When I wrote about bailing on my island hop last week, I mentioned that it freed me up to accept an invitation to visit the little town of Tisno—here’s the story I hinted at.
Shortly after I arrived in Barcelona back in May, right after I’d started traveling, a guy messaged me on OKCupid. We’ll call him Evan. He was cute, I was interested. Only problem is that he was back in New York. First date next year?, I offered.
We chatted a bit, and it turned out we’d both be in Croatia in August. I filed it in the back of my mind for a few months, and we reconnected once we were here. My hopes for a fun Croatian date, though, soon dissipated when I realized we were geographically incompatible.
I’m based in Split, without a car or boat or helicopter, and Evan was staying in Tisno, also without transportation, 119 km (about 74 miles) up the coast.
He quickly explained that it was impossible for him to come see me—there are no rental car companies in his small seaside town, and even if there were, he was visiting his mother, and there’s no way she would be okay with him taking a couple days out of his annual visit to drive down the coast to see a girl.
And I dug in my heels and refused to go there. Years of social conditioning have taught me that Men Are Supposed to Make the Effort. They are supposed to call, they are supposed to pick you up, if they ask you out less than three days in advance, you must refuse, because you are supposed to be unavailable, and they are supposed to pursue.
Now I don’t truly believe in that anti-feminist, regressive bullshit. (I actually fired a therapist in New York who tried to push it on me, but that’s a story for another day.) But when you hear these things often enough—and as a woman, you hear them constantly—they seep into your subconscious. And on a more personal level, I’ve had many experiences, with men, friends, work, even family, where I am putting forth piles of effort and getting little in return.
Because of all that, I said, no, sorry, and anyway, I have a trip planned, so maybe I’ll see you in 2018. But we kept talking. And my trip turned out to be a bust. Then I looked online and discovered there was a vacancy for a couple nights in the one nice hotel in Tisno. It had a pool, and even more appealing to someone who’s spent the last few weeks sweating uncomfortably, it had CENTRAL AIR CONDITIONING. Finally, I decided what the hell. He might be great, he might be terrible, but at least I’ll get a couple good nights’ sleep in that sweet sweet artificial coolness.
So I managed to rent a car, which due to the aforementioned problems I had in Germany, was not an easy feat, and just two days after taking the ferry back from Vis, I headed north.
My expectations were low. Evan had made it clear that his mom was his first priority (as she should be, really, I’m neither insane nor an asshole), and he had some prior commitments. But he ended up making more of an effort than I’d anticipated, and I had two of my best days on the trip so far.
After a quick, get-to-know-you, make-sure-we-actually-like-each-other lunch, we hopped in my rental car, and he drove me to a little local swimming spot. Down a pothole-strewn dirt road, a little hike through the forest, and here we were:
In Croatia, this is a beach. I have Feelings about that, but I’ll admit that it’s lovely. You just have to really earn your swim by walking on the dirt trail, climbing down the rocks, and hopping over the sea urchins. But the people were few, and the water was salty perfection.
To my surprise, Evan actually invited me to join his evening plans, a movie with friends in a nearby town. But I decided to pass—it had been a long day, and I wanted to see Tisno for myself. I had a delightful evening. The sea breeze was refreshing, I adored the old men fishing off the bridge, and I found a little restaurant where everyone was speaking Croatian and I could get a giant mixed grill plate for 12 bucks.
I thought the beach outing might be all Evan would have time for; early on in our talks, he’d said he could only get away for a couple hours. Instead, he told his mom he had a friend in town (his mom, not being an idiot, was delighted he had a girl visiting and wanted me to come over for cake…that didn’t happen haha), and we made plans to visit Krka National Park the next day.
While Evan dealt with a burst pipe in the morning, I had a lazy few hours reading a book poolside. Then we were off to see the waterfalls, an easy half hour drive from Tisno.
If you ever find yourself in Croatia, Krka is the one thing I think you must do. The drive in is beautiful; you can see the river from the highway. After you park, you take a bus down a winding road with increasingly gorgeous views. Then you hike down a crowded wooden walkway, passing pools and lookout points and small falls. Then you get here:
Despite the crowd, I had a ridiculous amount of fun swimming against the current and clambering over the river rocks. It was worth every one of the many steps it took to climb back to the bus stop. (The fact that Evan bought me post-climb ice cream before dinner, my favorite soft serve twist cone, helped, too.)
We stopped for dinner on the way home at the perfect roadside country restaurant, where they specialize in meat on a spit. I’m fully carnivorous, and I was practically jumping up and down with excitement when I got out of the car and saw the fire pit. The lamb was fantastic, as was the bottle of Evan’s favorite Croatian red. Basically, if he’d just taken me to a bookstore, too, it would have been Jennifer’s Dream Date.
There are at least a dozen reasons why I had such a good time over these two days. Obviously, Evan and I got along well. We talked easily, commiserating over our careers in dwindling art fields, discussing relationships and family and hopes for the future. I really appreciated how he acknowledged and reciprocated the effort I put forth in getting there. It was perfect to be shown around a new place by someone who knows it well (he grew up in Croatia) but also knows my home (he’s lived in NYC for nearly a decade). And it was relaxing to let someone else take the lead, especially in the midst of a year in which I’m navigating one unfamiliar city after the next.
It represents the best of what this trip can be: I took a risk that paid off and had an exciting adventure with a handsome man in a spectacular setting.
But as we said goodbye—he was packing up the house the next day and preparing to go home; I was returning to Split—I realized it also represents the worst. For while the trip may bring exquisite moments, they’re almost inevitably fleeting, as we continue to press on to the next place, person, experience.
Many a well-meaning friend has asked, a hopeful lilt in their voice, if we’ll see each other when I go back to New York. It’s possible, but that’s months…perhaps as much as a year…away, and so many things could happen between now and then. But I suppose we’ll always have Tisno.
