White noise

Day 76 of the project, 
Vis, Croatia

"Your schedule has been very aggressive, Jenn. It makes me tired listening to it."

"It's not so bad. I see the highlights in every city. It is like the tapas version of Eastern Europe."

"You need to slow down."

Much as I hate to admit it, my German friend was right. For almost three full weeks, I had bounced from capital city to capital city without spending more than three full days in any given location. And while I had seen the major sights in six countries, it was starting to become white noise. The tipping point was when I purposefully avoided the art museum in Budapest...something I would never do in my ordinary traveling life. As a lovely Welsh acquaintance said so eloquently, "You need a vacation from your vacation."

So upon the advice from three different people hailing from three different countries, I chose the coastal delights of Croatia to slow down. I arrived in Split on an overnight train from Ljubljana, ready to fill the prescribed dose of tranquility. As the sun rose over the water, I leaned out the train window and allowed the salty air to fill my lungs. I was ready for some sunshine, bikinis, aquamarine water and beach bars. And unofficially, I was ready to face my new personal reality.

Split served as a launch point. I skipped the historic sights in favor of the fish and produce markets. I did a much needed load of laundry. I spent nearly three hours at a hillside bar overlooking the city, tucked into a book covering the Euro crisis (which, like most Americans, I am woefully uneducated about the politics behind it). It was incredibly indulgent. I loved it.

From there, I headed to the island of Hvar. Billed as a British holiday spot with good nightlife, I thought it would be a comfortable place to work on my tan without language impediments. I couldn't have been more wrong. My first mistake was booking a hostel with an age cap. It felt like I had landed in West Campus (the fraternity/sorority domain at the University of Texas)....which would have been fine ten years ago. Not fine for a 30-something looking to chill out. The second strike was at the Hula Hula Beach bar, where an Englishman old enough to be my father invited me to go back to his yacht. Naturally I declined. I was beginning to wonder if the ferry had delivered me to Florida by mistake.

My New York friend, Laura, recommended the more remote island of Vis. A little research revealed that the island had, until recently, been off-limits because of its military importance for the former Yugoslovia. Most people stopped in as day trip and an easy launch point for the blue caves. There are no hostels available, so I hopped on ferry and booked a studio apartment for about 5 euro more than I was paying for a crappy dorm bed in Hvar.

It was the perfect decision. The apartment is located about 3km from Vis Town and is nestled in between a small cove, vineyards and olive groves. My hosts offered me fresh table grapes from their property upon my arrival. I spent three days (in between rainstorms) exploring various rocky coves and enjoying the sound of water over pebbles as I stretched out on my towel. Even with the SPF70 sunscreen, my skin has a lovely golden glow (along with a constellation of mosquito bites).

Despite the foodie frenzy for the island's restaurants, I opted to hit the markets and cook in. I haggled for (rather gesticulated at) fresh sardines and squid. I bought fresh vegetables. Homemade olive oil was sold in old water bottles (fresh pressed a few days before) and rosemary grows like a weed along the roads. I must have sampled four or five different types of sheep's cheese before selecting one. The local white wine, simply labeled Posip, went perfectly with the meal. Perhaps the only imported food was the simple chocolate for dessert.

Stomach satisfied, my mind relaxed and absorbed the last six weeks. Privately, I have affectionately begun to call it the September to Remember. Even if it really began in August. Without the distractions of big new cities to occupy my attention, I am absorbing the enormity of my life's changes. I have lost my decade-long, four-legged family member. I am single for the first time in seven years. I am thousands of miles from my family and closest friends. I am unemployed with a fixed dollar amount in my bank account and unsure about my future prospects. I am too old to claim youthful ignorance yet not fully on the path of middle age. I am excited, thrilled, overstimulated and terrified.

At the beginning of my trip, I was at a precipice, a fork in life's journey. Today is rooted in the chosen tine in that fork. It is not a bad place to be. There are no regrets, merely reflections. Tomorrow promises something new. But I have to acknowledge that when I return to the United States, my reality will be radically different from where I left it. In my core, I know it is where I am meant to be, in spite of the highs and lows that are sure to come.