Ice Cream Mustache Smiles in the Adriatic Water Kingdom

Reclined on a bamboo chair under a shady hut gazing out into the turquoise sparkling water watching the people passing around water polo balls, snorkeling around coral reefs, and way back in the distance, barbequing fresh fish on their massive boats and I think to myself, wow is me, I really have a rough life. Completely by myself except for Oqujisko Pivo to accompany my beer thirst and so incredibly happy. Alone, but in a complete state of peace, feeling at ease with the calmness that here I am in the far off island of Lopud on the Adriatic Coast of southern Croatia without the security of my fellow friends back in Barcelona and the U.S. or the familiar comfort of home, and I could not be bothered. CHILLIN in the most tranquil island I have ever laid foot on with mountains in the distance that one can endlessly hike around while taking in all the rich green forestry. The mysterious paths that I wandered through only to discover this beautiful serene beach at the end of the trail. JAMMIN out to Damian Marley’s “Jam Rock” while hearing the yackity chirping of birds and happy families joyfully chattering in Croatian, which sounds like a mixture of a Slavic and Italian tongue flowing in and out of my ears. I melt into Alex Garland’s world of The Beach which takes me on a journey throughout the treasures of southern Thailand in which I will soon become a part of on my trip scheduled just a few weeks away. I mean here I am reading about the south east Asian jewels that I will soon venture out to and at this very moment, I am in my own little Adriatic jewel. Its almost unreal thinking this is actually my life! I immerse myself in foreign lands not only because of the craving that kicks in to seek adventure and the unknown, but also the desire to immerse myself in other peoples ways of thinking outside the Western world. A constant eager student needing to learn about how others live and why. The desire to not fly through the world only floating on the surface of just bits and pieces like a typical Cantiki tourist wrapped tightly in a bubble instead of diving all the way down under into the world.
So I flew out to Dubrovnik solo with no accommodation pre arranged figuring all will work out, it always does. Should I be getting some kind of brownie button for venturing out on my own? That would be a big fat no considering by no means am I unique when I see the majority of the expats I have become acquainted with exploring the world way before the average American even decided to get a passport. Nevertheless, for me this was a good test to asses how I may indeed get on when going to Asia since I have decided to extend my stay after Lily leaves Bangkok. Might as well test the water for a few days on my own to see how my clumsy no sense of direction retarded ass manages before I am thrown into Vietnam Cambodia and Laos on my own. Speaking of navigation skills, as usual, totally lost the other day looking for the hostel with two huge backpacks hiking up hilly streets, a kind woman decided to not only point me in the right direction but walk me to my hostel. Seeing me dripping in sweat from the sweltering heat she must of taken pity on me even though I was as happy as a pig in shit admiring the beautiful sea all around me. In addition, since she owns a private home that she rents rooms out of, she quickly invited me to come stay with her tomorrow instead of remaining at the hostel. To my delight after being bunked up with four other people in a stuffy hostel, getting no sleep, and having to wake up super early to go search for a functioning phone to call a potential employer all the way in Sydney, I was thrilled to move my stuff over to the Francesca’s home. We communicated through symbols and writing on paper on how long I would stay, rate, etc. since I can’t speak a lick of Croatian and her English was not much better. This was my first encounter with the absolutely wonderful Croatian people. They are so friendly and welcoming but not in an outgoing cheery Italian way. They have their own unique subtle way which I love! The first to smile at you and point you in the right direction when lost. The sun baked ice cream mustache smiles from the children makes your heart melt. Francesca’s two girls in particular, Maria and Mahita, are always eating ice cream and playing on their roof top terrace, which has a stunning view at night of the outskirts of Dubrovnik. These homes perched high on the mountain tops light up like a million stars across the sky at night fall. Her husband reminds me of a younger version of the father in My Big Fat Greek Wedding. My first encounter with him was when I was unpacking my bag and he barged in singing some Croatian song and with a hearty smile and arms raised up shouts out, “Vell hello, and velcome to my house.”
Julie arrived today and I was so incredibly happy to see my long lost teaching buddy from Prague. From crazy drunken nights in underground clubs in Prague to now together exploring one of the most beautiful places in the world. We excitedly dropped off her stuff and headed for the Old Town. While entering this walled fortress we felt like we were literally entering a magical water kingdom. The white washed marble floors glisten like someone just polished them by hand. The walls around the fortress stand so high that they seem to be in a height competition with the surrounding mountains. The Venetian architecture is evident everywhere from many years of Italian invasions. Everything from the arches along the buildings to the churches are masterfully intricate and detailed that I could have spent hours photographing just one arch or fountain. The mixture of Italian, Greek, and Slavic influence is enriching. We wandered up these steps to get a panoramic view of the city and Adriatic sea. The mixture of colors from the bright red tiled roofs, polished white stone fortress, piercing marine blue sea, and surrounding ever green mountains are remarkable. After strolling through the neighborhoods admiring the locals relaxing with a cold drink in hand on their terraces and hanging up laundry on lines and we decided it was time to take a plunge in the water. Remembering the locals playing water polo along the castle walls I was hopeful they would be playing right now. I was thrilled to discover how popular water polo is in Croatia. You should have seen me totally in awe when I was wondering around by myself the first day seeing at every cove and bay area people playing polo in the freaking Adriatic sea! I was so tempted to just throw aside my belongings which included my passport money camera etc. and jump in to play that I had to contain myself. I felt like a kid in time out watching from a corner all the kids playing on the jungle gym. Not that teachers ever had to put me in time out or anything because I was a perfect angel and all. Okay there was that one time that I accidentally gave Johnnie a concussion by the raquet ball courts but that was one time people!
As soon as we made it to the water Julie and I threw on our suits and jumped in the inviting refreshingly cool water. I had my goggles on so I could see all the beautiful rocks piled up along the seabed and schools of fishes happily swimming all around me. I decided to go for a long swim outside of the bay and into the sea. Only thing I had to worry about was not to get plowed into by a big boat zooming by. I don’t exactly have a good record of avoiding large fast moving objects. The sea keeps you so buoyant due to the high salt content so I could just effortlessly float on my back if I were to tire. As I reached the deepest part of the sea the colors shifted from hues of green and turquoise to royal blue. The sun was shooting right through the top down to the endless bottom creating this golden shooting rainbow effect. As I swam at a steady pace my mind started drifting off to childhood memories of when I used to pretend I was Ariel in the Little Mermaid in the neighbors pool. I would spin around as fast as I could in circles like a mermaid singing, “Out of this world” under the water. Although in reality I probably looked like a lunatic flopping around having bodily convulsions while singing at a high pitched squeal, nevertheless, I was so in my own la la land and could not have a care in the outside world while I was in my own little underwater mermaid world. Not even after being in the pool for hours on end could my own mother drag me out of the pool except when she bribed me with chocolate ice cream. When she would come to the edge of the pool yelling at me to get out I would ignore her by repeatedly diving as deep as I could under and refuse to come up longer then a few seconds so I could catch my breath. When I would resurface to see her unimpressed with my mermaid skills I would gleefully shout, ‘Mom what are you going to do come get me. Ha ha you can’ even swim!’ Up until this point I can’t remember the last time I was completely at ease like this surrounded with my own thoughts. Just thinking for a few minutes about those few minutes back in my childhood when I had no worries and could let my imagination run wild made me feel at this present state so incredibly happy. I mean here I am pretending I am a mermaid in the Adriatic Sea swimming alongside a magnificent fortress with gorgeous Croatian men playing water polo off in the distance. Umm, have I died and gone to heaven. If so PRAISE THE LORD AND THANK YOU JESUS!
Speaking of gorgeous Croatian water polo players, when I came back from mermaid land and had Ursula turn my fins back into normal legs, I just couldn’t help myself to a little water polo delight. Julie busting up with camera in hand on the rocks watched me casually meander over to the men. At first I play it cool and am ball girl, meaning if one of them shoot over the cage, I casually swim over to the stray ball and throw it back in. Within about ten minutes I flirtatiously smile at two of the younger rookies passing and ask to pass with them. By the look on one of their faces I could tell I took him by surprise but by his boyish grin it was evident he was definitely going to pass with me. So here I am, two years of not even laying my finger tips on a ball let alone attempting to play and I am full on effortlessly passing in a rocky sea. After a bit, the two boys decide to take a break and tell me the men shooting at the cage are their main players so they weren’t really allowed to shoot with them at this time. HA! Screw that! I was on a roll and once the ball was in my hand, I just couldn’t resist the urge to do what I love most, shoot! So I playfully swim over to the men and a few of them say something to me in Croatian. Of course, it sounds like haba daba zchech bch and I don’t know what that means but it sounded hot! One of them is practicing the few words he knows like, “Very good” “Hullo” “You strong, yes.” I quickly waste no time and ask without hesitation if I can practice shooting with them and in unison like two bobble heads nodding up and down they say yes. One of them however seemed a little distant and quite possibly irritated that a female was going to attempt to indulge in a “mans” sport. Either way, round in a circle we go shooting at the Neanderthal goalie. So here was the moment I am probably going to make a total ass out of myself and demonstrate how out of shape I really am. Ball my way, egg beater up high, two quick pump fakes, rotate right shoulder, and bam, in flies a cross cage high corner shot. One guy, come to find out later is named Marco, smiles at me saying, “Good shot.” I think to myself hopefully this was not my one and only lucky shot because people are definitely looking now. Next shot, jump up, no fake, goalie predicting another cross cage shot, he is positioned too far left, thus skip shot ball into strong side low. Adrenaline rushes through my body as I remember how much I love water polo and that after all the years I played, my abilities have not flown out the window. My accident only a few months ago left me fearing that my pelvis and left knee and hand would forbid me to be able to rotate properly into an egg beater without a lot of pain therefore leaving me in an attempt to forget ever playing again even recreationally. Flashbacks of physical therapy in the pool when my knee refused to even bend 10 degrees to now rotating freely in full circular motions floods a note of triumph in me for a brief second. ‘How you learn shoot like this?’ questions Marco. I humbly reply that I used to play in college thinking this answer should suffice. ‘Yes, but how you do this, how you can shoot like this?’ I am laughing in my head thinking is this guy who is a natural born fish and on the champion Dubrovnik team seriously asking me how? And then I realize he and his teammates are dumb founded not because I am a good shooter who is outwitting their goalie but because I am a woman. Of course, daah women in Croatia really don’t play water polo even amongst each other let alone against a group of men. What a trip! Marco then obviously wanting to test me demands, ‘Now we play and you on my team. Go get on him.’ Oh shit here is where I am going to get my ass worked. Well sure enough, I managed to hold my own on a half court scrimmage out driving a few of the guys, stealing the ball a few times, and even better, actually scoring a couple of goals. At least Marco seemed pleased loudly announcing in front of the other team, ‘Ha ha you better then them. But, how you learn to shoot?’ Give it up Marco, I may be a female but I know how to hang with the boys! As happy as Charlie in the Chocolate Factory I had just lived the dream. Played water polo with the sexiest men alive, Croatian water polo players, in the rocky Adriatic sea, alongside a fortress, and icing on the cake managed to make plans tonight with Marco. A fun night certainly laid ahead!
Back at Francesca’s home we are just getting ready to leave by bus to Sarajevo and the dad is cheerfully writing down his number in my journal for us to call him when we are coming back. He then joyfully tells me, ‘Now, no calling early. I like lots sleep. I no work now, pension from government.’ I happily reply that’s great you don’t have to work sleep is much better.’ ‘Yes, the government give me pension because shooting my knees.” He then points to his thigh and both knees all the while still smiling. I naively say, ‘They shot your legs with a gun’ while role playing an actual gun shooting with my hand. ‘Yes, yes in the war” as he points to the mountains of Dubrovnik, ‘Serbs.’ My smile quickly transformed into a confused pitiful look as reality struck that the Defenders of Croatia exhibit at the museum we visited was such a recent tragedy for these wonderful people that I have become associated with. Only around thirteen years ago when I was a little teenager brat smoking dubees behind the school getting drunk off keg stands with Phoebe and Lily was this the same time a twenty something year old young man was fighting for his beloved Dubrovnik and family while having both of his knees blown to shit by the Serbians. The water polo guys were probably either off fighting as well or desperately struggling to keep their families alive from the massive bombing and shelling of the entire old town that now once again proudly stands without traces of destruction. So beautiful, strong, and resilient the town now shines just like its people. Once completely cut off from electricity, water, and food death lay along the city streets like road kill. The exhibit displayed pictures of all the young men killed and a slide show of pictures after the city was bombed. I stood there in shock seeing pictures of the same streets, homes, and churches that I had just walked through the past few days completely destroyed, blown to shreds, and on fire. Clearly with direct trade routes on the Adriatic Sea and massive wealth accumulated in this mercantile area its obvious to see why former Yugoslavia wanted it part of their “Greater Serbia” thus invading it so brutally when Croatia claimed complete independence. Amazingly enough, Croatia refused to back down and managed to tirelessly rebuild and restore their little paradise. One would imagine after such a tragedy their would be an aura of coldness amongst the Croatians considering this was all so recent. However it’s the complete opposite. They are the most wonderful and welcoming people in all of Europe. Not once did I feel a tinge of shadiness in terms of being scammed. I didn’t even think twice about my safety when happily sleeping over at their private homes, and never encountered anything but warm hearts and friendly conversations with the locals. I remind myself repeatedly during the day on my way to Sarajevo of just how privileged I am to never have had to deal with such an inhumane tragedy as the people of Croatia, Bosnia, and Serbia endured just a measly thirteen years ago.


MUSTAFA IN A NUT SHELL
Bosnia, how do I even begin to describe Bosnia? Well to start with, what were my expectations about Sarajevo in the first place? To be honest all I can remember as a teenager was seeing on CNN the tragedies of the Serbian armed forces siege on Sarajevo, women hugging their babies uncontrollably sobbing in the refugee camps, children’s schools bombed to pieces, and people of all ages lying dead on the blood drenched snow city streets with dark crimson pools seeping out around them. I recall fund raisers held to send food and aid to Sarajevo. Some place that I never imagined I would visit like its some far off universe that is unreachable and us Americans only have glimpses of it through a TV. set. There is something utterly twisted that for some reason, we can see war going on through a big silver plasma screen around the world, but can’t really identify or comprehend that these video captions and pictures are indeed really happening to real people like out brother, mom, or dad because its not happening on our own front lawn directly in our faces, to our own loved ones. Out of sight out of mind, why is that? Sure we are appalled when we hear of genocide and civil wars abroad but we are able to not let it affect us to the point of a complete break down as if it were happening live in front of us even though in reality, it is happening, we just don’t have to see it or deal with it if we choose not to. Not until the bus entered into the heart of the lush Bosnia countryside did I start seeing with my own eyes one building after another laced with bullet holes. Utterly fascinated with the holes of human invasion along the walls that I find myself unable to resist capturing one picture after another. Guilt rises inside me with the fact that I too was indeed guilty like many sheltered others in the western world that closed the blinds to the East’s massive human destruction years ago. Too absorbed in our own selfish lives to really understand the severity of lives being stolen from the Bosnians. What did I do to help these people in need? Lame excuses aside, the fact is, I did not do a damn thing. Just to think sure, I alone could not have made a difference but if everyone in the world including myself just did one little thing it may have been enough to put a quicker halt to this genocidal ethnic cleansing that rampaged their streets for years. Not until I physically entered into their lives am I able to clearly see just how selfish I was in my own Western world to not attempt to assist in putting an end to others suffering. Obviously what’s in the past is indeed history but I can only hope in the future I will do more then just be aware of what’s occurring abroad. Awareness of course is just the initial step but what are you going to do with that awareness? That’s a question that doesn’t really have an answer at this point in my life. I am not a sappy one to sing and chant Michael Jackson’s “Heal the world” but one thing is for sure, seeing Sarajevo hit me like a ton of bricks.
Arriving in Sarajevo and immediately we pass the Holiday Inn, in which the killing of ten people marked the start of the siege which lasted three and half never ending destructive years. When exiting the bus a perky aggressive woman asks us if we need accommodations and before being able to reply, tells us to come stay at her hostel. She speaks a mile a minute through a heavy tongued accent about her hostel being only three minutes from the city center, how clean it is, and that we only must share with two other Canadian girls. For only thirteen dollars a night Julie and I nod in agreement that we would take a look. I may be incompetent with a map but one thing I am is street smart. Right away I notice a shade of skepticism when we walk to the hostel instead of driving there as she originally said we would be doing. Next, arriving to a dingy brown bullet shot up building with a pile of bunk beds messily lined up in a living room, I ask her who else will be sleeping in this room and sure enough, the numbers from the original Canadian girls have some how increased. Julie looks unsure so I take the initiative to take action by kindly thanking her and telling her we are going to walk to the three minute away city center for a drink to decide whether or not to stay. Very sweetly she agrees and just tells to come back in twenty minutes if we are to stay. Off we head to the city center in the 100 degree hot weather with all of our luggage and the short three minute walk turns into a fifty minute long haul just to even reach the outskirts of the city center. Julie repeatedly thanks me for being suspicious of the hostel situation and I simply reply, can’t bull shit a bull shitter and that I could sense from the minute she slipped by offering empty promises that she was sketchy. Nevertheless respecting that fact that she has a business to run, no hard feelings towards her were left lingering.
The city center has a very modern section with boutiques lined up by cafes, yummy bakeries, and bars packed with people sitting outside. We enjoyed briefly watching a group of old men in deep thought and serious conversations playing life size figure chess outside in a park. Then we walked past the Opera House which had a huge Sarajevo Film Festival banner hanging on it. I thought to myself this is so exciting to be in Sarajevo during this time. During the war the people bravely continued to hold theatrical and musical performances not allowing war to stand in the way of their love for film and music. I can only imagine that these performances served as a very temporary escape from the harsh reality outside the theatre. Along the theatre walls there are numerous huge bullet holes from the entrance all the way up to the roof but the bright red film festival banner dangled high and proud dominates and does not allow the bullets to put a damper on the main attraction soon to come. The Turkish quarter where we found private accommodation with an old lady shifts to old cobble stone roads with numerous hookah bars and steak restaurants. Later on that evening we indulged in thick black Turkish coffee, goat cheese salads, and steak skewers that were so succulent that they literally fell off the stick. There is such a rich diversity of religions in Sarajevo that we made sure to visit each section and see the numerous mosques, Christian churches, and orthodox Jewish temples. What a sight to see; three religions intermingling freely in the cafes and on each corner stands a mosque, temple, or church like they are neighbors. Each intricately designed with such fine skill and detailed care for restoring what was bombed. The Turkish quarter, a melting pot of religious diversity with old thatched roof tops makes you feel like you are back in time. A few buildings here and there were still under repair from the shelling such as the National Library but for the most part, the Bosnians have done an amazing job repairing everything with such love and care that only the millions of bullet holes on every single building from the outskirts, to the modern section, over to the Turkish quarter are left to be touched up. One would think these bullet holes must be painful for the people to be forced to see on a daily basis. After all, the ones that were not able to escape through the underground tunnel made nearby the airport were left hiding in fear. Even crossing the street was dangerous. I saw pictures of mothers holding their babies with a group of others ducking by a UN military tank in attempt to shield them from the snipers when dashing across intersections. Markets and elementary schools were direct targets as well. In the museum I remember being in shock seeing a case filled with blood splattered children’s text books and markers. I recognized these pens and markers as the same ones I have used in my class, which makes it that more horrific knowing this is not evidence from some war way before my time. These are children’s belongings that were murdered just a few years ago! When I was sitting out on a bench with Julie an elderly woman walked over to us and just stared at us for what felt like minutes. She said something in Bosnian and we could not decipher what she wanted. I unfortunately pessimistically assumed by her gypsy attire that she was wanting money. Then she sat by us and as I was continuing my conversation with Julie pointing at the bullets in the walls, she began pointing at the bullets too saying something that clearly was related to the war by the sadness of her tone and shaking of her head. Then she waved good bye to us and continued on her way. I felt bad assuming she was wanting money when clearly she was just curious about us and was openly telling us something about the tragedy she endured. They are such strong and kind people that from what my eyes can see, they appear to be happy. It’s amazing how strong the human mind can be and how quickly one can recover from such trauma to continue living life to the fullest. When we were leaving Sarajevo waiting for the tram a young teenager came up to me and asked me something in Bosnian. As soon as he heard me speak English a huge smile stretched across his face and he said, “Oh great we can speak in English. I speak English and I was wondering if you knew when tram number one will be arriving.” We begin chatting and I found out he is a student in a private high academic Muslim school. His name is Mustafa and he lives in Tuzla, Bosnia. His English was immaculate and he was so thrilled to speak with me in English about California that he did not stop speaking the entire trip over to the bus station. He tells me his dream when he turns 18 in a few months is to travel to L.A. because he has this fascination with movies and Hollywood and oh yes, he loves the name Alex. I made sure to jokingly call him Alex from L.A. a few times which he got a kick out of. Of course I didn’t dare tell him that L.A. is a lot of superficial hype but did slip in that he should spend more time in sunny San Diego if he comes to California. It was so cute when he proudly pulled out of a folder he was carrying around of a certificate he won for an English speaking competition. He won first place in his school and carries around his certificate everywhere with him. When we arrived together at the bus station he insisted on carrying my heavy back pack and asked me if we could keep in touch via email. Of course I was happy to give him my email and after we said our goodbyes, he returned in a few minutes to give me some coca cola. Julie and I could not get over what a sweet heart he was and it was adorable when he emailed me that very day telling me that Julie and I were the most beautiful girls he ever met and that he wishes if he was a little bit older that he could make me his girlfriend.
The rich diversity and immense hospitality, happy to serve you in their restaurants and homes makes any traveler dying to get off the beaten path and away from tourist zones fall in love with Sarajevo. Imagine, Mustafa was basically born into a life of fear considering his first memories when he was only around four or five was encountering death terror and war. To think, such a terrifying childhood for his age group can create such a wonderful friendly person years later is totally mind blowing. Mustafa really is Bosnia for you in a nut shell.