I've been itching to go to Croatia for years and this week my dreams were finally realized. Maggie, Kelly and I rented a car and zipped (aka made one wrong turn causing the GPS to send us on the most ridiculous two hour detour through the winding, vomit-indusing back roads of Croatia) to the Plitvice Lakes. We stayed at a super delightful home-stay in the country complete with a small farm, adorable grandparent-like hosts and roaming chickens. The poor chickens fell victim to our drunk antics one night when we decided to chase them around the yard in attempts to catch them. I have high hopes that one day in the near future I can tell you a good story that doesn't start with "this one time I was drunk". This, however, is not one of those days and we did, in fact, get wasted and, to my surprise, successfully catch some of them for an impromptu photo shoot.
Aside from the chickens, the actual Plitvice Lakes are breathtakingly stunning. I have seen a lot of amazing and rare and beautiful things on this trip. After everything, I am going to go on record and say that the Plitvice Lakes are the most beautiful thing I've seen thus far. Yes, thus far. It is pristine lake after pristine waterfall after pristine natural pool. I severely lack the writing skills to paint an impressive enough picture for you here, so just look at the pictures and know that the camera and I also lack the artistic skills to capture just how impressive this place is. There are literally hundreds of shinning, shimmering waterfalls that pour into the equally impressive lakes and natural pools (If someone can differentiate between a lake and pool then I'd be super impressed. All I know is that they only categorize 16 of these bodies of water as true lakes and the hundreds of others get the less distinctive categorization as pools though they seem just as impressive to me. Poor pools.). The water is so clear, clean and a devastating color of aqua that Croatia actually prevents you from putting your body in the water. It is incredibly hard to comply with the no-swimming rule after you've been hiking for four hours and the water is refreshingly perfect, clean and kid-free. I suppose this is ultimately how they keep their national park so beautiful, but that didn't prevent us from scheming ways to get our bodies into that crystal-blue water. "What if Kelly slipped and fell in, then I had to jump in to rescue her? They surely would understand that." Nevermind that Kelly grew up in a beach town and could swim circles around most fish.
Post the heavenly lakes, we all headed to the coastal town of Zadar, Croatia. Maggie and I, in our dedication to get to know the city and people, set out to find the local H&M the other day. It was supposed to be quite a ways outside of the city, although we couldn't seem to pry much more directions than those from all the people we asked. We felt up to the task since we were armed with a couple of questionable rental bikes for the long haul. After asking five different people directions and getting five different sets of directions, one reputable and confident sounding woman finally pointed us in the right direction. We swiftly peddled through the main part of town and then were immediately faced with the hill of death. It's not that this is the steepest hill in the world, but let me offer some excuses here; 1. Croatia is hot as balls, 2. I am just getting over a lung-rattling cold after Maggie exposed my Moldova ravaged lungs to her American germs, 3. Despite my best efforts to keep fit, somehow drunk dancing is just not cutting it as a proper work out regimen and I am embarrassingly out of shape.
Nevertheless, this is a hill and it is a long-ass hill. Neither of us wanting to be shown up by the other person (pride is everything among my slightly over-competitive friends), we wheeze all the way to the top. And since there weren't any witnesses, I'm not going to admit to taking any breaks. At the top of the K2 of the Croatian hillside, we see no H&M and no shopping centers and, frankly, very few buildings in general. Actually all we see is a lone bar and deserted church. I make Maggie go ask the bar owner for further directions while I "watched the bikes" (or secretly gasped for air in-between violently coughing up my lungs). Wouldn't you know, the directions were precisely the exact opposite of the initial instructions we were given; go all the way back down the hill that almost just took your life. Luckily biking up hills for no god damn reason is actually my hobby. Jokes on you. Now, not only are my lungs tore up, but my tender lady bits are now screaming from being on a bike all day. The hill down is steep and rocky and bumpy and labia destroying. The road eventually spits us out right into the parking lot of the huge, commercial shopping center. Success! Let the culture rich experience begin! I spend the next hour perusing the clothing store and profusely sweating. No matter how much I wiped my face on my shirt it just kept pouring. Hi, I'd like to try on your new merchandise on my hot, sweaty body, thanks. I figure it's retribution for the country's (and their GPS systems') complete lack of a sense of direction.
The hunt...
...and the catch
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