Birthday Island-Hopping

On our first morning in Croatia, I found myself sitting side-saddle on the front of a speedboat through choppy seas as Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep” blared over the radio.

My face cold as we cut through the morning air. The sun hung low from the east casting shadows from the mainland across the channel and giving the whole scene a subtle orange glow. As we sped through the water, flocks of gulls would linger a moment too long before erupting into the air in front of us; I had to duck on a couple of occasions. We overtook boats left and right through the channel in a race west that seemed more a morning ritual than routine.

Today was Tori’s birthday. We usually don’t need an excuse for an adventure, but birthdays are just an invitation to celebrate. I had the trip in mind when we left the U.S., but I didn’t tell Tori until we sat down for dinner after flying in from France the day prior. She’s good with surprises, but it’s more fun if you have a little time to be excited. Not to mention, we had to be on the boat by 7:30 that morning. I looked over to see her catch my eye—exchanging excited glances as the front of the boat caught air from time to time. The islands seemed to hover in the air like giants. As we sped through the water, I gazed at them the way a runner looks at a poster on the wall in front of a treadmill. No matter how hard the engine worked to cut through the waves, the islands hung distant and indifferent, moving like the hands of a clock—glance by glance. Tori was somehow managing to both hold on and nod off. That girl….

An hour and a half into the light chop, the novelty of our new adventure was starting to wear off, and my left hand was starting to go numb from holding on. I was relieved to hear the engine slow as we approached a crowded harbor. The island itself didn’t have much going on. In fact, in the winter when the seas are rough, the few residents must have enough supplies to last disruptions to the ferry schedule. That or spend a few days on the neighboring island of Vis. Nearly one-third the distance to Italy, the tiny island of Biševo draws thousands of tourists across the channels to see a natural phenomenon: a sea cave largely enclosed except for an underwater entrance. When the sun is high, the light from below the sea illuminates the walls in brilliant shades of blue. As we pulled up to the dock, our skipper motioned for me to step onto the landing, handed me the line to the boat, and disappeared into the crowd. I turned back to a boat full of strangers staring back at me. “Where should we go now?” I joked, leaning to step back into the boat.

These sort of touristy attractions aren’t really my thing, but it was part of a day-long tour that took us to some islands that looked interesting. Being the shoulder season, the wait wasn’t long. The skipper dashed back, handed me seven tickets instructing me not to lose them, and motioned toward a much smaller boat on the other side of the landing. A sea-worn middle-aged man scanned the tickets and helped us into a plastic dingy sitting just barely above the water. The young German driver balancing on the stern looked on nervously as most of the group sat to one side. The whole boat leaned, but he didn’t seem to care enough to correct anyone.

As the glorified Vespa motor pushed us away from the dock toward bigger waves, I really had no clue what to expect. The young guy in the back straddled the controls, expertly carving the choppy inlets and weaving around rocky outcroppings. I kept expecting to see an overhang protruding from the cliff leading down to a cave entrance, but as he instructed us to duck down as much as we could, all I saw was a hole not much wider than the boat and not much taller than the waves. He revved the motor, and we hit the deck. The motor fell silent, and everything went dark.

Inside the cave, I realized there were a couple of other boats in the tiny space. The operators stood on the back like gondoliers pushing off the cave walls. As we moved further into the darkness, the sea grew brighter. Stunning blue light came through the passage, illuminating the sea floor and reflected back up to the cave walls. It changed shades as we circled the cavern. We snapped a few photos, and just as quickly as it started, it was over.

I was more excited about our next stop: coffee. Back on the real boat, we pulled into a sleepy harbor just across the waterway on the island of Vis. Komiža is a quaint fishing village on the western shore of Vis. Centuries-old houses seemed to rise straight out of the water lining the harbor punctuated by a single clocktower rising above the rest. It pointed toward breakfast.

Tori and I settled on a quiet café on the waterfront. I found us a table while Tori was distracted by a kitten roaming the terrace. Cats are almost synonymous with the coastal towns of Croatia. Dating all the way back to the early days of sailing, they keep the rodent populations on ships and in towns under control. Though nowadays, they seem to prefer spending their time in the laps of tourists. The morning chill had worn off, and the earliness of the day faded with each sip. The sun, much higher now, soaked into the scene as the waves brought in cool air from the sea. We sat and marveled at the scene—the red-tiled roofs, the coming and going of boats, old men passing by on bicycles or congregating in corners probably telling the same old tales. The hills rose above in the background—indifferent to the ages—content to watch the generations come and go. The town seemed to straddle two eras—formed in resilient tradition but adapting well to the age of avocado toast.

We spent late morning exploring the south side of the island: caves, famous beaches, and fortifications from the last world war before arriving at a lagoon on a private island owned by a man called Andro. There wasn’t much on the island: a shack that sold cocktails, a couple of donkeys, and some chickens. Our guide warned that the donkeys were friendly and would get into your bag. He was right. Tori and I skipped the main beach and made the three-minute hike to the other side of the island. A pebble beach opened to a clear, blue cove. A lone catamaran sat anchored in the calm water. A couple of people came and went, but other than that, it was quiet. It’s amazing how a couple minutes of extra effort can pay off.

I’ve learned that when Croatians say “refreshing,” they mean cold. Even though the water looked tropical, it was a chilly 23°C. I waded out through the slick pebbles before taking the plunge. It’s enough to be cold and stay cold. But after a couple minutes of treading water, it was no longer center of mind. As Tori waded her way out, I swam out into deeper water. I had never been in ocean water that clear. It looked as if you could stand up and touch the sandy floor, but after a couple diving attempts, I realized it was more than a few meters deep. Tori and I drifted in the sea as other curious tourists quietly came and went. After twenty minutes or so, I finally gave in to the cold and conceded to stretch out in the sun. Tori sat waist deep in the sea gazing out into the distance. The whole scene felt more like a scene from a Bond film than reality—something reserved for millionaires or people who have boats. I looked from Tori to the reflections through the water past the catamaran and islands to the towering mountains along the Dalmatian coast—all in varying shades of muted blues and grey—in minor disbelief and grateful to take it all in. Feeling the weight of the previous travel day, I shut my eyes for a few moments content to soak in the midday sun. Any worries I had faded away into the sound of the waves.

Our time on the island passed by in an instant. We sleepily gathered our things and traversed the pebble and dirt path back to the boat. On the livelier side of the island, the shores were lined with people sipping on drinks in the sun. I spotted one of the donkeys trampling one poor girl’s towel while it tried to make off with her bag. We definitely picked the right side of the island. Back in the saddle, I was getting better at hanging on to the side of the boat as we crested wave after wave. We had gotten acquainted with a solo-traveler from the UK, and Tori sat with her on one of the forward-facing seats. She had been traveling the world for three years and was getting ready to return home. Even though we had only two months to her thirty six, we still had plenty of stories to exchange. So few people exist in the sphere of full-time travel that when you do come across someone else who is traveling, you can relate on a whole new level. She had hiked one of the lesser known treks I was eyeing and had been to several of the places we were considering going. We asked what’s the most dangerous country she’s visited. She laughed and said the U.S.

Our next stop was in the port of Hvar on the island of the same name. It has a younger, livelier vibe and has the crowds and prices that follow. We found a café on the square for lunch and overheard a group of backpackers from every corner of the world: Australia, Europe, India, the Middle-East. I love that people still find friends for a day. A cheeky coffee later, we attempted the climb up to the old fort but found too many dead ends and not enough time. Still, we found some cool photo spots and plenty of kitties.

Back on the boat, we chit-chatted off and on about travel and jobs and all the different ways to go about this life—in the content tiredness of a day well spent. Dolphins criss-crossed our path as we made our way closer to the Split harbor. A storm was slowly moving along the mountain range, and a rainbow briefly appeared over the coastline. A year earlier, Tori and I were on a different coast, in Mexico, dreaming about the future and wondering where we would be in a year’s time—if this crazy risk would be worth it or if it would even work at all. I don’t think I could have guessed at how any of it would have turned out—and I still don’t know how, when, or where we’ll end up. But, that’s the beauty of it. It doesn’t matter where we’re going—just that we are. And, I couldn’t think of a better person to build this crazy life of ours with.

“Happy Birthday, Tori”