Back in the USA
Wed Aug 05, 2009 23:09 EST (UTC -5)
And now, the exciting conclusion of my European adventure.
On Thursday night, Andy, George, and I went to see the West End production of Chicago. I had no idea that we were right in the West End with theaters scattered all over the place, but the theater was just a short walk away (with a gelato shop in between). The show starred Michelle Williams of Destiny's Child, but I obviously wouldn't have known that if George hadn't told me. I had never seen the movie, but I enjoyed the show. The orchestra was on the stage, and the conductor interacted with the characters, which I thought was pretty clever. The songs were catchy too.
After the show, for our last dinner in Europe, we went to an Indian restaurant called Tandoori Nights (which a Google search reveals is actually a common name??). Well, it wasn't George's last dinner in Europe, but it was mine and Andy's. After that, we returned to George's dorm room on Drury Lane (yes, the Drury Lane on which the fabled Muffin Man is said to live). I was ready to go to bed in anticipation of a long day.
On Friday morning, Andy and I got our things together, thanked George for his hospitality, and made our way to the airport. We took the Gatwick Express, the same train we had taken from the airport two months ago. Even though it was pretty expensive, it was fast and direct. And we didn't have very much time to look into other options.
At Gatwick, Mark was waiting for me, just as I'd hoped. My cousins in Croatia had given me a bottle of liquor as a gift, so I was going to give it to 21-year-old Mark so he could take it into the country (I mean, as a gift for him to keep). He had been waiting there for a while, but I'm glad he was patient. Otherwise, I think I was just going to chuck the bottle.
With the alcohol out of the way, I wasn't too concerned about the other things I had to bring into the country: a bottle of olive oil, which was also from my cousins, and some stroopwafels that I had bought from a vending machine in Amsterdam two days before. I had been infatuated with the sweet treats ever since my friend Kevin brought some home from the Netherlands a few years ago. I had wanted to pick some up for myself and everybody back home, but while I was in Amsterdam I wasn't in the mood to seek them out. Luckily, I happened to spot some in a vending machine right before I left for London.
We got through everything relatively easily (we didn't even have to take our shoes off for security, which apparently might have been a mistake) and soon found ourselves waiting in the terminal for our flight back to the USA. The three of us were worried that Dan wouldn't show; he and Mark had split up back in Switzerland and weren't staying in the same hostel in London. But Dan did arrive, so the four of us had some time to recount our individual adventures.
Soon, it came time to board the plane, which I would not have been looking forward to at all if it hadn't meant I'd be going home. The plane took off about 40 minutes late, and I managed to keep myself entertained by watching movies (I Love You, Man and The Boat That Rocked) and imagining how great it would be to be home.
Somehow, the plane landed in Orlando a few minutes early. According to my watch, it was getting close to midnight, but the sun had never gone down during the flight. I imagined that the jetlag would be harder to get used to this time because it wouldn't be as simple as skipping a night and then sleeping a lot the next night. But jetlag or no jetlag, I was glad to be back.
Of course, we had to go through customs and all that first. I got quizzed about my trip to prove I wasn't a terrorist. The fact that I had been gone for so long and had visited so many countries and brought back food was apparently too much for Customs and Border Patrol to let slip by. But I showed them I was legit, and that's when I parted ways with Andy, Dan, and Mark. I had a working cell phone for the first time in two months, so I called my parents to let them know I was there.
They were glad to see me; I was glad to see them. I was also very tired. They drove me home, but we stopped for dinner along the way at the Outback Steakhouse in Vero Beach. It was right about there that I realized how great it was to be back in my own country: in a familiar place with familiar food. Those who are about to call me an ugly American should keep reading.
My sister was there when we got home. I showed everybody the stone souvenirs I had brought back from Croatia, as well as the olive oil, the stroopwafels, and some trinkets from Italy. Then I went to bed. Of course, it was not only wonderful and amazing to be back home with my family, but it was also awesome to be back in my own bed after two months of traveling.
Since then, I've gotten to see some family and friends. I spent Sunday night at TJ's with Nick and some other friends. It was an overnight thing, though, which I was glad about. I think going to bed at 04:00 and waking up at 12:00 helped get rid of my jet lag. I'm still getting tired sort of early and waking up sort of early, though. Last night, I went to a family dinner with some relatives I don't see very often. They had lots of questions about the trip, and apparently many of them have been reading this blog too. Between spending time with family and friends, I've been relaxing as I typically would during the summer. I've also been working online.
Europe '09 by the numbers:
- Days: 67 (May 26 - July 31, 2009)
- Countries visited: 14 (United Kingdom, France, Spain, Monaco, Italy, Vatican City, Slovenia, Croatia, Austria, Slovakia, Czech Republic, Germany, Netherlands, Belgium)
- Places I slept: 21
- Times I stayed with family members: 2 (Andy's relatives both times)
- Times I stayed with friends: 3
- Times I stayed in hostels: 2
- Times I stayed in hotels: 3
- Times I stayed with Esperantists or at Esperanto events: 12
- Sleepless nights on trains: 3
- Sleepless half-nights on planes: 1
- Days I traveled without Andy: 17 (25%!)
- Number of currencies I ended up with: 8 (pounds sterling, euros, Croatian kunas, Slovak korunas, Russian rubles, Belorussian rubles, Czech korunas, Hungarian forints)
- Number of times I mentioned to people that I collected coins and banknotes: 3
- Photos taken, December 25, 2002 - May 24, 2009: 4,178
- Photos taken, May 26 - July 31, 2009: 4,002
- Total size of photos: 6.5 GB
- Most photos taken in one day: 411 (June 28, in Rome)
- Videos recorded: 13
- Total size of videos: 248 MB
- Average length of videos: 0:14
So, boring statistics aside, what are we to learn from this trip? I was hoping that going for a two-month adventure would leave me feeling more adventurous. It has, but not for the reason I thought. It was Andy who showed me that you can't be uptight about everything. I can't count the number of times he said, "Let's do it; the worst that could happen is that they yell at us." And you know, we didn't get yelled at very much. It was an eye-opener.
Before I left for the trip, people had told me a bit about Europeans, but you really need to go to Europe to understand them. The impression I got everywhere was that they're content with having less than Americans. They're fine with their small cars and their tiny apartments, and they don't see why they should have dryers when they already have clotheslines and the sun. The US has long been the land of plenty, and that has shaped who we are as Americans; Europeans, living on a continent that has been ravaged by war and political strife, are more down-to-earth.
Things are different there, but I wouldn't say that Europe is, in general, better or worse than America. It's just different. Europeans like their water gassy and their milk creamy. They love soccer and the 24-hour clock. Those are things that I don't think I could get used to (except for the 24-hour clock, which I've always been a fan of and have now decided to use in writing). In the US, we may have crappy schools, overfilled prisons, and drug laws that don't work, but that doesn't mean that our country isn't great. If nothing else, it's great because we are and always have been filled with potential. The American Dream and all that stuff. It's all here.
Some people have asked me if I would live in Europe. Everything I have and everything I know is here in the US, so answer is obvious. But still, I'm glad to have had the trip of a lifetime, and if I could do it all again, I would. Europe '09 taught me more about the world than any book could; the stories I have really are priceless. Every day, I learned something new and did something that I might never do again. So, sometimes the only way to really learn is to be adventurous. After all, the worst that could happen is that they yell at you.
The old country
Sat Jul 11, 2009 07:02 EST (UTC -5)
Why? Why split up with my friend to spend the better part of a day going out of the way to an obscure, formerly communist country that's shaped like a chicken wing and has a goat on its flag?
Curiosity, mainly. I have a funny name, and I always wondered exactly where it came from. I've met a lot of relatives on my mom's side of the family but not as many on my dad's. There was some mystery there. I knew that my great-grandfather came from a certain city in Yugoslavia - no, make that Croatia. But that's all I knew.
Last year I did some research and found copies of the immigration records for my great-grandfather and his siblings. They passed through Ellis Island separately about 100 years ago. It seems that they came not from the city of Split but from Pucisca, across the channel on the island of Brac. But why? And who were they?
I doubted I would find out exactly, but I wanted to at least see the place and get a sense of what my ancestors left when they went to America. And, with any luck, I'd get to meet some of the cousins, the descendants of those in the Kalilich family - or, if I may briefly abandon my convention of dropping all diacritical marks, the Kalilić family - who stayed behind in the old country.
On Friday evening, after wandering a bit more in Venice, I came across a restaurant that had a pretty cheap menu and no cover or service charges. Having spent a week in Italy, I was able to get through the meal, from "One?" to the tip, using only the basic Italian phrases that Andy had taught me.
After that, I made my way to the train station to catch my train to Zagreb. It was actually an overnight train to Budapest, but it would apparently be making a fair number of stops, including Zagreb at 4:18 in the morning. I came prepared with some sleeping pills I had just bought, but my car had those booth things rather than rows of seats.
At first, I had the booth thing to myself, but at one of the early stops, and old woman and two girls who looked like sisters got on. The old woman spoke to me in Italian, apparently asking me to help her put her suitcase in the overhead compartment. I obliged. The sisters were talking to each other in some language I didn't recognize.
A little while later, I got up to go to the WC (as they say), but at the same time, two more girls came to take the remaining seats in the booth, and I decided I could wait. The brunette sat next to me, the blonde across from me. They spoke to each other in another language I didn't recognize, although it sounded vaguely like English at times. As the snack cart went by, the blonde asked for something in English.
After a few stops, the old lady was getting off the train and again asked me (apparently) to help her with her suitcase, which was above the blonde's seat. As you can probably guess would happen, I lost my hold of the suitcase and almost fell on her. I said I was sorry and felt pretty awkward after that.
The brunette started reading a book in Dutch, so I had a good guess as to where they were from. Later, they started talking to me. They were going to play a Dutch card game and asked me if I wanted to play. The game turned out to be crazy eights in one of its many guises. I had to get used to their deck of cards, which had different face cards, and the "teasing cards."
As we played, we talked about some cultural differences between our countries, such as the school systems and the drinking ages. Europeans who don't know what the drinking age in America is are always surprised to hear it, and these girls were no exception. They were also very surprised that I had almost four months off from school.
They talked a bit about themselves and the town where they were from. They were traveling for two weeks, and Venice had been their first stop. They had tickets for Zagreb but had changed their minds and wanted to go all the way to Budapest. They looked about the same age - I guessed 21 - but the brunette was 23, and the blonde was 19. I was right on average.
It was late, and the other sisters were trying to sleep in spite of our conversation, but they eventually gave up. It turned out that they spoke English as well. They were from Quebec. One of them had been studying in France, and the other was visiting her. They were stopping in Zagreb to take a bus to Split. We all got to talking with each other, but eventually, things quieted down.
The train made several long stops. Uniformed men and women with little patience asked to see our passports. We were going through Slovenia. Later, in the wee hours, it happened again; we had entered Croatia. During much of the time in between, my eyes were closed. I might have slept for about an hour. I was cognizant of the fact that it was Saturday, the Fourth of July.
Finally, the train stopped in Zagreb. I had some time at the station, so I sat on a bench inside. I had started reading a book on my computer when a man sat next to me and struck up a conversation. His accent was somewhat strong but understandable. He asked where I was from, and I told him. I thought he would ask me for money.
"America is good," he said. He said his name was Noble, or something pronounced like that. He said that he was Albanian, that his father had been executed by communists, that he couldn't get a passport, that he had fought in Iraq. He mused a little on the horrors of war and said he had almost been deported from Croatia several times. He suggested that Michael Jackson might have been killed by Russian spies. He said he was 33 years old.
He saw that I had a laptop and produced a flash drive. He asked me to delete some files on it. I was afraid that the flash drive had a virus or something on it, but he showed me which files to delete, and that was that. Then he asked if I had time for some coffee at the station's cafe, which had just opened at 5:00. I didn't have anything better to do, so I went with him.
He got a coffee. I got a coffee with milk and sugar. I drank as little of it as possible because I wanted to sleep on the next train. Between staring at some of the TVs on the walls, I talked a bit about why I was there in Croatia. I offered to pay for the coffee, but he refused to take any money. In our conversation, he would repeat things. "My name is Noble," he said again. "America is good," he said again.
He asked to see my passport. I thought he was going to copy down my passport number, so I just showed him some of the pages, with my hand happening to cover the important stuff. But he asked to see it himself. I handed it over. An American passport was a great thing to have, he said. He took a look at the cover and kissed it. Then he gave it back to me.
"What's my name?" he asked after saying something. He wanted to make sure I remembered. He said he had to get to his train and told me not to forget about him. He said I should stay in the cafe rather than sitting on the benches outside it. Why? Because it was nicer there. He left.
I went back to the bench after that and continued reading my book. The sun had come up. I took the train to Split a little while later.
The trains in Croatia aren't exactly fast. Taking the bus from Zagreb to Split is supposed to be a little faster. But I had this Eurail ticket, so the ride was mostly paid for. The train traveled through the mountainous Croatian countryside for hours and hours. I took a few sleeping pills but then decided not to sleep. I had written down some basic Croatian phrases, so I went over those. Finally, beyond the mountains, a city on the sea came into view. It was Split.
When my great-grandfather left the Croatian coast for Cleveland, Ohio, it wasn't for the weather. It was sunny and warm when I arrived. As soon as the train stopped, people holding signs saying "Rooms" or "Apartments" in different languages crowded around the door. Lots of people kept asking me if I needed accommodations in Split. Even outside the station, people on the sidewalk approached me and asked if I needed a room, a hostel, an apartment, or other accommodations in Split.
Since I hadn't been able to get in touch with my distant cousins, I felt very fortunate that there was a Pasporta Servo host around here. His name was Ivica, and he told me about the ferry between Split and the island of Brac. There are actually lots of ferries, so I had to make sure I was getting on the right one.
I rode the ferry to Brac, which cost about $6 and took 45 minutes. It's really not that far, but you're on a big, slow boat with cars in it.
The ferry arrived in the town of Supetar, on Brac. From there, he said, I could take a bus, find a taxi, or hitchhike. Taking the bus seemed to be the only sensible option. Since Brac is a rather large island with some small towns on it, the bus service is run by some private company with charter buses. It's about $4 or $5 per ticket.
I got off at Gornji Humac, which didn't seem to be quite a happening place. Even the driver didn't expect me to get off there. "Gornji Humac?" he asked me. After getting off the bus, I could see what he meant. It looked like a small village. It was the mid-afternoon by then, and no one was around. All I had was the name of the town and the house number, but I quickly saw that the houses weren't numbered, nor were the streets named.
After trying to talk to an old woman, I realized that the number I had was the postal code for the town. I found a small bar/restaurant that was technically open. The woman there spoke English, and I asked to use the phone because I had Ivica's number. She knew him and gave him a call for me. I ordered a Coke as a token of gratitude. Ivica arrived a few minutes later, and he took me to his house.
His house looked old like the others, but it looked pretty modern inside. I hadn't eaten all day, so he heated up some soup that was just chilling there. It was good. He also put out some cherries, and I ate a few. To drink, he offered me something I had never heard of before: homemade cherry juice. It was delicious.
After I told Ivica why I was visiting, he mentioned that he too was from Pucisca. He called one of his relatives to ask if she knew about any Kalilićes. She did, so he got their phone numbers. He called them and asked when we could meet them. He also told me that I had a relative in Gornji Humac.
Later, he took me along while he ran some errands. First, we went to a house nearby. It was his family's house, and he took some vegetables from the garden. Inside a small building were some barrels. He took some wine from one of them. Next, he went to a convenience store to get a few things. As he drove, he woud honk or wave at everyone. Everyone knew everyone else there.
After that, we drove out of town onto a dirt road that twisted and turned. He parked the car and we got out. I could see Gornji Humac in the distance. I followed him through various fields with stone walls around them. He was looking for his sheep. Finally, we saw the flock. I had never seen so many sheep, so it was interesting. They all say "Baaa," but each one has a different voice. The little ones go "Baaa!" all small-like.
He wanted to lead them to a different section of his land, and they followed. He gave me some corn to feed some of them. The rest concentrated on the grass. As the sheep grazed, he showed me the lavender bushes that were growing all around. He took two sprigs of lavender and put one behind his ear. He gave me the other, and I did the same.
I asked him how many sheep he had. He said that a shepherd never tells. In any case, he said, he didn't know the exact number, but he could tell that they were all there. He also told me a bit about the history of Brac. Apparently there was once a lot of wine produced there, but a disease killed the native grapes a hundred years ago, prompting a lot of people to leave the island. He said that was probably why my ancestors went to America.
Once he had the sheep where he wanted them, he showed me a tiny church, more like a chapel, near his land. It was dedicated to St. Michael and built in the 10th or 11th or 12th century (two consecutive ones of those, I don't remember).
He said it was still used every year during the island's Good Friday solemnities. The door was locked, but I could sort of peek inside.
There were a lot of rocks on a nearby mountain. He said that they were the ruins of a Bronze Age settlement. In fact, he said, there were some Bronze Age graves near us that had been recently been excavated. One looked like a pile of rocks with a small section dug out of it. He also took me to see a stone hut built and used by shepherds for shelter as well as two pools built by some ancient civilization; one for people, the other for animals.
It was getting dark. We went home, and he made dinner: fried potatoes, bread, and salad. He said he rarely cooked and didn't have much food, but I thought the food he had was good. After dinner, it was late, so I got online only briefly to check my e-mail. Besides the usual Facebook notifications, there was my Esperanto word of the day: nobla, noble.
I slept in on Sunday. Ivica was apparently accustomed to sleeping very little, so he had already gone out and done some things. I think it was about 10:30 or 11 when I got out of bed, so I decided to wait till lunchtime to eat anything. Ivica made a delicious soup that I couldn't stop eating. It had large chunks of ham or something in it which you'd cut up before eating.
Apparently, my relatives in Pucisca had said that we could visit them after 5:00, so we had some time to kill. Eating ice cream, Ivica and I set off to the town of Bol, on the south side of the island. The first thing he showed me in town was a local landmark called the "House in House."
Apparently, in the 19th century, some guy had some land in town that someone else wanted to buy. He sold him the land around his house but not the house itself. So, the other guy got mad or something and decided to force out the first guy by building a house around his house. Weird, but clever.
The outer house didn't have a roof, so the whole place basically looked like an abandoned house with high walls (with windows) around it. I followed Ivica inside the outer house, and we looked around. He showed me some architectural elements that were typical of houses in the area. He also said that they use the place as a theater sometimes. Is such the fate of all abandoned buildings?
Bol was a small town, like all the others, but it was rather touristy and had a prominent beach. I thought it was interesting to lot of the signs in town were in Croatian, English, German, and Italian, in that order. We walked down the sidewalk that ran alongside the beach.
We chatted a bit, and he ran into a few friends and neighbors. I ran into the Canadian sisters from the train. We talked for a minute about why I was there (Esperanto) and then went our separate ways.
Eventually, enough time had passed that it was time to go to Pucisca. So, we got back into the car and headed along the twisty mountain roads to the north side of the island.
I had seen pictures of the town, so I recognized it right away. It consists of some houses wedged between mountainsides and a natural harbor.
We parked at the end of the harbor, in the center of town, and continued on foot. There was a steep street nearby. Off the street was a house. A woman and a man were there. They were Kalilićes.
They had us sit inside. The place seemed kind of small but comfortable. They were watching Andy Roddick play Roger Federer on TV. There was a large crucifix on the wall, carved in wood by some family member. I thought it was interesting because my grandfather was also a carpenter, and he made some religious art that we have hanging in our house.
Ivica spoke to them in Croatian; they spoke little English. Ivica translated for me. The man, the father of the family, was called Jerko. His grandfather and my father's grandfather were brothers, which would make him my second cousin once removed. I was surprised that I had never heard of this branch of the family tree. I thought his grandfather had gone to America. Maybe he went back? Or I was confusing him with another brother? I didn't know.
They offered us bread, cheese, and brandy. The brandy was pretty good. Ivica and the Kalilićes talked to each other quite a bit in Croatian; apparently they were trying to figure out how they might know each other. Everybody on Brac knew each other, Ivica said. Jerko showed me a couple of photos of his grandparents and a letter that my great-grandfather had written in 1960.
As gifts, they gave me some items made of Brac's white stone: two candleholders, an ashtray, and a small vase. They said that one of their relatives sold them as souvenirs, and their English was good enough to tell me personally that Brac stone was used in the construction of the White House. They also gave me some olive oil and brandy to take home. When I would say "Thank you" to Jerko, he would say "Please." It actually makes sense if you think about it.
One of their sons, Milan, stopped by and greeted me in English. He seemed to be about my age. He asked me if I was on Facebook, and I told him I was. He wrote down his name and e-mail address and then had to go somewhere. I wrote my family's mailing address and phone number for them.
After that, I wanted to get a picture, so we went outside.
They had a small garden and a lot of potted plants. They also had some grapes growing above our heads; it seems to be a popular thing to do. From the garden I could see other houses on the opposite mountainside; we weren't far from the water.
They said that Jerko's grandfather and his siblings (including my great-grandfather) were born in the house. The house had one story back then; the second story, which I could see was an addition, was added in 1947. I couldn't believe it. This was where my family came from. This was the house they left to go to America.
The other son, Zoran, came by. He was a few years older than me. They said they also had a daughter, but she wasn't there. Zoran and the rest of us went back into the house to chat a little more. Next, they wanted to take me to the cemetery, so I gathered my new belongings and we got into the family car.
I had wanted to see where my ancestors were buried, so this was a welcome development. The road to the cemetery went up alongside a mountain, where we stopped to get a view of the house and the rest of the town. After that, we continued along. It wasn't far at all, of course. Pucisca is a small town.
There was a small church or chapel with rather elaborate graves all around it. Jerko and his wife led us to one of the outer sections that was on higher ground; apparently it was newer. Each family had a section here where its members would be buried together. It was a small cemetery, but we weren't the only visitors there.
We got to a headstone with the Kalilić name on it. Several items had been placed there. As Zoran took a broom and cleaned up the surroundings, I got a good look. Two people were buried there; I think they were Jerko's parents. The headstone was marked "OBITELJ KALILIĆ TRIFE." I asked Ivica what it meant.
It said "Kalilić Trife Family." In Croatia, or in this part of Croatia, each family has a nickname that they use informally, often to distinguish themselves from another family with the same name. I don't think there's another Kalilić family, and neither do they, but they have a nickname. It is Trife.
We walked around a bit more, and Jerko and Ivica each saw people that they knew. We then drove back into town, near where Ivica had parked. There was a cafe, so we decided to have drinks. I didn't feel like beer or soda, so I just had water. Sometimes I just want water. We talked some more, and that's when Jerko asked if I had any siblings. Just a twin sister, I said. Everyone is impressed when you say you have a twin.
I was supposed to meet Jerko and his wife again the next day, but in case I couldn't, they wished me well. I asked for their address, which turned out to be little more than their name and the name of the town. Apparently it's such a small town that the people at the post office know where everybody lives.
We parted ways. Ivica and I walked around Pucisca some more. He showed me the Stonemason School, which was open for visiting. It's unique because the students there are taught to work only with simple tools. The work they had on display was very well done. Ivica was able to tell me a lot about everything because he went to the school and, by his account, fared badly.
We could see a couple of rooms filled with lions, faces, fountains, cubes, and modern sculptures, large and small, rough and polished, all made of Brac's white stone.
There were brochures in several languages; I got one in English. It said that Brac stone was, in fact, used for the White House, among other notable structures. In the corner of the main room was a closet whose door was slightly open. I could see a stone head inside; Ivica said it was a bust of Tito.
It had gotten dark out, so we went home. I had wanted to meet with Josko, a relative that I and others of us at home had been in contact with. Ivica called him up, and he said that he would call back the next day. Ivica made fried potatoes for dinner. Once again, it was pretty late, and I was very tired, so I went to bed soon after that. It had been a big day.
I slept in again on Monday. While Ivica was out, I did my laundry and hung it out to dry outside. It seems primitive, but it actually works pretty well if you can get your clothes in direct sunlight. If not, you're kind of screwed. I waited for Josko to call, but I don't think he did.
Ivica had to go to work in the afternoon, so on the way, he took me to visit my other relative, the one right in town. He led me into a small-looking house and talked briefly the people there before leaving. There were two men and a woman. One of the men was smoking. I was introduced to the woman and one of the men; the smoking man left.
Marijana was the name of my relative; she lived there with her husband, Nikola. They looked to be marrying age, and she was pregnant. She was Jerko's daughter, the daughter I didn't meet the day before. That would make her my third cousin. They spoke English well enough to have a conversation.
Marijana said she had never heard of my branch of the family tree until yesterday, and I said the same about hers. We sketched out our respective branches of the family tree, and Marijana mentioned that she had an aunt who lived in Bol. She also said that there was a Kalilić not related to us who lived in Supetar. I figured he must be related somehow.
Nikola spent more of the time talking to me while Marijana held on to my third cousin once removed. He talked about the differences between life in Croatia and life in Australia, where he had spent some of his childhood. Times had been difficult in Croatia due to the war in the 1990s. Things were getting better, he said, but they could be better still.
He seemed optimistic about starting a family, and I was happy for him. He showed me their plans for expanding the house. He also said that they were going to a birthing class soon as Marijana went to get ready. Times had changed in Croatia, he said. Once upon a time, men didn't want to be in the delivery room with their wives. I said that it had been the same in the States. Attitudes were changing.
The TV was on. There was some French show with subtitles, followed by the news. One of the top stories was Obama visiting Medvedev in Russia. We talked a bit about the political environment in the United States. The Europeans I've talked to have expressed their disdain for Bush and their optimism about Obama, just as many Americans have.
Nikola briefly went to get ready, and then they both had to be on their way. They reminded me that Marijana's parents were expecting me to meet them in Bol. Nikola showed me how to get to the souvenir stand where they worked. After they told me they could be found on Facebook even though they didn't have Internet access at home, we took the obligatory picture, and Nikola drove me back to Ivica's, where I had a quick bite to eat.
My next task was to get to Bol. There were a couple of buses standing at Gornji Humac's bus stop, but neither was for Bol, so I decided to thumb a ride. Ivica and Nikola had told me that hitchhiking was safe and common on the island. They also implied that it was legal. I didn't feel so bad, then, as I stuck my thumb out on the side of the road. A car went by. Right behind it was a bus heading for Bol, so I just jumped on the bus.
In Bol, I found the souvenir stand easily, thanks to Nikola's directions. Sure enough, Jerko and his wife were there with all manner of souvenirs from Bol, Brac, and Croatia: magnets, figurines, shells, a life-size seagull, and more. Their stand wasn't far from the area where Ivica and I had walked the day before.
Jerko invited me to sit in a chair across the way from the stand. He sat next to me and got up when people looked like they were interested in something. A couple of his friends and associates came by, and he would introduce me to them. One of them asked (in English) if I wanted anything to drink. I asked for a Coke, and he gave it to me for free.
Jerko also asked me the occasional question about my family with what English he knew. He said he spoke German and some Italian, but the only English he knew where things like "How much?", "Thank you," and numbers. When his wife wasn't manning the stand, she talked to me too. She said that their small seashells were from Brac but that the large ones were from the Philippines. She also said that Bill Gates came by once in his yacht, and his daughter bought a shell.
I watched the passersby pass by. I didn't get bored; I was happy just to be there. After a while, Jerko took me to see his sister, Marijana's aunt who lived there in Bol. We walked to their apartment, which wasn't far away. His sister, Gita, was there with two daughers, Vera (I think) and Zorana. As I should have come to expect, they offered me some meat, cheese, and chocolate, and I obliged.
The daughters spoke English. Zorana wasn't around for long; she had to go to work. Vera told me she was 16, but I think she meant 26. Her boyfriend came around, and he chatted with me quite a bit. His English was very good. We talked about various subjects, and he described various aspects of life in Croatia. The TV news was on in the background, and he asked if focusing on bad news was just a Croatian thing. No, I told him.
Over an hour passed as we exchanged questions about the family and I ate. Jerko mentioned to them in Croatian that I had a twin. I didn't remember the word for "twin" from the day before, but I recognized it by the way Gita and Vera repeated it.
Jerko had to get back to the souvenir stand, so we started to get going. That's when he asked me if I had to be back at Ivica's at any particular time. Apparently they work till 11 PM. I didn't have a problem with that. So we snapped a few pictures of all of us together, and then I went back with Jerko.
Next to his stand was a stand that sold stone souvenirs like the ones I had gotten as gifts the day before. It was then that I got to meet the relative who worked at the stand. He was Jerko's wife's nephew; not a blood relative, but a relative nonetheless. His English was fairly good, and he told me that he lived in Bosnia but worked at the souvenir stand during the summer.
He was interested in computers and the Internet; like me, he liked programming in PHP. In fact, he was sort of a hacker, in the popular sense of the word. He told me about a simple SQL injection, which I though was interesting because I don't know about any of that kind of stuff. He also asked me about life in Florida and whether there were a lot of hurricanes.
Night fell. I thought business would drop off, but a lot of people were still walking around and buying souvenirs. I was taking pictures.
After 10, when Ivica got home from work, he gave my relatives a call to make sure I was with them. They decided to close up shop a little early to take me home.
They stopped at Gornji Humac's bus stop, where Ivica was waiting for me. My relatives said that if I could stay longer, they would gladly let me stay with them. I appreciated the offer and told them I would be back soon with my family. I think they'd really like it there.
On Tuesday morning, Ivica was at work. I had to get back to Supetar to catch the ferry to the mainland. I tried hitchhiking, but no one was stopping. I took the next bus to Supetar. So I've still never hitchhiked, but I've tried hitchhiking.
After the bus, the ferry, three trains, three subway lines, and a trolley, I was at Tuerkenschanzstrasse in Vienna, where Andy was staying with a distant relative. We were back together. I hadn't slept. It was Wednesday morning; I had been traveling for 24 hours.
Why go to Croatia? The scenery is beautiful, and the people are friendly. But most of all, I have family there. Even though they had never met me or even heard of me, they were more than glad to have me and even let me stay in their home. I got a glimpse of the way of life that my father's father's father left behind, and I even visited the home he gave up for a new life in America.
Curiosity, mainly. But also because I feel that, in a small way, I have a stake in the place, and it belongs to me.
For its entire existence, The World of Stuff has been the web site of a teenager. That was the main draw in the early days, when it was pretty exciting not only to come across a "web log" but one written by a teenager. I've used taglines such as "Musings of a teenage teenager," and "The world through the eyes of a not-so-typical teenager," and they fit: these digital pages overflow with teenage thoughts, teenage experiences, teenage non-experiences. But now, it ends. This will be my last post as a teenager. After 1,073 posts, I turn 20 on Monday.
I've had a lot of experiences since I turned 13 (for a detailed treatment of these, see every post I've ever written), but I was still maturing. So it's fitting that I should have my enter my... twenties... while on such an epic trip. I've never felt very different on or right after a birthday, but this is no normal summer. On this unfamiliar continent, am I standing on the boundary between adolescence and adulthood?
It is an important decade. What will my twenties bring? A job or a career? Dating or marriage? Which do I want?
I don't know. I'm just going to school and, in between, trying to have fun. On July 13, and for the foreseeable future, that will be the same.
. 