BALKANS TRAVEL BLOG

Albania, N. Macedonia, Montenegro, Croatia and Poland.

The trip passed without incident. I returned with nothing significant to speak of.

But I did keep a daily journal.

Week One (7/12-7/18): “It is broken.”

July 12. Almost 24 hours in transit. The last leg saw my serenity tested by Albanian children occupying seats in front of, next to, and behind mine. However, I arrived in dusty Tirana, Albania late Wednesday night with spirits high.

July 13. After burning through 10000 Albanian Lek (ALL) at an alarming rate, the time came to withdraw 30000 more. Using my new Schwab debit card, I paid no ATM or foreign transaction fees. Thanks, Schwab!

July 14. I joined a gym yesterday. While getting in a few reps at the squat rack, I dropped a 5kg plate off my toe. It rolled into the mirror, causing a large crack. My credibility here, already tenuous, has been shattered with the corner of that mirror.

July 15. Four days in and I’ve already dispatched at least seven 2L bottles of water. I’ve been warned in no uncertain terms: “Do not drink the tap water.” “Can I at least cook with it?” “Eh. I would not.”

July 16. Was provided a local contact by some family friends: geopolitical commentator and original Gheg homie, Aron. We took a day trip to Spille Beach, where I got sunburned to schmoozy sax covers of Harry Nilsson and the Beatles. After finishing his first pack of cigarettes by 11:45am, Aron offered some deeper insight into Albanian culture: “We have saying here in Albania. ‘Do not eat fruit unless it has worms in it.’” If I’m honest, I’m still not quite sure what that means. The food, however, was incredible.

July 17. A minor flooding incident at the Airbnb after I failed to recognize the shower drain was clogged. In my defense, designing a bathroom with no partition between the shower and the wider floor is asking for trouble. Luckily, my host Rezart is an uncommonly friendly and accommodating individual. He had the situation rectified immediately.

July 18. During a particularly strenuous session at the gym, I looked around in frustration at the lack of water fountains. I asked one of the ladies at reception why this elite Albanian fitness center doesn’t have some kind of commercial filtration system. She simply said, “The water here… it is broken.” “Okay.” I backed off, my mind occupied by dark and troubling thoughts.

Week Two (7/19-7/25): A pyramid made of concrete

July 19. I’m beginning to wonder if brokenness may not apply to life in Albania more broadly than just the water. A two-hour power outage reduced my first attempt at cooking to a complete write-off. At least Rezart was on hand to make sure everything was okay.

July 20. Having gotten over the disruption of last night’s power outage, I’m now having thoughts of going fully native. Can I say I love it here? Or is that just the American tourist in me?

July 21. Went to “Hemingway Jazz Fest” in a courtyard behind a very bureaucratic looking building. As I tentatively danced along with a crowd of Albanians, who were all wearing white for some reason, to an Italian ska band covering House of Pain, at a festival named after Ernest Hemingway, I began to lose myself in the vibes.

July 22. Another calamity at the Airbnb: this time the stove. Rezart showed up with a technician who didn’t exactly fill me with confidence. After much arguing and gesturing between them, and multiple trips to an appliance store, they succeeded in replacing the entire unit. Rezart apologized profusely for the repeated disturbance. “No problem. I appreciate you getting it fixed.” “It is my duty.”

July 23. I took some time to visit one of Tirana’s most important tourist attractions. A large pyramid structure made of concrete, which, unsurprisingly, is not in use. I don’t know what it cost to build this thing, but if I were Albanian, I would be somewhat frustrated. Decent view from the top, though.

July 24. Bought some street corn from an old lady with an unlicensed grill out on the sidewalk. The corn was drier than I hoped.

July 25. Tirana isn’t the most photogenic city, but it does have something about it. The randomly painted buildings and large murals help give it some color.

Week Three (7/26-8/1): Medieval splendors

July 26. Just carried 20L (44.1 lbs) of water almost half a mile back to my place from the grocery store. Would kill for a f*****g Brita right now.

July 27. Went to a new restaurant tonight after reading some stellar Google-translated reviews online. While the menu was almost exactly the same as at least four or five other restaurants I’ve been to in the last two weeks, the “Mix Meat” plate was, perhaps, slightly better than usual.

July 28. Before embarking on this trip, my landlord in Atlanta lent me a copy of Robert D. Kaplan’s Balkan Ghosts to help me familiarize myself with the region’s history. Feeling more grateful than ever today for the rise of global capitalism.

July 29. Visited the historic town of Berat, known as “The City of a Thousand Windows.” After a packed three hour bus journey with minimal airflow and smells I did my best to ignore, I met an American woman with ethnic Albanian parents, who used her working knowledge of the language to antagonize souvenir merchants over the price of fridge magnets. I tried to express that maybe we are the ones taking from them, with our American wages driving up the cost of living - but this line of reasoning went unheard. Her Albanian guide tolerated our cultural exploitation with good humor, and I had a nice day overall. However, by the time the bus pulled back into Tirana, I longed for a return to my own more assimilationist brand of tourism.

July 30. While reading quietly in my Airbnb this morning, I got an urgent knock at the door. It was the cleaner, holding her phone out toward me. “Rezart.” I took the phone from her. “Hi, Rezart.” “Your WiFi, it is working?” “Uh… no actually.” “Ah. I am very sorry. I called the company, they said they would fix. I will call them again.” I can report that speeds are now ripping. Absolute legend, this guy.

July 31. Toured The House of Leaves, Tirana’s Museum of Secret Intelligence. Glad to live in a country that doesn’t… spy… on its own… citizens.

August 1. Despite repeated assurances to the contrary from Spectrum Mobile, my phone has been basically useless other than photos when not connected to WiFi. I’ve thought about getting a local SIM card, but the prospect of navigating an Albanian phone store has so far kept me at bay.

Week Four (8/2-8/8): The price of admission

August 2. Realized I hadn’t shown the digs. For $740/month on Airbnb during the summer, this has done nicely - although something tells me prices in Tirana won’t always be this reasonable. If low-cost living with great weather, basic infrastructure that functions most of the time, and a few laughs sound appealing to you, then what are you waiting for? Jump in while you still can!

August 3. While adjusting to life in Albania has gone smoothly overall, one lingering rock in my shoe has been the grocery store. Yes, even grocery shopping in the United States brings me a fair amount of stress, but here the chaos is objectively high. A consumer economy that still operates entirely on cash. Check-out attendants who seemingly speak less English than anyone else in Albania. Inventories that are variable at best. Being left to bag one’s own groceries, no matter how large the purchase or how many people are in line. These ingredients have at times conspired to create Category 5 hurricanes of anxiety. It’s a miracle I’ve got anything in my refrigerator.

August 4. Yet another grill mix and fries. By my count, this is at least the 9th I’ve had in the past three weeks. While I’m concerned that my palate has begun recalibrating itself to heavily salted, unidentified meat medleys, I won’t complain about dinner for $4.73.

August 5. I took a spur of the moment trip to Ohrid, Macedonia. Referred to as the “Jerusalem of the Balkans,” the town has picturesque monasteries from the the 12th century nestled around a natural lake so clean you can supposedly dip a glass into it and drink without getting sick. But I first had to endure another bus journey: this time with bumper to bumper traffic and a border crossing taking the total to almost five hours. The view from St. John at Kaneo, however, was well worth the price of admission.

August 6. Used my one full day in Ohrid to take a ferry to the famous monastery of Sveti Naum. I had high hopes from pictures I’d seen, but unfortunately so did hundreds of other tourists from all over Eastern Europe. In a low mood, I wondered what the venerable old theologian Naum would make of all the selfies and rampant commercialization of this once-sacred place. At least I had an evening swim in the lake and a great meal with friendly people to bring me back from the abyss of our consumerist simulacrum.

August 7. Another testing journey back to Tirana made me thankful American society has largely moved past the bus as a viable mode of long-distance travel. I like to think of myself as an environmentalist, but carbon footprints were the last thing on my mind as I demolished a massive order of Japanese food and took a long nap.

Week Five (8/8-8/15): High seas

August 8. During what is my last week before leaving Tirana, I finally discovered the Grand Park. A beautiful place well used by the locals. Highly recommend. 

August 9. Albania. The land of dueling clarinets.

August 10. Ventured to the coastal resort town of Himare. If I thought I had experienced the worst of my bus journeys, I was very, very wrong. An ill-timed flat took our total trip duration to 6.5 hours with the driver unloading everybody at a gas station to drive around on the rim in search of a mechanic. While swimming in the evening, I had the thought of committing my body to the sea.

August 11. With the help of a **super cool online travel blog** I reached the hidden beach of Filikuri, accessible only by water or by long hike/descent from a cliff using a tiny and disconcertingly frayed rope. My feet hit pebble to surreal scenes of nude sunbathing and weed. The water was unbelievably clear and the salinity so high that I could float without effort. I’ll have to check, but there must be a passage in Homer’s Odyssey about this place.

August 12. Sustained myself on the return leg with memories of my two dinners in Himare, both at the same location: Fredi’s Seafood Restaurant. A father/son operation with them as the only two employees, the service was horrendous. Six tables, zero decor, and during the ridiculous amount of time I spent waiting for food, I could hear them arguing loudly in the back. But it was also the absolute freshest seafood I’ve had - definitely in Albania, possibly anywhere. The son told me his father is a spearfisherman who catches most of the offerings himself every morning. I tried to buy a t-shirt, but he said the Larges have been out of stock for three years.

August 13. I rang in the opening weekend of the Premier League season by catching a game at “DUFF American Sports Bar” right in the heart of the Blloku. Plenty of New York Jets and Denver Nuggets jerseys, but they didn’t quite capture the full stateside experience. For a start, the TVs were way too small. And the music selection didn’t include nearly enough Bon Jovi. But I had a good time talking Liverpool’s struggles with a fan from Croatia who’s been living in Fargo, North Dakota of all places.

August 14. I don’t think I look particularly Albanian, but over the course of my time here, locals have continued to address me in their own language, rather than English. The conversation of course ends at the boundaries of my limited vocabulary: “Faleminderit” (thank you), “uje i gazuar” (seltzer water), “suzhuk” (sausage) and a few other words picked up from road signs and food menus. But I’m proud at the thought that for at least a few seconds I’m being confused for a native son.

August 15. Leaving Tirana for the mountains of Shkoder tomorrow after five rich weeks. Genuinely sad to be going and hope I see this special city again. Maybe someday I'll return on a golden barge with my commercial water filtration startup bringing the wonders of reverse osmosis to the masses. Until then, I’ll have to make do with whatever photos iCloud allows me to keep.

Week Six (8/16-8/22): The perils of walking

August 16. Arrived in Shkoder, northern Albania, on a miserably hot day to the sight of stray dogs and large groups of tourists with backpacks. Checking into the only hostel of my trip, the kid behind the counter used the phrase “chill down” far too many times for my liking. I immediately found myself longing for the halcyon days of Rezart’s Airbnb in Tirana.

August 17. I’ve always loved to walk, no matter where I am. Even in suburban Atlanta, where it seems like every municipal decision over a 150 year period has actively discouraged the practice. But nowhere has challenged this love quite like the streets of Shkoder. At any given point while walking on a designated sidewalk, you might encounter a situation such as this: A family of four coming toward you shoulder-to-shoulder, oblivious to their surroundings; a car coming up quickly on the road behind you; two cyclists coming from opposite directions, both hoping to use the tiny sliver of road between the car and the curb; a stray dog; some guy airing out of an alleyway on a Vespa at a perpendicular angle to all other direction of travel; a beggar sitting on the curb with their belongings spread out in front of them. Oh, and all of this is occurring simultaneously on a cramped cobblestone cut-through not even the width of a single American lane. Of course by following the typical right of way procedures, I’m usually the one who comes closest to bringing down the house of cards - the glares indicate in no uncertain terms that if I don’t know how to walk, I should go back to my country.

August 18. Shkoder supposedly does have sights worth visiting, but I’ve had little inclination toward seeing them. Not sure if it’s the heat or the claustrophobic nature of the place, but I’ve felt like doing nothing other than holing up in the private room at my hostel to work and read. However, even that has been difficult with the sounds of construction, dogs and Muslim calls to prayer interrupting my thoughts at every turn.

August 19. Saturday has arrived and that means it’s time for my big hiking expedition - the hopefully redemptive purpose of this section of the trip. A large group of travelers, at least 40% of whom are Australian, boarded two buses at the hostel at 6:45am. After a hairy three hours up a narrow mountain pass, a two hour ferry ride through picturesque Komani Lake and another bus, we arrived at a family-owned guesthouse in the village of Valbona. With the large influx of tourists to this area over the past few months, the place was so full that I was boarded with a German couple who had booked a private room. Another woman from Canada was placed between our two beds on a mattress thrown on the floor. The vibes were all positive, however, in spite of or maybe because of the lack of alcohol, and the scenery got me buzzing for tomorrow’s hike.

August 20. The famous hike from Valbona to Theth. 16km up and down a mountain ridge. The vistas were incredible, and I’ve gotten to know plenty of people from our group. I did get peer-pressured by the Spanish woman taking my obligatory “sick views” photo into giving a thumbs up. Damn it.

August 21. Stayed an extra day at the guesthouse in Theth to visit the “Blue Eye” - a natural spring where the water is between 40- and 45-degrees Fahrenheit. We took turns jumping in, but nobody was able to stay in longer than a few seconds. It knocked my breath out it was so cold, although that was exactly what I wanted after being covered in sweat day and night for the previous five days. In the evening, there was a fire and a bit of dancing with raki and homemade “wine” passed around to any and all. There was also much speculation as to how long the local good will is going to last before it turns sour, and I’m glad to have seen this amazing country at the right time.

August 22. For the return leg to Shkoder, the mode of transport was a van with more than 673,000km on it, which I wasn’t even sure was possible. Heading on to Kotor, Montenegro tomorrow and a little sad saying goodbye to new friends. But exciting times await: I’ve got a visitor coming on Thursday…

Week Seven (8/23-8/29): Liberal socialism

August 23. Crossed the border into Montenegro and already the Slavic manner has made its presence felt. A police officer who looked like he’d seen the Balkan War boarded the bus to check everyone’s passports. When a woman took too long to get hers out, he slapped her book out of her hands. A few passengers laughed nervously, but his face showed no hint of a smile.

August 24. Emily arrived today. Her journey from North Carolina surpassed the 24 hour mark and included a near-miss scam attempt via an online “taxi rental” company. Thankfully, she handled the trials of the local bus system more gracefully than her boyfriend. At dinner in Old Town Kotor, she exhibited zero weariness whatsoever. Welcome, Emily!

August 25. We walked to Luka’s Oyster Farm a few miles along the bay, where the owner and his teenage nephew were both named Luka. The younger Luka informed us on how they raise the oysters (it takes three years, a complex process) before the older one informed us on how Americans have Yugoslavia all wrong. Tito’s regime was not communism but liberal socialism and in fact the 1980s were far more prosperous than the current state of affairs. Nowadays, instead of “strong leader” everyone could get behind, it’s the mafia. We did more listening than talking, and although I thought about pressing him with some points I picked up from Balkan Ghosts, his delivery of these cold hard facts in nothing but a speedo with the Montenegro flag on it made me believe he wasn’t in the mood for debate.

August 26. I’ve never seen a washing machine like the one inside our Airbnb. I’ve also never felt clothes like the way mine feel after a spin on the “Normal” cycle. And I don’t mean that in a good way.

August 27. Old Town Kotor is pretty, but there sure are a lot of cats. A slightly unnerving amount of cats. Also cruise ships. And people.

August 28. 34 years old today. Yikes. It turned out to be a birthday to remember, however, with dinner at Stari Mlini (“old mill”), where I smoked a seemingly authentic Cuban cigar after a delicious meal of whole fish, fish soup and fish on salad. The crusty waiter conveyed my thinking accurately as he cleared away the plates: “Wine, cigar, woman… enough.”

August 29. We ascended the 6th century fortress walls, where we took some straight down the fairway pics of the Bay of Kotor while listening to passing tourists complain about the cobblestones. A local woman selling soft drinks told us of a back window we could escape through to see the other side of the wall. We took her advice and encountered an old church and a herd of goats. An abandoned power plant might have whispered softly of Tito’s glory days, but any whispers were summarily drowned out by a cruise ship blaring its horn in the harbor.

Week Eight (8/30-9/5): Cryptocurrency accepted

August 30. Just as I was starting to get the hang of Albanian, my language bearings have been scrambled once again. I can report that the Montenegrin/Serbian/Croatian family of languages is, in fact, difficult for non-natives to decipher. And completely unrelated to that of the people less than 50km away.

August 31. We embarked upon an expedition today, beginning with an ambitious hike from Kotor to the nearby resort town of Tivat. We only realized just how ambitious of a hike it was once it started to get dark and we were struggling to find the trail amidst briar and washouts. But we made it to our hotel by 9pm and even had a night swim before dinner.

September 1. The expedition continued to our final destination: an Airbnb on the Lustica (Loosh-TEET-za?) Peninsula. The intervening journey took all day, starting with a walk through Tivat - which it seems a developer is attempting to turn from an old Yugoslav naval yard into an unholy combination of Rodeo Drive, Monaco and Dubai. (Yachts and penthouses can be paid for in crypto.) I got one of the more memorable haircuts of my life from a Turkish barber. And then we actually did get lost on the peninsula. Thankfully a friendly Ukrainian picked us up on the road and drove us close to where we were staying. Another 9pm arrival and no restaurants or grocery stores within two miles meant we were left with granola, sardines and rice cakes for dinner. All part of my plan.

September 2. Beach day at Zanjice (ZHAN-eech?) and Mirista. We followed some others by swimming a few hundred yards out to a monastery in the bay, only to discover that the monastery is still active and that bathing suits are prohibited. The monk didn’t speak, he just pointed to the rather tiny sign we had missed, and we were forced to turn back. It became apparent the others ahead of us had clothes in dry bags. At least the clear water and many fish meant the swim was well worth it.

September 3. For our return leg to Kotor, we took the easy option this time: Our elderly Airbnb host’s elderly handyman and possible boyfriend Jovan drove us back in his Mercedes C-Class. On the journey, he reminisced over his stay in New Orleans during NYE 1978 while working aboard a cargo ship. Very nice guy. Not a Biden fan though, it has to be said.

September 4. It seems the adventures of the preceding weeks might have finally caught up with me. Alas, a fever has kept me in bed. I’m hoping it’s the adventures and not my Ritter Sport consumption, which has been steadily growing to the point of unmanageability.

September 5. Emily returned home today. The sadness is only heightened by my realization that tomorrow is the halfway mark of my trip. Cue much rumination on the nature of time and memory.

Weeks Nine and Ten (9/6-9/19): No updates

Taking a couple of weeks off to catch up on other work. Will be back reporting from Dubrovnik, Croatia on the 26th, so stay tuned!

Week Eleven (9/20-9/26): Dubrovnik, Florida, USA

September 20. I coasted into town on a bus that was actually… pleasant. Seats only half full, a/c pumping, an adequately staffed border crossing. I feel so good I could even crack a joke about the Iron Throne. Or King’s Landing. But no. No, I’m not going to do that.

September 21. I should’ve figured the city where Game of Thrones was shot would be far from the Balkans’ best kept secret. But I severely underestimated just how flooded with tourists it was going to be. To simply set foot on the city walls costs 35 Euro. A single portion of fast food costs 20 Euro. There are so many Americans that at times it feels like I’m not in Europe at all, that instead I’ve been drugged and set loose inside a brand new Game of Thrones theme park down in Orlando. I would ask an actual Croatian what they make of all this, if only I could find a few walking around.

September 22. A highlight of my stay so far has been the private terrace at my Airbnb. Views of the Old Town right across the water. A beautifully safe distance to contemplate the homogenizing of world culture.

September 23. If Kotor is ruled by the common house cat, Dubrovnik is ruled by the pigeon. The brazen manner and grizzled appearance of these birds immediately suggest they are not to be shown any signs of weakness. I was confirmed in that impression by an elderly couple who made the mistake of feeding one.

September 24. I’ve come to expect grocery stores with empty shelves as just another fact of life in the Balkans. Travel is about rolling with the punches. Making the best of it. That is, until I’ve eaten fried calamari and french fries three dinners in a row.

September 25. I finally summoned the courage to tackle a day of full-on tourism. I got off to a good start with the cable car up to Fort Imperial. But after hiking back down and exploring the free section of the Old Town with five or six thousand of my closest friends, I began to fade badly. In need of a pick-me-up, I retreated to one place I knew I could count on: The Hard Rock Cafe. And boy, it didn’t disappoint. Quality food, impeccable service, and the signed guitar of Meghan Trainor’s backing musician. An absolute steal at 32 Euro.

September 26. I just completed the 9-hour bus ride up to Zadar, the waterfront city a couple of hundred miles North and home for the last leg of my trip. I hope it’s significantly cheaper here, or I’m gonna need to put a call into Schwab.

Week Twelve (9/27-10/3): Safe harbors

September 27. If I’m honest, I was concerned that the entirety of Croatia would be gripped by the overwhelming specter of first-world tourism - even this late in the season. But first impressions of Zadar have been positive. It might not be much cheaper, and I’ll still be surviving on oatmeal and sardines, but at least there are some actual Croatians.

September 28. Zadar is known for its sunsets, thanks to a widely repeated Alfred Hitchcock quote about them being the “best in the world.” After observing two in person, I can report that it’s not all hyperbole. They are, in fact, very nice.

September 29. The Sea Organ. The sounds are made by waves pushing air through pipes set in the concrete embankment. It’s somehow melodic yet different from moment to moment, depending on the tide and the wind. Mournful. Angry. Calm. Triumphant.* At times over the past few days I’ve felt I could just pack it all in and listen to the Sea Organ every day. If only that were a profession. *Sidenote: Is this what a midlife crisis feels like?

September 30. Got another haircut today. Alas, it was not Tivat. I’m already wondering where I can find a Turkish barber back home because that was something else.

October 1. Another fun fact I’ve picked up online is that Zadar is the oldest continuously inhabited city in Croatia. It was settled by the Liburnian civilization all way back in the 9th Century BC. Not seeing a ton of their influence these days, but at least I can buy plenty of coffee and linen shirts.

October 2. Between the lines of these posts is a rather persistent grappling with the nature of tourism. I want to go to exotic places I find on the internet, but I don’t want other tourists to be there. And yet it’s mostly tourists because everyone else can find it on the internet like I did. Except now the locals have left because of all the tourists. And so what remains are the people we tried to get away from. The tourists. Ah, 21st century life.

October 3. I’ve made a resolution to go swimming in the Adriatic every day during my stay in Zadar. I’ve been taking those swims here, at Kolovare. Five minutes walk from Paško’s Airbnb. It’s going to be tough readjusting to the full-throttle American experience.

Week Thirteen (10/4-10/10): A family affair

October 4. I neglected to mention that I lost all of my toiletries in Albania. Seven weeks later, I’ve finally been able to find a functional beard trimmer.

October 5. In my quest to live like a real Croatian, I’ve been on the hunt for high quality extra virgin olive oil. The barber told me locals take a tablespoon of it every morning with lemon for optimal gut health. He insisted the storebought stuff won’t do. Unfortunately, my search began with getting hustled at the open air market by three separate vendors, including an elderly woman who must’ve been at least 85 years old. Three bottles bought, none with the correct characteristics as described online.

October 6. Gearing up for a different side of the Balkans with my brother Tom and his fiancée Jordann tomorrow. The sophisticated seaside retreat of Rovinj. After three months on a strict budget, I’ll admit I’m more than excited to remember how the other half lives.

October 7. Thanks to the wizards at ExpressVPN, the visit began poolside at the Grand Park Hotel for a late McTominay double in injury time to win the Man Utd game. This was celebrated heartily by me, Tom and two of the Slav servers who were also fans. We may have disturbed the rarefied air, but that was a price we were willing to pay given the team’s disastrous start to the season. With the tone set for victory, we took in the sunset before a lovely dinner and cigars at a bar directly on the water.

October 8. Olive oil tasting. Roadside market. Tom and Jordann’s first swim in the Adriatic. My first truffle experience. The unnecessary purchase of some Spanish loafers. A truly perfect day all around.

October 9. Back to Zadar. My reflections on the importance of family assumed a weightier tone due to the bus driver, who threatened to bring mine and the other passengers’ lives to a premature end with some driving that wouldn’t have been out of place on a Formula 1 circuit. Thankfully, a few forceful complaints from those around me led to a replacement, and we were able to reach our destination without incident.

October 10. The family fun continued with a rather amazing coincidence. My Aunt Denise, Uncle Duncan and Cousin Ellie from the UK happened to be on a cruise stopping in Zadar today. I hadn’t seen them in more than 10 years, but it was like no time had passed at all. Hope it’s not another 10 years until next time!

Week Fourteen (10/11-10/17): Explorations, outer and inner

October 11. I stumbled upon the “Meat Me 4.0” meat festival taking place in the Old Town fish market, where an aging DJ blasted out house remixes of everything from Phil Collins to U2. There weren’t too many people in attendance, but the €12 ribeye was better than most $40 steaks back home.

October 12. Wanting to see some of Croatia’s famous islands while it’s still warm, I took a tourist boat out to Kornati National Park and Telašćica (tel-ash-CHEET-za) natural area. The islands didn’t quite match the majesty of my imagination, however I used the opportunity to apply some healing sulphuric mud to my head from the bottom of Lake Mir. Results have so far been inconclusive.

October 13. I continued my island adventures with a bus to Pag, world renowned as the home of club mecca Zrće (ZER-che) Beach. I wasn’t expecting wild times in mid-October, but I figured there would at least be some kind of year-round townie scene. It instead turned out to be deserted. Even the tourist hub, Novalja, is basically a ghost town. While most of the restaurants and businesses are closed, I was able to find some of the storied Pag lamb at Starac I More (“Old Man and the Sea”). It was great, in spite of the silence.

October 14. I have to say I slept incredibly well. Amazing what the absence of other people will do. And the Airbnb… superb. But after this early preview of what life might be like following the apocalypse, I found myself more than ready to get back to Zadar.

October 15. I bought a fourth bottle of olive oil last week from the farm outside Rovinj where we did the tasting. I’ve been crushing it ever since. I’m excited to see what kind of superhuman qualities I possess after a few weeks of this stuff coursing through my system.

October 16. The cold front has moved in, and even Zadar has begun to slow down. I still managed to go for a swim earlier, but it wasn’t all that pleasant. 

October 17. I finished a screenplay today. It’s about livers. It’s called… Livers. No need to hack into my hard drive, it’ll be available on this website for download in the not-too-distant future!

Week Fifteen (10/18-10/24): Explorations, pt. two

October 18. Now that I’ve finished my current writing project, I can move on to finalizing plans for Tom’s bachelor party in Miami, FL - which starts the day after I return home on November 1st. Safe to say it’s going to be a blistering reentry into American life.

October 19. I’ve been hesitant to write about this publicly, since I’m not trying to stoke fears around my mental health any further than I already have done. But I’ve begun recording and interpreting my dreams. Some interesting stuff in there. I recommend trying it sometime.

October 20. I took the early bus this morning to Zagreb, Croatia’s capital. One of my first stops was the much-renowned Museum of Broken Relationships. It’s filled with objects people have donated that represent their breakups. More than enough to send me on my (cough)… own… adventures down memory lane.

October 21. Old yellow buildings. Soviet-era streetcars. A “party rock bunker.” Something for everyone here in Zagreb.

October 22. The Croatian Museum of Naïve Art caught my eye with the vision of two cows alone in a dark wood. I left with three posters, two fridge magnets and my mind expanded beyond its previous limits.

October 23. Back in Zadar today. It might’ve taken me 34 years to discover the magic of espresso, but I’ve been making up for lost time here in the Balkans. It makes me feel cool and sophisticated. Like I know something about the world.

October 24. I’ve started a new project about a mixed use development. One for the folks back home ☝️.

Week Sixteen (10/25-10/31): The end

October 25. Alas, the time has come for me to finally leave the Balkans behind. My trip is coming to a close, and on Friday, I’ll be taking the last flight of the season from Zadar back to Berlin. Four months and at least a night spent in 14 different locations. What a ride it has been.

October 26. My last full day was a beautiful one. I went to the Sea Organ for a final listen. Bought some souvenirs, walked around. I will be back someday. This can’t be the end end.

October 27. Since Berlin has become the idea of a cheap, cool place rather than an actual one, I decided to pass the few days before my flight home in Warsaw (Warszawa), Poland. I arrived on a cold train with the weather grim. The first thing I saw was this.

October 28. Warsaw has a surprising amount going on. I just wish the weather was a little nicer.

October 29. I got my wish and used the opportunity for a walk through the park up to the old town. People in turtlenecks and nice coats, Audi dealerships, nobody jaywalking. I had no idea Poland was this nice, to be honest.

October 30. One of the GOATs of world cinema is a guy from Warsaw, Krzysztof Kieślowski. In the late ‘80s, he made a 10-part series for Polish television called the Dekalog, which takes place in a working class apartment complex in the north of the city. I walked there this afternoon and visited his grave shortly afterwards. Not sure if I received any of the great man’s inspiration, but I can always hope.

October 31. I took the 6 hr train back to Berlin and checked into a hostel, only to find a Halloween rager occurring in the lobby. Very much not what I needed before a long flight in the morning. But it’s maybe also fitting, getting older and no longer feeling like joining the party. Responsibilities calling, and instead of longing to get drunk and mix it up, just wanting to go to bed. Maybe that’s what the trip has been about for me, coming to terms with a new phase of life. A ceremonial passage into middle age productivity. If that’s the case, I’m perfectly alright with that.

Epilogue (11/1-11/2)

One last twist in the tale occurred when I arrived in Amsterdam to find the second leg of my flight had been cancelled due to a technical malfunction. Instead of the night in Atlanta that I’d been looking forward to, and really needing before the madness of Miami, I ended up in a hotel in Amsterdam before flying straight to Miami by way of London the next day. I was at least able to sleep on the plane, and any tiredness was instantly relieved by the sight of Tom and the boys waiting for me outside of customs - but wow was it a crazy few days.

Thanks everyone for reading and following along!