Word from the Old Country

Thoughts of our far-away second home

Thu, 8 Apr 2010 10:14:03 -0500

We are back in the States now, trying to put back together the life we tore asunder, in a way that makes more sense to us after Mrkopalj. Smaller, more concentrated, keeping in mind the important stuff like family and friends and hanging laundry on the line.
We’ve had an outpouring of love and help as we get settled again. Nursing quite a bit of gratitude in the ole ticker for what we’ve had waiting for us at home, and what we’ve had a chance to experience during the past year.
It’s been tough. It’s been easy. Smuggling back the bootleg rakia has helped. (Thanks, Baka Ana! We’re sharing the firewater love with our American family.)
The book will be out in a year. In the meantime, we’ll be frequently updating and adding stuff to this website. There are already some great new posts on the Side Trips! section, unveiling the sordid tales of our recent life on the road, otherwise known as The Time We Blew Our Savings Account During a Recession.
We’ll be adding to Jen’s Croatia Blog, too. We’ve got video, audio and more photos than we’ll ever know what to do with.
Keep checking back for news of the book, and travel albums, too. The signs all indicate that this journey is just getting started.

Hometown boy Jakov Fak represents!

Tue, 16 Feb 2010 13:21:44 -0600

We rarely knew what what going to happen in Mrkopalj as we spent summer and fall wandering its roads and mountains. But there were a few things you could count on with regularity. Robert would be up to some sort of boozy craziness. Pavice would know all the latest gossip. And Jakov Fak would be gliding by on the street with his practice skates and poles, like a sleek tanned greyhound, moving tenaciously toward the Vancouver Games.
At home, he’d often have a little clatch of kids crowding around him, little Mrkopalj biathletes in training in one of the clubs sponsored by the village. Mrkopalj turns out biathletes like Flint once made b-ballers. He’d tell them to work hard, think for themselves, and believe in the future.
Two nights ago, our last night in Mrkopalj, Valentine’s Day, we watched Jakov win the bronze medal, gathered with many of the villagers around the hearth of Stari Baca, its fire blazing against the cold heart of winter. When Jakov’s place was announced, Marin smashed a glass in congratulation (then died of alcohol poisoning). Robert played guitar. Goranka and Zoki did the polka. Jim and Pasha considered joining them until they remembered that neither of them could dance. Valentin spun donuts around the crossroads of Novi Varos, Muzevski Kraj and Stari Kraj. The village fire engine and ambulance ran their sirens through the streets. People marched over to the Fak house and decorated it with Croatian flags and a Jakov banner. Fireworks went off all over the place.
It was an amazing night.
Our last night.
An unbelievable good-bye to this unbelievable place.
Now we’ve launched our Farewell Europe Tour. We’ll keep the blog going under Side Trips! for family and friends who are interested, and those who fret about whether we’re still alive out here (Hi, Mom).
Which we are. Very much so. And feeling lucky, happy and free once again on the open road.

Starting each day with the strike of a match.

Sat, 13 Feb 2010 17:21:22 -0600

No, this isn’t going to be the blog about smoking.
Growing up, our ranch home in Colfax, Iowa, had one major luxury: A fireplace with a stone hearth. I’d spend hours by the fire, reading books in my polyester Hollie Hobby nightgown. One time I was there so long that I caught on fire. My brothers rolled me across the floor to put out the flames, then set me back on the hearth to find my place in the book again.
In Mrkopalj, fire isn’t just a luxury. It is the heat source of every home in the village. The last job of every day is to fetch wood. The first job every morning is to start the fire. Robert’s house was heated by a wood burning stove on each floor. With the temperature hovering in the 20s during our visit, our rooms were pretty chilly by the time we got out of bed to strike that first match.
It sounds rougher than it was. You have a heightened appreciation for warmth when you’ve felt true bone-chilling cold. Though each day began with the miserable sprint to fumble with the firestarters, by the time that stove was crackling and we were drinking our morning cups of tea or cocoa right next to it, we couldn’t have been happier.
Mrkopalj is strong on simple pleasures. And this was one of the best.

So how much snow are we talking here?

Fri, 12 Feb 2010 10:39:35 -0600

A fair amount.

Snow party!

Fri, 12 Feb 2010 10:12:49 -0600

Yesterday, Mrkopalj gathered at Celimbasa, the village ski hill, to celebrate the new snow grooming machine. The mayor was there. So was the county chief. The kids had the day off from school. Robert and Branko, the oldest man in Mrkopalj, dressed in the antique skis and clothing men once wore in the snow. In winter when Valentin and Jelena were here, people ski’d everywhere. They probably did, too.
We’ve gotten a strong taste of why skiing is such an integral part of life in Mrkopalj. How else can you get around when there’s about 7 feet of snow on the ground at all times? I walked off the path in Celimbasa yesterday, chasing Zadie or something, and was up to my hips and still sinking. Jim had to dig me out.
Robert gave the kids their first ski lessons. If they’re going to be real Mrkopaljci children, they’ve got to start on the trails young. We spent the afternoon on the bunny hill, happy and learning, though the snow was blowing the whole time.
Summer in Mrkopalj was gorgeous. But winter has a little magic to it.

Back in Mrkopalj. Buried in snow.

Wed, 10 Feb 2010 18:13:54 -0600

We returned to Mrkopalj yesterday evening for one more visit before we embark on the Farewell Europe Tour ’10. Some exciting new developments:
• Jakov Fak, Mario and Jasminka’s son, our neighbor, and one of the many biathlete Olympians Mrkopalj has spawned, will be carrying the Croatian flag during the Vancouver Winter Olympics opening ceremony. Please watch for him, send him your best, and think of us watching along with you. At 3 a.m., our time.
• Snow has buried the village. We’ve barely seen a soul on Novi Varoš, except those waving enthusiastically from their windows. They know better than to go outside in this weather. You’d think we would.
• There’s a future construction sign on Novi Varoš. A crumbling old stone house, formerly the general store during Valentin and Jelena’s time, will become a hotel/business park as of next year, thanks to some Zagreb developers. I’m happy for new business here. But it looks kinda modern.
• Stari Baca has moved! Yes, our favorite caffe bar has sort-of closed for the winter. Except when Robert opens it. Sometimes. The new winter location is in the kitchen of the International Peace School by the ski hill. We’re calling it Novi Baca.
• Tomorrow, the kids learn to ski! And I, who have already learned to ski, will learn how to stop when I reach the bottom of a hill. This will come in handy. Jim, who already knows how to ski, but didn’t bring snow pants, will be in Novi Baca, “keeping warm.”

Babushkas and kraut!

Mon, 8 Feb 2010 19:26:06 -0600

We spent another great day wandering around Diocletian’s Palace in Split, and lounging around the riva reading the paper and drinking coffee while the kids play basketball with a bouncy ball nearby (game canceled when Zadie took issue with Sam’s criticism of her “gobbling” style). Best thing about Split is that Diocletian’s Palace is the whole town itself, so you’re sort of relieved of traditional tourism duties. And fitting in with the locals means ordering more of that coffee from the waterfront cafe.
We hung out a lot in the marketplace, too. These two grandmothers were selling their home-made sauerkraut (kiseli kupus) from a barrel. I ordered a load of it, and they just scooped out a handful into a plastic bag (weep, plastic) and tied it extra tight so I could get it home for dinner.
Jim surfed the Net, and concluded that hand-made, fermented, unpasteurized cabbage is a wonder food. And so, because we just ate about 40 pounds of it, and it fermented all over again in my backpack all day long, we might just have superhuman powers when we return to the States.

In case you were wondering ...

Sun, 7 Feb 2010 08:00:50 -0600

Sometimes I forget the apocalyptic warnings about the evils of plastic. I’ve even wondered if scientists were exaggerating the extent of how all the plastic we use gacks up the global ecosystem.
They’re not.

A regular caffe bar...

Sun, 7 Feb 2010 07:56:41 -0600

But with swings! Sweet.

Day in Dubrovnik: Walking the Wall

Thu, 4 Feb 2010 21:42:28 -0600

From the blessing of throats at yesterday’s St. Blaise festival, to walking along the towering city walls today, Dubrovnik has proven to be one of our favorite of the trip.
We lucked out on arriving during the St. Blaise festa. It’s not a touristy time, so we got to blend in to see how Dubrovnik rolls. In short, it’s a classy joint, from the pale smooth stone lining the streets and squares, to the women who seem just a few notches more beautiful than standard earthlings. Speaking of deviating from earthly things: Sam and I touched St. Blaise’s right arm in a golden relic case, as his various body parts were paraded through the narrow back alleys of the city. (Incidentally, dude had a little head.)
From the walls, you can see which of the Dubrovnik’s stately stone buildings were damaged by the siege during the war in 1991-1992. The ones with the new orange terra cotta roof tops were hit by the shelling—and there were many. That you can only tell the damage if you really look closely is a testament to just how quickly Dubrovnik dusted itself off and moved forward.
One more time for good measure: Classy city.