And just like that, another chapter in the book. Another page turned. The winds of change shifted as I embarked on another endeavor in search of solace. Who knew what would happen next…

—

April 13th, 2023 at Tom Bradley International was the day my life changed forever.

Shaking in my shoes as I hugged my Mum goodbye, she took me by the shoulders and said,

“Hey. Look at me. You’ve got this.”

Choking on my tears as I waved goodbye, I breezed through security and beelined to a wine bar. I marvelled at the people around me: families scrambling, couples napping at their gate, and businessmen with clacking leather loafers truly set the scene for a typical day at the airport. A bubbly, rosy German woman takes my order before exchanging in her native dialect with another patron. Her warm smile brought ease to my nervous disposition, as I think she could tell I desperately needed a drink.

After closing my tab, I made my way to the gate. As we shuffled onto the plane, I knew this was the point of no return. All I could do now was sit back, relax, and enjoy some plastic cups of Chardonnay.

—

Upon waking, I attempt to stretch out my legs in the confinement of this seat. The aroma of cheap, burnt coffee and above-average food filled the air: Breakfast time.

I stuck with fruit and water, for adrenaline was my main source of fuel. Only hours until my layover in Munich: time to rewatch The Devil Wears Prada.

I had a hefty two hours to navigate Munich’s puzzling airport, cruise through immigration, and find some sustenance. Out of everyone in line, I ended up with the most intimidating Immigration officer I’ve ever met. Her smoldering brown eyes cut through my soul with just a glance: this would happen to me. With an aggressive tap-tap on her counter, she motioned me forward to the glass.

“Final destination?” She declared in a thick, German accent.

“…Split…” I hesitated with a dry throat. How was I already dehydrated?

“How long?”

“A few weeks. Visiting friends.”

Her face relaxed as she nodded at my response, eyes darting from computer screen to passport, back to me, then back to the screen. With an echoing stamp that nearly broke the desk, I was on my merry way. Why did I suddenly feel like a criminal?

With just an hour to find my gate and relax, I grabbed a sandwich and an ice cold litre of water.

“Finally, some real food,” I thought to myself while devouring the prosciutto sub.

—

My comfy, roomy flight to Split was quick and painless: Extra legroom and a power nap revved up my energy, for there was no time for jet lag.

Departing our plane, the electric heat hit my face, snapping me back to reality. I was finally in Split.

Baggage: Claimed.

Uber: Confirmed.

Confusion about Uber pick-up: At an all time high. This airport hasn’t really figured out a designated, legible sign for Ubers, which led me to ask a burly, white moustached man if I was in the right place.

“Well, let’s sure hope it is…” he replied in a Southern drawl, cigarette bobbing from his lip.

Not entirely convinced by his response, I scanned each Uber for the matching license plate on my phone. To my surprise, my driver, Timo, was a meter away. He grabbed my bags and opened the door for me.

“Sorry, English no good,” he shrugged, gesturing at the amount of traffic on the road.

“Oprosti, moj hrvatski ne ide dobro…” I replied, which essentially means “Sorry, my Croatian sucks.” He smiled as we made our way to Trogir.

—

Scanning the streets for my hostel, I paced back and forth with heavy luggage and a perplexed look on my face. Suddenly, I hear my name.

“Hannah? It is me! Ivan!”

The hostel owner was enjoying gelato with another tall, dark, Slavic friend, which was one of the most wholesome moments I’ve ever seen.

A family-run institution, Palace Central Square was an elevated bed and breakfast that felt just like home. My room was spacious, cosy, and had everything I needed for the next two days. Its prime location made it a convenient two-minute walk to cafes, bars, and more.

Speaking of a bar, I was craving a Negroni, so I walked a mere five minutes down the block and got a Negroni. As I waited for my panne con tomate and sardines, the heaven’s opened with an absolute downpour of rain, making this moment feel like a movie scene. Families smiling while their children’s laughter filled the room, rambunctious Germans ordering bottles upon bottles of the finest Adriatic wine, and couples sharing platters of slow-roasted lamb and conversation…

It was official: I was falling back in love with Croatia.

—

Nearly ten hours of sleep later, I crawled out of bed in dire need of caffeination. Tinel Specialty Coffee Shop was a stone’s throw away with the perfect amount of panache. Bright, modern, and brimming with the strongest espresso I’ve ever had, I made this spot a regular hang-out.

After roaming the rainy alleyways caffeinated as hell, I returned to my room to relax, which I found to be difficult. I’ve never had coffee THIS strong before. I couldn’t sit still, so I began organising my bags in preparation for my week at sea, which seemed like the most sensible thing to do.

I learned through my Yacht Week group chat that my giant bag would not work on the boat. Thankfully, I had a smaller duffle with me that I used instead. Ivan and his wife were kind enough to let me store the bigger bag with them, alleviating me of packing stress for the week.

After coordinating my gear, I showered and got ready for dinner. There was a beautiful wine bar called Calebotta around the corner that I was begging to try. Upon walking through the door, I immediately felt right at home. My server was tall, kind, soft spoken, and knowledgeable. I indulged in shrimp risotto with freshly shaved white truffle, which paired beautifully with my Plavac wine.

Calebotta’s staff was beyond amazing: I’m so happy I spent my last evening in their care.

A Swiss couple sat next to me with a beautiful bottle of Rosé. They also ordered riba dana (fish of the day) which was ominously enticing. Neary 30 minutes later, the sizzling hiss of a black iron skillet appeared. This wasn’t just any fish: It was the size of a small surfboard.

We all laughed as the server placed this massive sea creature on their table. The couple asked if I’d like some, as there was no way they could finish this gargantuan amount of food. After an initial polite decline, they persuaded me and fixed a plate. Safe to say, it was the best fish I’ve ever eaten. Flaky, buttery, and cooked to perfection, we were all in culinary heaven. The Swiss and I exchanged pleasant conversation, more wine, and plenty of laughter: I didn’t want this night to end.

I returned to my room, finalized my meal plan for the week, and crashed.

I knew my life would never be the same after this trip. Croatia was meant to teach me something, but it was too soon to know its exact lesson.

The following morning was full of nerves and anticipation. I bid farewell to Ivan as I checked out of Palace Central Square. After making one final run to Tinel Specialty Coffee for matcha and sustenance, I booked my Uber, Timo, who was the same driver from the airport.

We exchanged a dobro jutro (good morning) as I was starting to feel confident in my Croatian.

“Marina Trogić Baotić?” Timo asked.

“Da, Hvala Timo,” I responded, confirming my destination.

It was a pleasant, seven minute drive to the marina, where he managed to drop me off right in front of my group.

My heart began to race as I approached, mind going a million miles a second. I felt rushed as I walked to the check-in tables full of gear, clipboards, dozens of accents, and friendly exchanges: My brain could only process so much. Only time would tell for this new adventure at sea. Who would I meet? What would I learn? How would I cope?

Then, a warm presence approached me, arms extended for a big hug.

“Hi! It’s so nice to finally meet you…”