Twenty years and 19 ways in which Croatia has changed me. I must confess that I have really enjoyed writing this series about my last two decades in Croatia, and the chance to celebrate all that Croatia has given – and continues to give – me. If you are new to the series, you can start at the beginning with doing business in Dalmatia.
The series has been a little self-indulgent, perhaps, but I have been egged on by the rather large interest that the series has generated. I can’t remember the last time my inbox had so little abuse (trolls, please come back, I miss you) and so many heartfelt comments from total strangers.
The series started taking on a life of its own. At some point, the idea of turning it into a book was born. When a Croatian lady in Holland said she would buy 40 copies of the book for her foreign colleagues in the Zagreb office so that they could begin to understand the mysteries of living in this wonderful land, one thing led to another, and Living in Croatia, a Foreigner Survival Kit was born.
It will be published by the end of October in time for Christmas, a collection of these articles, as well as more commentary and some practical sections for those looking to make the move to Croatia. It will also be dedicated to the subject of this, the last of the 20 Ways Croatia Changed Me in 20 Years.
My initial subject for the final chapter was going to be the Croatian lifestyle, but in some ways, the lifestyle has already been covered. And I wanted to find room to pay tribute to an extraordinary man who has had a big impact on my time here, and who sadly passed away suddenly earlier this year – my ‘punac’ (father-in-law) Franko, aka Frane. A truly exceptional man who lives on in the hearts of many on Hvar and beyond, and who will live on a little with this book, which I am dedicating to him and his lovely wife Zorica.
There is a lot I could write about Frane, but I will leave it with my words on Facebook soon after his funeral.
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Who are the people you respect the most in life?
One of the best things that has ever happened to me was getting new parents at the ripe old age of 33, an amazing couple who treated me as their own when I started dating their daughter almost 20 years ago. I want talk a little about my father-in-law/father, Franko.
The first time we met, you were in a suit. I never saw you in a suit again. You had invited me to lunch so you could meet the strange foreigner who was dating your eldest daughter. Even though we had no language in common, you and your family made me very welcome and we laughed a lot. When you left the table after lunch, you shook my hand, looked me in the eye and said: My first impression of you is positive, young man. I hope it will always be that way. I am not sure if it stayed positive, but my impression of you certainly did.
The second time I met you, you took me to look at property for sale, and then for a tour of your beloved ‘polje’ (field). You showed me your olive trees, your vines, your vegetables, and your plans for the future. And then you picked a couple of oranges, eating one in four bites without peeling it. I thought this was some kind of manly challenge (I failed). You gave me a bag of salad and vegetables to take home. It was the first example of your 19 years of giving. The last was 20kg of oranges that you delivered to us in Zagreb just a couple of weeks ago.
When we moved into the apartment above yours, you took me to the garage and showed me three stainless steel tanks, each filled with 200 litres of your excellent red wine. On one of the tanks was the word POL – this one is for you, Pol.
I never got to tell you how much respect and appreciation I have for you and your amazing wife Zorica. How together you achieved so much more in life than I ever will, and how privileged I felt to be included in your wonderful family.
You were one of ten kids living in relative poverty. One pair of shoes handed down, 6 km walk to and from school each day, never any luxuries. And you worked, like no man I have ever met, for a better and brighter future for your children. Together with Zorica, you raised four of the nicest people I know. Together you built a magnificent house and tourism business, and you put each and every one of your kids through university. You may not have had the opportunity, but you made sure that they would have opportunities in life not afforded to you.
And you did all this without ever borrowing a single kuna. If you could not afford it, you would not buy it. The only time you were ever short of money was trying to put your fourth child through university. We bought the apartment above from you which paid for that, and you were then happy that you could fulfil your wish to put them all through university. You got new neighbours above to whom you and Zorica showed nothing but kindness, and our kids really had the best and most loving start to life, thanks to you two.
When war came to Croatia in 1991, you bought a piece of land to grow your own food to feed the family. That field became a huge part of your life, and the combination of your food and Zorica’s cooking was a masterclass in delicious self-sufficiency. And for a boy whose vegetables grew in Manchester supermarkets, I am really grateful that you connected my kids to the soil from an early age.
I used to hate the olive harvest, but now I long for it, being part of your picking team, and enjoying your fantastic grills in your hacienda. Priceless moments and priceless memories.
Although you never asked for anything from anyone, you demanded a lot from your family. I sometimes wonder if I would feel the same about you if you had been my father from birth. Weekends working in the field were a childhood norm, while their friends would be playing with each other.
Tough love perhaps, made easier with the love and warmth of Zorica, who nurtured the kids, while supporting all you did while living in a house which was a construction site for years. Together, you installed values of decency, diligence and kindness, which they all show in exemplary fashion in their daily lives today.
You and I were so different, with little in common, and yet I felt very close to you. You had no use of the Internet or wasting time drinking beer on the riva, I knew nothing of agriculture or electricity or most of the world you inhabited. While I had travelled a lot, you saw no reason to ever leave your beloved island. And why would you? With your amazing family and beloved field, as well as so many friends (just how many we found out on Monday), why would you need to go anywhere else? And then there was that little language barrier.
But we overcame all that, and I felt very close to you. And here is something I want you to know. Whenever I got introduced to someone on Hvar as the foreigner who lived in Jelsa, there would be mild interest. When it was pointed out that I was a Brusjki Zet (son-in-law of a man from Brusje), doors would open. Franko’s zet! You must be a quality person. Because that was you – loved by many, respected by all.
And just how many we learned this week, as so many strangers came to the house to pay their respects. With so many stories of how you touched their lives. And then there were the hundreds and HUNDREDS who came to visit you on Monday. I don’t think there has been a bigger funeral in Jelsa in the last 10 years.
My favourite time with you was about 10 years ago at Easter, do you remember? All the family was in Belgrade at a wedding, just you and I at home. You had your ekipa, but you insisted that Easter was a family day, and we would spend it together. We had coffee on your terrace, then gin and tonic on mine, then we heated up the wonderful sarma Zorica had prepared for us. All day in our dressing gowns, and we talked for 7 hours about Churchill, Thatcher, Aston Villa, Montgomery and the North Africa campaign in World War II, and geopolitics today. And blitva. It was one of my best memories of my 13 years in Jelsa.
You were so touched when little Taliah decided she wanted to spend half term with you and Zorica 2 weeks ago, and I am so happy you had that last week with her and Miranda. You seemed incredibly happy. And that photo of the three of you at the ferry – it will be framed and in our home next week.
I went to see you yesterday, after everyone else had left, just to spend a bit of time with you alone to tell you the things I should have said before. And there you were, with the best location, gently sleeping in the March sun, first row to the roaring bura. I took a video which I will play often to be with you when not in Jelsa.
Zbogom, Frane, you were one of a kind, and you will live on through all those who you touched with your kindness and your decency. We will tend your precious olives, take good care of Zorica, and Teta Josipa will have an annual dinner in your honour. I promise I will eat blitva. Your loving Dalmatinski Zet, Pol.
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What is it like to live in Croatia? An expat for 20 years, you can follow my series, 20 Ways Croatia Changed Me in 20 Years, starting at the beginning – Business and Dalmatia.
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Croatia, a Survival Kit for Foreigners will be out by Christmas. If you would like to reserve a copy, email [email protected] Subject 20 Years Book
