Dalmatia vacation – a life-changing experience!
We knew mother would wait, and we said to be there two hours later than we were about to. We could not catch her by surprise – even then, food was on the table waiting for our arrival. She never knew how to prepare a little bit of this or that. She was always cooking for seven: a proper meal consisting of soup, lamb meat, vegetables, salad, and something to add sweetness to the coffee afterward.
I like to drink my coffee outside, just under the mulberry tree. When I shake a branch, like my grandmother used to, dark blue fruit falls all over the ground. Hens, rooster, and chickens leave their thick shade and fly to have their treat. I sit on a tree stump and look toward Velebit. Its peaks are white even in the middle of summer. Not a season passes that some tourists, unprepared for the mountain, need to be rescued by local firemen and rescue teams. Velebit mountain is no place for games and quests of the modern age. Father used to move bee hives to the higher grounds out there. He would pack them into his old, red Volkswagen van, go for a couple of days, and return empty. The last time was almost thirty years ago.
House needed a lot of work after father and uncle passed away. We’ve been delaying it for some time, but now we have to do something about it. Painting the walls always sounds like a good idea. You can see the results of your work instantly. Cutting the wild grass all around the house is a tricky one. It always grows back after the first rain. And we don’t want to use chemicals because of the dog and chickens. We’ll think about it tomorrow.
Right now, going for a swim at the nearest beach sounds like going for holy communion. I never feel as free as when diving into the sea. It washes down my sweat and brings feelings of ease and peace. I swim until I get tired and trust the waves to take me back.
Sun is different than anywhere else. It is wearing the color of old photographs. (Nowadays, that color is known as the vintage filter.) When it is high noon, and I try to capture all the distances in my mind, they become vibrant and surreal. I am never too sure whether I see what was there years ago or what is there right now.
The house is more than an old stone cottage. All of my earliest memories were linked to the basement when wine was made, in my grandmother’s room where I discovered the most private content of her chest, or in my father’s bachelor room, where he kept his LP records, books, and postcards. All of that disappeared during the war. Except in stories we tell on the rare occasions we get to gather.
It is a workation, really. We always come when there is work to be done. We pull all the plugs off and cut off all the global realities. If we see the sea, it is to get some strength for the upcoming day. It is not there for enjoyment but to bring some comfort, peace, and healing.
Every time I return to the place I call home, I ache. I don’t feel my back; I don’t feel my arms; I am utterly exhausted. Although I don’t belong there, I don’t belong here, and my footsteps and addresses are scattered all over the place, I know I should tell myself that I belong everywhere. Whisper it three times so it can become the truth. But I only feel scattered and displaced instead.
I went for a vacation to Dalmatia. It was a life-changing experience.
