed.
The universe was immaculate the whole time in Croatia, especially on that day. It provided such profound proof of how absurd the world, and life, truly can be. Even now, my friend and I mention how we haven’t experienced anything quite like that night, and how we should return as soon as possible.
Talk soon, Cornelius
PS: While compiling/writing this post, I enjoyed the companionship of the musician Alabastar dePlume (more specifically, the album To Cy & Lee), this article about how excessive noise might actually be damaging to your overall health, and the word ‘pareidolia’ (the tendency to see a specific pattern or meaningful images in random stimulus - like this).
