Travel, 50+, Croatia

Some know it as King's Landing. Some know it as a place where they buried their broken heart. Some know it as the home of light cavalry so fashionista they made the French go "Oh là là!" and make a military hygiene product turned accepted business tycoon flashing device (cravat) to hang oneself on named after them (wheeze, what a mouthful). And then there are the people, who just call it Croatia.

For me it's one of those places that suffered a mysterious disappearance of a full year of photography. Split over it, at first, I have decided to accept this loss. A little bit like the partial defeat in the great struggle to find a proper beach in Dalmatia. Not that it would have been a great idea to spend time on such a thing (on our first trip) between the storm fronts most tourists never get to see. Some tourists did get to see it. One of them being a charming English lady, who provided one of the most British holiday conversations under the Mediterranean "sun". It went something like this:
"Can you help me?" Asked a young lady complainingly in Received Pronunciation.
"Sorry, no." Replied the man packing groceries, unimpressed with the prestige emanating from the utterance.
The lady left for a minute, then returned.
"Why can't you help me?" She squealed. "You have to help me."
"I don't work here." The man replied over his shoulder, noticing not only the dumbstruck lady, but also her quiet grinning companion hovering in the background.
"I thought you do... since you're packing... Why does this always happen to me?" The lady blinked one lid faster, another one after. Hovering champion Grinny McGrinface tried to stare away from the man as he nodded on his way out. The lady continued to not comprehend how could this always happen to her. The cashier of the store continued to stand quietly, hoping not to get noticed.

While the first time around was making me question the advertised excessive tourism in the country, the second time around more than proved it. Zagreb was packed. All central locations were taken over by people speaking English in accents. All sights were walked in and out of in queues formulating serpentine. The only standing breathers were provided in restaurants and restricted areas. A couple of days of this and our little group had to get out and crash a children's festival just for peace and quiet.

While on this side of the country, a local slipped a tip that the mountainous side is practically empty. You go here, you go there and everything is to yourself. The tip seemed so solid we had to grab it and run with it. Arriving to "the friendliest city in the country" both proved it right and made us question the title. On the other hand, everywhere was abandoned like it's a ghost town. On the other hand, why would the friendliest city in the country be not popular?

With our social tolerance rejuvenated, our little crew went for the beaches again. My borderline habitual weddingcrash'dar ended with us crashing a wedding AND a gender reveal party (this time it was a boy). Now, it did not seem like your traditional shotgun wedding (although, arguably a pump action leather shotgun might have been used at some point, leading to this). In fact, it was quite nice. Small scale, classy enough to be held in a castle. Some people knew the best beach in the city nearby, which was a nice bonus. Guaranteed zero pebbles up your bum!

While we enjoyed the fact that there were no pebbles and the chat with some geezers playing card and drinking beer by the table they brought with them, we could not shake off a feeling someone had been pulling our leg for two days in a row. First one, then another. Is a cement slab genuinely a beach? One might go philosophical on this question. To beach or not to beach...? However, we did end up along the path to finding...

The Judgment:
Most people seem to know Croatia as a place for back-bacon burning summer sun, (cursed stony) beaches, Game of Thrones and cheap-ish beer. Zagreb might even be referenced as a party town. But there's more. Cities on the "fat" side see very little action. No one seems to be able or willing to take a peep at the soul of the nation. Myself and our little groups of different sizes and shapes have seen a slice of the beyond. From lamentation over the fate of kuna to celebration of tradition, nana's dishes and more. What this is meant to say is that it's not all shallow surface on the beach, but little surprises along the way, if only you bother with it. Croatia is more.

Would I go again? Yes. There's some unfinished business...