It was the realization that I had to realize more things.
Day 794.
“Is your way of travelling dangerous?” Daniela wanted to know.
There we go. We finally arrived at that question. Pretty late, I must point out. Usually that was the first thing people asked me.
But why? Who had made them assume that this way of travelling was dangerous? That, after all, wasn’t just a regular question. That was a question to which you could reply with an expected ‘yes’, or I could say ‘no’, which would be completely unexpected and surprising.
It was interesting to observe the eyes of the person you were talking to when you were answering that question. If you said ‘yes’, you could spot a small sparkle of relief in them, as if they were trying to say, I knew it, as if it was easier for them if they knew that along with all the beauty and the excitement of travelling there was also something less nice. And if, by any chance, you happen to say ‘no’ you could discern a tiny disappointment in them. Was it because they were sorry that they wouldn’t be hearing a good story about you ending up behind the bars, being robbed or nearly raped; or was there any other reason? If there weren’t any negative experiences they may end up wondering – why am I not travelling? They might think that all their fear was in vain. They might think that they’d been taught wrongly, that they’d been mistaken for their entire life.
Until you showed up and told them differently. You are the one to blame for realizing that they could’ve had the life they’d been dreaming of. You are the bad guy. Why had they even asked you anything in the first place? Their life was much prettier when they still thought that travelling, or at least in the way they could afford, was dangerous.
“No,” I replied staring at Daniela’s eyes.
“Well, do you watch TV, do you read papers? Do you know how dangerous it is to travel?” she responded in a goofy way.
I knew, right in that instance, that we were on the same page, just like when in a foreign country you could instantly recognize that a person spoke your language. I knew that, most likely, she’d travelled, too; she, most probably, had already had to face and fight prejudice, explain, justify...
“As a matter of fact, yesterday I listened to one song,” I continued, “there’s a verse in which it says, ‘they’ll tell you about the sailing, those who’ve never raised an anchor.’ Many people watch television, read newspapers, listen to horror stories. Based on my experience, after 17 thousand hitchhiked kilometres, with 200 different drivers, over 20 countries visited, more than 50 cities, all I can say is that I haven’t had any negative experiences.”
Numbers always worked. They were a good argument. They shushed those of little faith.
However, there was one. The one and only negative experience I’d had since I began travelling.
Day 420.
I got onto tram number 9 at the Borongaj roundabout in Zagreb.
The referee’s final whistle had been heard fifteen minutes before and it marked the end of the biggest Croatian derby, that between Hajduk and Dinamo. It was a tie, 0:0. I knew it because I saw the score by accident on TV while I was hanging around in a friend’s apartment with the guys from the university. My passion for Dinamo matches had left me long before that.
I was wearing jeans and a white sweatshirt. Tons of people got onto the tram, having just left Maksimir stadium. A couple of kids observed me closely and made some comment to themselves. I could sense the discomfort in the air. Probably because I was wearing white shirt, the colour of the opposing team.
“Tovari, tovari!”[23] a couple of people ran down the street, with baseball bats in their hands, shouting their lungs out, chasing a car with registration plates they didn’t like.
“Open the door!” a few young supporters in the tram started shouting, rocking the tram, unable to hold on to get out of the tram and help their friends with the chase.
The driver opened the door as we were waiting for the green traffic lights, half of the tram rushed out and, still shouting, started running to catch up with the others.
How primitive, I thought to myself. And only a couple of months earlier I’d been one of them. I’d never chased the supporters of another club, I’d never thrown flares or got into a fight, but yes, I’d been one of them.
I glimpsed those guys who were still observing me closely. How great it would be if some shit happened, I thought. After hitchhiking through Serbia, Bulgaria, across Europe I could get into trouble in the centre of Zagreb, with the people with whom I’d recently shared the grandstands and a love of the club from Zagreb. How great would it be.
I got out at the main train station and entered a train heading south. I was only three stops away from my parents’ house, situated in the suburbs of Zagreb. I found myself a compartment, sat next to an older woman, took out a book and started reading.
I heard someone walking with heavy steps and, a moment later, the door of the compartment was opened. Two guys in their twenties with an angry expression on their faces got in and started walking towards me.
“You stupid Tovar,” they shouted while raising their feet and trying to hit me in the head, but expecting something like that, I managed to move back so they only brushed their sneakers against me and got my shirt dirty.
“Whaaa’?” I shouted, stepping back a bit further so that their sneakers wouldn’t reach me on the second attempt.
They stopped with their legs in the air. Obviously they were confused by my dialect, which was definitely from Zagreb. They exchanged looks and dashed away.
The woman next to me started crying, the conductor came running to see what was going on, and I simply sat back into my seat with my whole body shaking.
Isn’t this life funny? Really funny.
I heard a whistle from a guy with a red cap and the train slowly started moving southward.
Day 794.
The only negative experience I’d had since I began travelling happened in my birth town, at the main train station.
The conclusion was quite simple – there are idiots everywhere.
There are ways to protect yourself from them. For instance, you can stay at home, although home is a place where you can most easily come across them if you, let’s say, turn on the TV and switch to the legislative session. And if you decided to leave your home there is always a chance that you will get into trouble. Now, will the trouble be in Africa or next to the traffic lights in front of your building? You can never tell.
The only thing you could tell for certain is that your life will end sooner or later. What matters is not when it will end, but what you’ll be doing in the meantime.
“Where will you go next?” the interview was coming to an end.
“In a few days I’ll be going to Portugal and then I’ll be back in Zagreb to finally finish my studies.”
That was the general plan.
“After that I’ll be starting with my biggest journey so far,” I took a deep breath, “and that journey will be called... Mom, cover your ears, A Thousand Days of Summer.”
There, I said it. That was the premiere of my next big project. My trip around the world. I could imagine my Mom lighting a cigarette, Dad getting up to grab a beer, one grandma starting to cry, the other one starting to pray the rosary, after milking the cow.
I could imagine my brother being proud of the kid he’d helped raise, my aunts calling me straight after the show and asking me whether I was being serious, my uncle wondering where had he gone wrong while teaching me the important life lessons, my friends concluding once again that I was crazy.
And Tanja, who would be pleased to hear that she was with me when I came up with that idea.
Day 775.
Are you home safe from Bangladesh? If you find someone to drop you off in Split, let me know.
Tanja
“I think I’m in love,” I told to Tea and Maja, sipping my third beer.
“Yeeees?” they asked me, “who is she?”
“You k
now that video that is circulating online lately, Last Year in 3 Minutes?”
“Of course,” Tea told me, “it’s great.”
“I know it is, I keep on watching it instead of studying for my final exam.” I took a sip. “And another one in which she sings and plays guitar. Wow.”
“And?” they asked me, “what are you going to do now?”
“I have no idea,” I put the bottle on the table, “I am tempted to go to Split. I’m seriously considering that option. Especially now, when I have to study.”
“I am going to Split tomorrow!” Maja shouted.
A coincidence?
I don’t believe in coincidences.
Hey, Tanja!
You’re busy this weekend and it would be a bad idea to come to see you, right? C’mon, make it easier for me by not leaving me any choice. Especially since I have an exam in a few days.
There were a couple of hours until midnight left, my last deadline to cancel my last exam – the same one I’d been postponing for years. So, instead of studying and getting it finally done, I was playing her videos for the thousandth time, both the first one and the second one. And thinking about how nice it would be to meet her.
I’m free as a bird this weekend. And I think that’s an excellent idea.
Oh, well.
I hate you, you know that? I’m glad you do.
Well, nothing. See you tomorrow. I hope you have a couch available.
I cancelled my exam, put away my marketing book and went to bed.
My heart was excited. Happy.
Day 776.
“Hi, Perko,” I heard Maja’s voice on the other line just as I was putting the last pieces of clothes in my backpack, “bad news. My trip’s been postponed for some other time. Sorry.”
I knew it sounded too easy.
I walked to the tollbooths going south, stuck out my thumb and slowly, in the company of a Russian truck driver, arrived at the toll booths in Split. Tanja got out of her mother’s car and hugged me.
“Hi, Tom,” she said, not taking the smile off of her face.
She was stunning. The immense positive energy that she radiated left the impression that no one could hurt her. At the same time, she was untouchable, and yet modest. A girl next door whose glass was always half full and who’d made a strong decision to enjoy life fully.
“Hi, Tanja,” I replied and got into the car.
She told me straight away the thing that intrigued me the most – the story behind her video.
“Uh, don’t ask,” she said, tapping with her fingers the driving wheel following the rhythm of the song that was playing on the radio, “I had to do a presentation at my former university and the evening before the presentation was to take place I decided to make a presentation about the last year of my life, about quitting my job, about deciding to follow my dreams and starting a journey across Australia and South America.”
“There isn’t much to tell, really,” she went on, “I uploaded it to YouTube simply so that I’d have it somewhere in case I lost my USB stick before the presentation, and a couple of days after that, people started sharing it on Facebook and I started receiving tons of messages...I mean, you of all people should know how these thing go.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said, “but, in my case, nothing has happened by accident. I upload everything online on purpose, so that people could see it.”
“Why?”
“So that, for instance, you could send me a message to come to Split.”
“Touché,” she laughed, blushing slightly.
“But now the biggest challenge lies ahead of me,” I sighed, “I have to finish university and find a way to earn a lot of money. Or go abroad and find a job there or come up with a project, a trip around the world maybe. I have to plan it all, come up with a story to connect it all, find sponsors, and leave.”
“Have you come up with a story?”
“No. I have plenty of time until I pass my last exam, which I will have to take in the next exam session, in a few months, since I’m here now.”
“I’m sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Oh, I know I’m not.”
“Anyway, I’d like to leave Croatia and not come back so fast. I’d like to visit every continent, hitchhike, couchsurf, earn some money on the way, volunteer; you know how it goes.”
“I know.”
“So, as you already know how it goes, you could help me come up with a story.”
“I could give it a try.”
“That would be nice of you.”
“Yup.”
“Yup.”
We entered her apartment, in fact her aunt’s apartment, and opened the first can of beer. She went to the stereo, plugged in an mp3 player and started choosing the songs to play.
“Who do you listen to?” she asked.
“My parents,” I replied, trying to be funny.
“Liar,” she shouted, “‘cause if you did, then you wouldn’t be wanderin’ around the world like you’re doin’ now.”
“I see you have quite a lot of experience when you talk like that,” I said.
“Uh. Imagine how my folks felt when, after a couple of years spent having an excellent job, reaching the position of the manager, I told them, listen, I’m off to travel the world.”
“The same thing will happen to me, except that part with quitting the job.”
“It appears that they don’t care much about that. There are always other subjects to tackle: when you plan to settle down, what the others will say, when are you getting married, it’s about time... You know how it goes.”
“I know.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“Who do you listen to?”
“Oh, right. Something with an acoustic guitar. Like your song on YouTube.”
She didn’t say anything. I didn’t know whether it was because she blushed again or I reminded her of something I shouldn’t have.
“I know,” she finally said, “you’ll love it.”
I heard the familiar A minor from an acoustic guitar.
“I heard them when I was travelling across Australia,” she explained, “and I loved them as soon...”
She stopped, noticing that there was something wrong.
“You don’t like them?” she asked me from the hall.
“No, I love them,” I laughed, “that’s the problem. I’m afraid I’ll love them for a long time.”
“I sense there’s a story behind that,” she gave me an understanding look and sat next to me.
“You’re smart.”
We listened to the song, two people whose hearts and all of their body cells were touched by songs, mine by this one, hers by God-knows-which.
One kiss from you and I’m drunk up on your potion.
Big old smile is all you wore…
“So?” she asked as soon as the song was over, “who is she?”
“Who?” I was playing dumb.
“You know who.” She wasn’t that easily fooled.
She was so easy to talk to. We could finish each other’s sentences and hear in them what the other one wanted to say, even though we said completely different things. She had a rare sense of humour, she knew how to laugh with others, but also to make fun of herself.
“Well,” I started, taking another sip of the beer, “you know how it goes. Someone walks into your life, turns it upside down and walks out leaving the door open. And years after that you are still the victim of those feelings, no matter how many times you repeat that those feelings are better gone.”
“And the victim of the songs that remind you of her,” she added.
“Exactly.”
“Why don’t you visit her and close the door for yourself?”
“Well, that’s the plan.”
“When?”
“One day.”
She got up and changed the music. Soon, she changed the subject, too.
We went out into the night in Sp
lit, had a couple of drinks and returned to the apartment. We relaxed on the couch and started watching a movie she’d been wanting to see for a while, 500 Days of Summer.
“I like the title,” I commented, not knowing that Summer was the name of the movie’s protagonist. “It reminds me of a journey, as if someone was following the summer for five hundred days...”
“There’s the idea for your trip,” she hit me on the shoulder with her palm. “Either way, you’ll do most of your travelling during the summer. As the seasons change, you’ll change hemispheres. That’s how I did it.”
“It’s a great idea,” I said, “but, five hundred days seems too little. What do you say about one thousands days?”
“A thousand days of summer,” she said solemnly, “it sounds great.”
“A thousand days of summer,” I repeated, “it really does.”
We exchanged looks full of pride high-fiving each other at the same time. We were a great team.
The male protagonist of the movie, Tom(!), who is convinced that the whole point of one’s life was to meet Miss Right, falls head over heels in love with Summer. His life finally makes sense, everything works for him, birds are chirping, and stuff like that. Summer, on the other hand, is a cold beauty who claims from the very beginning that she doesn’t believe in love and that she doesn’t want a boyfriend. She doesn’t feel at ease being someone’s girlfriend. Of course, the two of them hook up and after a while it’s all downhill for them...
Where had I heard that story before?
“Tom, Tom,” Tanja was waking me up since I’d fallen asleep at the very end of the movie.
1000 Days of Spring: Travelogue of a hitchhiker Page 20