When traveling, I always find it best to take trains and buses whenever possible. You’ll undoubtedly see a great deal more, and the thrill of globetrotting some how feels more heightened — there’s a glorious kind of frenzy that makes your spirit waltz. Even the quality of your thoughts pivot towards a deeper type of introspection. There’s a greater reverence for the uncertainty that lies ahead.
Still, there are times when the journey within the journey feels so taxing you nearly wonder aloud just how far we are from being about to teleport. Time seems to stand still, mocking you along the way, as the proximity to strangers with similar plans starts to wear on you.
Today was such a day.
“All’s well that begins well” is an adage I’ve heard a number of times. I’m not exactly sure who coined the phrase, but I think the expression can be misleading.
This morning I left my apartment in Mostar at 8:45 am and walked to the bus station in about 10 minutes. I was the only traveler within a city block as I began envisioning myself spread comfortably across the empty row of a nice cool bus.
I approached the counter and asked for a ticket to Dubrovnik. The agent looked at me as though she’d expected me to say those very words. She told me there was a bus scheduled for 10:15 am, which I already knew from looking online. She then alluded to the bus being fully booked.
Suddenly, a sense of dread poured over me as I considered staying another night or two in Mostar.
I watched as the room slowly filled with other unsettled travelers as the ticket agent typed furiously on her keypad. She had the intensity of someone negotiating a peace deal, or lifting an embargo. Perhaps in some small way she was because seconds later she handed me a ticket for Dubrovnik.
I waited for the bus at gate 6 like she instructed. I was surprised by how sparse the station was. I thought for sure people, young and old, would be clamoring for the chance to travel to one of the world’s most beautiful destinations.
More for me, I thought.
Moments later, and I mean moments, a mob of 20-somethings from Belgium swarmed the stop.
Soon the bus pulled up, as the frenzy I anticipated was never quite realized. Everyone was cordial, patient, and boarded the bus in an orderly way. It was the exact opposite experience I’d had just two years before when I hopped on a caravan in Beijing headed for the Great Wall. Chaos ensued as people shoved, jostled, screamed, and forced their way onboard. It felt like trying to leave an island just moments before it would all be submerged.
Somehow we all managed to find seats. All seemed well until it wasn’t.
The bus was filled to the brim, and similar to my bus ride from Nis to Belgrade, it had no ventilation system. Sweat poured down the brows of every passenger in sight, as I heard a chorus of sighs and the flapping of Asian fans.
I briefly wondered where on earth they got them.
My heart broke for a young mother trying desperately to keep her baby boy from crying as passive aggressive stares veiled her every move. It was as if the passengers thought the screams of an exhausted child drenched in perspiration were somehow part of this woman’s elaborate scheme.
The bus stalled out 4 times in between the infinite number of passport checks.
How many borders are there in Croatia? I wondered.
As we inched closer, I texted Danko, my AirBnb host whose father graciously agreed to pick me up at the city port:
Hey Danko, I really don’t want to keep your father waiting. I’m happy to take a cab. He’s probably busy. I think we’re close but I feel bad we’re running about half an hour behind.
He responded:
Do not worry, he is in town…he will drive you:)
To prolong the delay, we took a break at a rest stop a stone’s throw from the city center. Why we weren’t just forging ahead when we were already so close confounded me. It felt like going for a field goal two yards from the end zone.
As I stood alone gazing towards the road, a young man approached me and struck up a conversation.
His name was Bart and he looked to be in his early twenties. He was part of a tour group arranged by a nonprofit organization in Belgium. I told him how I’d visited Antwerp several years before as we traded notes on travel and careers.
“What’s it like being an actor?” he asked. He seemed fascinated by it all.
“How much time do you have?” I wanted to say.
Instead, I offered some versed response that danced between how rewarding it could be and the challenges of a pursuit draped in solitude and rejection. In the end, I gave him my contact information and we promised to stay in touch.
Soon it was time to get back on the bus. As we weaved through winding roads we began dropping off passengers at various stops along the way. The caravan was slowly thinning out as we flirted with the Adriatic Sea, now within a few meters of the clear blue water. It was excruciating as we zipped past sunbathers and swimmers basking in the sun. They might as well have been flipping us the bird.
Never in all my life had I wanted to dive into the ocean so bad.
Eventually we arrived at the port. I was greeted by Danko’s father, a man in his 60s. He was in good shape and even better spirits. He carried a piece of paper with the words, “Nick Maccarone” written on it.
What a funny looking name was my first thought before introducing myself.
We headed to his car and made small talk as we drove along the Adriatic Sea. Danko’s father apologized for his poor English, but I managed to find out he was a former police officer, the proud father of two, and had recently become a grandfather.
He asked me where I planned to go after Dubrovnik and I told him Split or Zagreb, not really knowing if either was true. All I knew was I needed to slowly inch closer to Slovenia, so I could get to Hungary, and eventually Poland. He groaned when I spoke of both cities as someone might if you told them you were dying to go to Cleveland, or Newark.
“Dubrovnik is the best, 1000%,” he said.
That’s a lot, I thought.
Soon we zipped past Dubrovnik. The apartment where I’d be staying was about 4 miles outside the city. As I looked over this magical 7th century rocky island it dawned on me how small it was. The population is only about 42,000, which would explain why it was such a challenge to find lodging in the main area.
To state the obvious, when a place is really beautiful everyone wants to go there.
My plan had somehow evolved into a seeing this remarkable postcard of a city and then leaving as soon as I could. As beautiful as it was, it seemed similar to trying to see Venice, or waiting overnight for the newest smartphone.
The rewards immeasurable, but the effort so draining it might only be worth one-go.
I would be staying in a place between Dubrovnik and Cavtat, the next major town over. The surroundings along the way reminded me of Malibu, less a community than a row of impressive homes just off a major highway.
When we finally arrived, Danko’s father pointed to a restaurant across the street that served great Italian food.
“My friend’s restaurant,” he said.
It also turned out to be the only restaurant.
These guys have quite the operation going, I thought to myself.
We made our way to my room as I thanked Danko’s dad for his incredible generosity and patience. I took a brief nap before finding my way to the beach, Haruki Murakami’s most recent novel in hand.
I weaved through a steep trail slowly getting closer to the waters of the Adriatic. Within a few short minutes I was there. A whole world opened up to me as I took off my shoes and shirt and slowly made my way into the cold, but perfect waters.
As I floated on my back a sense of calm finally came over me. I’d made it. From what exactly I didn’t know.
Just then, I made out the fading sun between two giant clouds and it finally dawned on me that everything would be okay. The angst I’d felt for the last several months about my next career move, my future as a writer, entrepreneur, even a better man, gave way to a peace, a knowing that something good, like the sun, was also on the horizon.
Maybe it is true after all — “All’s well that begins well.”
-----
If you enjoyed this article, sign up for my bi-monthly newsletter with my favorite book, film, and travel recommendations in addition to my latest articles on productivity and inspiration.
Plus, I’d love to share my free Creativity Day Planner — a simple two -page template on building good daily habits.
No comments:
Post a Comment