Not Afraid of the Fall

by Kyle James

  We hadn’t seen a car since we’d left Sobra twenty minutes ago, and there were very few vehicles on this island. So we began to panic a bit. Other than taking a snake to the face, this was probably the worst-case scenario: we were at least ten miles from the closest civilization, and it was high noon. There is no such thing as casual traffic on a seventy-five-square-mile island of 1,100 people. Okay, Kyle, don’t panic, don’t panic.

  “We’re screwed!” came blurting out of my mouth, as I clearly hadn’t taken my own advice.

  I propped the moped against a tree. At this point, I looked like I had just taken a shower with my clothes on. It was ninety-seven degrees and there was no shade in sight. Our only water bottle was half-empty. The situation became dire, and I tried to think back to any of the survival skills I’d stumbled across while camping growing up. All that came to mind was how to make a fire. Not only was this the last thing we needed, but I was never able to get a flame going anyway. As I turned to give Ash my concession speech, I heard a rumble in the distance. There was not a cloud in the sky, which meant one thing: a vehicle.

  We both stared at the long stretch of road until a black dot appeared in the heat waves. There was no way we were going to risk missing the only car we had seen all day and what may be our only shot against heat stroke. Forget the thumbs-up hitchhiking sign; I stood and waved my hands like a football ref asking for the clock to stop.

  As the beat-up car got closer, I started to panic again, but not because the car looked like it had been sitting in a front yard in Kentucky for thirty years; I was panicking because it wasn›t going to stop. It got within twenty-five yards and then, whoosh. At least the blast of air as the car flew by felt great.

  All of a sudden, the car screeched to a stop fifty yards away. A man with long brown hair turned around and put his hand on the passenger seat as he reversed to us at the same speed with which he’d driven by. He was clearly coming to rob or kill us. As an American, I had a natural fear of hitchhiking. If I saw someone with their thumb out, I didn’t pick them up because they would probably kill me. If I were walking on the street and someone offered me a ride, I wouldn’t get in the car because they, too, would probably kill me. Everyone gets killed in American hitchhiking folklore.

  He stopped directly next to us and sat in silence. I peered through the passenger window and said, “Hey, man, our moped broke down. Are you headed to the national park?” This was a rhetorical question, as everyone going this direction was going to the national park. There was nothing else on this side of the island.

  “Yes, yes, come on in.” He motioned with his hands.

  Well, here goes nothing….

  We left the moped on the side of the road and got in the car. This man gave me a whole new perspective on speed. I remember how I felt as a four-year-old on Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride. This was extremely similar. I had never felt someone accelerate downhill until there was a turn and then slam on the brakes while curving around the corner. We were slowing down just enough to not fly off the mountainside. I couldn’t complain; he had just removed us from certain death, like picking up two roasting worms on a summer sidewalk and throwing them into the moist grass.

  I made small talk in the front and found out that he had lived in Mljet his entire life and owned a restaurant in Polače. This made me feel a little better about traveling at the speed of fright. We flew into Polače, and he slowed down to avoid hitting pedestrians like frogs.

  “Do you know where the moped rental shop is?” I asked, as he was probably wondering where to let us out.

  “Oh, I am taking you there now,” he casually proclaimed as he kept driving.

  He pointed out the window and said, “There is my restaurant.” By the look of his car, I’d expected a hole-in-the-wall, but it was easily one of the nicest places on the island. The brick oven was twelve feet high, and the place had its own pier area with seating. I looked back at Ash, whose mouth was open in awe. I was proud of her for not blurting out what she usually did in these situations.

  He took us all the way to the rental shop and led the way inside. By the time we’d followed him in, he was finishing the conversation in Croatian about our situation. The rental people nodded at him like he was their father, and then handed us keys. He turned to us and said, “They will pick up your moped. The red one outside is now yours.” He clearly had some pull around here. We thanked him, but he just shrugged, smiled, and walked back out to the car.

  I was in awe of what had just happened. The amount of kindness this stranger had shown us was inspiring. It made me want to search the island for stranded people and pick them up. Although this man was the first person to come by, I had a feeling we would have received the same level of kindness from anyone who had happened to pass us. The people in this country took care of one another. They were a true community. Their kindness was contagious, and Mljet was attacking our depleted traveling immune systems.

  7/26/15

  Mljet, Croatia

  It was our last day in Mljet, and this meant our time on the islands of Croatia was already two-thirds over. Traveling was a constant roller coaster of emotion. We cycled through the pattern of undergoing the stress of getting to a new place, adapting and falling in love with it, and then being depressed that we had to leave. This got me thinking about returning home for good, and what I feared most: getting another job.

  It wasn’t even a nine-to-five that I didn’t want to return to. I just wanted to do something for a living that I actually cared about. I think people who live the longest and happiest lives have figured out how to maximize their happiness-stress ratio. Stress is the single most deadly thing on earth to me, because it can be a subtle demon. When something acute happens to make you unhappy, you can recognize it and fix it. Stress is a gradual killer that eats at your sleep, daily joy, and quality of life in general. Our stress levels were so low at this point in the trip that booking our next accommodation was our biggest worry. That wasn’t even stress, just an obligation. Again, this trip was finite; we had to go home in a couple months, but we were learning to live happily and stress free. Hopefully just a taste of this life would change how we lived the rest of ours.

  Spending the day in Prozura, drinking beer and espresso, was exactly the kind of lazy day we needed before traveling tomorrow. We didn’t want to stay out too late, because we had an apartment to pack up. So we paid our tab with the friendly bar owner who had served us all afternoon, and cruised home for the last time.

  The sun was setting over the water, and we were delighted to feel a slight chill in the air as we walked up to our apartment. Maybe we will sleep tonight. We were halfway done fixing the explosion that had happened in our backpacks when we heard a knock at the door. Hmm, we aren’t expecting anyone. Hell, we don’t know anyone. I opened the door to see our Airbnb host’s daughter, accompanied by a young British couple.

  “Hello?” I said as we all looked at one another, confused.

  It didn’t take long for us to realize that our upgrade from the studio to the apartment had resulted in a double booking. I invited the couple in while the host’s daughter attempted to call Anita. The couple seemed very nice but a bit ruffled by the situation. I could definitely understand; if we arrived after a day of travel in the blistering heat and our place wasn’t available, I would be much madder than they were. Luckily, I had just the cure. I cracked open a two-liter beer, and they happily obliged as I passed around glasses. Not long after, we were all laughing over the situation like old friends.

  Laura and Tom were from London, and they had just finished university. We noticed Laura called Tom by his last name, Withers, so we followed suit. They were traveling together before Laura started a six-month internship back in England. We had only spent fifteen minutes with the young couple, and I could tell we were highly compatible. Anita had found them another place, and we told them if that place sucked, they were more than welcome to stay with us in the other bedroom. Regardless of where they stayed, we planned t
o meet them for drinks later on.

  Ash and I left to fill up the moped before we returned it tomorrow, and when we got back to Sobra, Withers and Laura were already at the bar, with large beers and matching smiles. They welcomed us to the table and told us they had decided to stay with us if it was all right, as the other place was in an awful location up the hill. Of course this was fine with us. We loved their company, and the room at the other end of the apartment had been vacant all week.

  With new friends/roommates, we enjoyed a dinner of mussels from the sea a mere ten feet from us. We were in that typical honeymoon stage of any relationship where our new friends could do no wrong in our eyes. We were just happy that they wanted to hang out with us as much as we wanted to hang out with them. The more time we spent with these two, the more I saw ourselves in them. Laura was a very confident, strong woman who loved adventure and seemed to have fun in any situation. She had lived in Cuba shortly, similarly to Ash when she’d taught English in Costa Rica. Withers, on the other hand, was a smart, savvy guy who truly listened to us when we talked, and he asked great questions about our journey. So basically, Laura reminded me of Ash.

  The beers continued to go down easily, and Withers rolled us cigarettes from tobacco he took out of a pouch. Eventually we had gotten drunk enough to call it quits, and all four of us walked home, our arms around one another’s shoulders like middle school friends taking a last-day-of-school picture. Laura and Withers were added to the list of great friends we had made in Croatia.

  7/27/15

  Mljet, Croatia → Kor ula, Croatia

  I woke up with the worst case of the thump-thumps since Amsterdam. The combination of two liters of beer and three rolled cigarettes was too much for my head and stomach. I crept out of bed quietly so as not to wake Ash, tiptoed to the bathroom, and violently threw up—this woke up Ash instantly. Aww, baby, I knew those cigarettes were a bad idea. Are you okay? is what I wish she had said, but all I heard from the room was a groan and her roll over on the squeaky mattress.

  As we prepped to leave our apartment, we realized there was a component we had failed to plan for: our massive backpacks. There was no way we and our backpacks could both fit on the small moped. These are the things you fail to plan for at 11:00 p.m. when drinking with your new best friends. It took me four trips to get the backpacks, Ash, and Withers to the port. I took Withers so he could rent his own moped for the rest of the week.

  As we returned our moped and prepared to board the ferry that had just pulled into the bay to take us to Korčula, we had a heartfelt embrace with Withers and wished him and Laura great luck on the rest of their journey.

  I took one last look at the beautiful, rugged coastline of Mljet, waved to Withers as he drove up the hill for the first time on his own rented moped, and walked across the footbridge onto the ferry to set sail for Korčula.

  It felt like we had just walked into an oven. This ferry was different from the others in that there was no outside seating. We would have loved to sit outside and let the fresh air wash away our hangovers, but there we were, in the muggy cabin full of other people’s exhales. It was like basking in one giant room of bad morning breath.

  I was coaching Ashley on breathing like she was in labor as the boat slowly moved around the island and reached the port in Polače. A large group of people left the ferry to visit the fishing village, and we found seats as close as we could to an open window. At this point I was nearly blacking out from heat, nausea, and lack of sleep.

  An hour later we stepped off the torture tank, and the fresh air pleasantly filled my lungs. I didn’t realize how bad it truly was until we’d exited the ferry. I looked around and realized we were not in Kolocep or Mljet anymore. Korčula was a busy city with cars honking and businesses booming. It reminded me of a Mediterranean version of Key West. It had the aura of a pretty girl who knows she is pretty.

  I checked my phone for instructions from our Airbnb host, Darinka, and scanned the pier area until we found her granddaughter. Croatian hosts usually send their younger kids because their English is better. She had a sign with our names on it.

  The granddaughter drove us through the Old Town and the two and a half miles along the coast to our apartment, which sat on top of their house. It was perched high up on a hill overlooking a bay. This apartment was stunning, with a huge outdoor terrace that had couches and tables and overlooked the water, a king-sized bed, and freezing-cold AC. The best part: it was only seventy dollars a night, which left us eighty dollars a day to spend on fun. We unpacked excitedly, a nap at the end of the tunnel, and showered to get rid of the morning breath we had soaked in earlier.

  I woke up around 4:00 p.m. and sighed with relief when I felt no pain in my head or stomach. I could barely remember the morning. It was as if I were waking up today for the first time. I looked around for Ash, and found her sitting outside on the couches, reading. We agreed to walk to the Old Town for dinner to explore and get some exercise.

  The path along the water took us past docked boats in the gentle sea. When we reached a stretch of beach, we transitioned our walk to there, scanning the smooth rocks for sea glass. Sea glass always takes me back to when I was a kid in Lake Huron with my grandparents. My grandma loved collecting sea glass, and her house was always decorated with mason jars chock full of it. She kept water in the jars to let the old glass shine. Every chance we got to add to her collection, we eagerly accumulated pieces. I cherish those summers.

  We approached a castle-like structure in the Old Town that resembled the inside of King’s Landing. I know the show is filmed in Dubrovnik, but I wouldn’t be surprised if scenes had been shot here as well. The city walls encompassed all the shops, restaurants, and vendors as if they were still protecting them from intruders. We strolled on the cobblestone walkway as music seemed to resonate from the rock walls. A sign for affordable seafood stopped us in our tracks.

  We were ready to settle in and see what Korčula had to offer, as it was our last home in Croatia, an incredible country all around. We had a week in this land of castle-like structures, and we planned on taking this time to relax and gear up for Italy.

  7/28/15

  Korčula, Croatia

  For the first time in a long time, I slept soundly and through the night. I don’t know if it was having the temperature at sixty-seven degrees or if it was the dark room with comfortable pillows, but I was refreshed.

  Ash and I had planned on heading into Old Town early, but the couches on our porch, which were strategically placed behind curtains of shade, were too hard to leave. We had spent so much money on mopeds in Mljet that we could not afford to rent them here. This gave us an excuse for pure relaxation.

  Hours were spent watching sailboats arrive and depart the small cove, but we still had a mission today: to ride a slide that fed into the sea. Yesterday we’d passed a yellow slide, similar to one you would find at a kid’s park that propelled its riders directly into the water. The slide was the only object perched on the edge of a large slab of concrete; it was also home to numerous sunbathers and their rambunctious offspring frolicking in the water.

  When we reached the platform, we laid out our towels and sat down to get our bearings. Being propelled from a slide into the warm sea truly takes you back to your childhood.

  I filmed Ash slide down, and whatever reservations we had about being the only adults on the slide were long gone. She screamed like a child and laughed the entire way. Before we knew it, we had joined the eight-year-olds in the cycle of slide, swim, climb, slide. This continued until the sun began setting and we returned home, pruned from the water and scorched by the sun.

  The sun had both exhausted and roasted us. Some days the sun was great and we loved soaking in her generous rays, but on others she abused us like naughty schoolkids in the twenties. We grabbed pizza from a highly reviewed place on TripAdvisor and sat on our porch, letting the breezy night cool off our skin. Our first day was a success.

  7/29/15

 
Korčula, Croatia

  The next day, as we sat on our porch and sluggishly ate breakfast, we came to the realization that we were physically beat. There were no other words for it. After a week of rock climbing and rigorous sea kayaking, our bodies and minds desperately needed rest. Our living conditions in Mljet had not provided this. We’d slept awfully in immense heat on a board they called a bed for six days. The last two weeks had caught up to us, like a Monday-morning cold after a weekend-long bender in college.

  After finishing breakfast, I brought in the dishes from the terrace and passed a mirror. I had to look twice because I hardly recognized myself. My head and facial hair had both grown so long, it was hard to tell where one area stopped and one started. The skin on my face resembled the leather of a rodeo-worn saddle, and the valleys under my eyes were Grand Canyon—esque. I was transforming. I couldn’t tell if I looked stronger or weaker, but I was glad that this trip was changing me either way. I had come too far to stay the same.

  By midafternoon we felt the need to leave our terrace and trek to the Old Town. It was by far the coolest part of Korčula, and we had not been since the first night. We walked the treacherous sidewalk-less road and arrived at a hill that filtered down to the castle walls.

  After a seafood dinner, I was ready to go home and get a third good night’s sleep in a row, but Ash had other plans: she wanted to find something she could always remember Croatia by. It took numerous trips through the street markets for her to decide on some handmade wooden earrings made from an olive tree. I, too, got into the Croatian spirit and decided to seek out a memento. Ash refused to walk near me the entire way home, trying to suppress her laughter, as I proudly wore my white-and-blue-pinstripe sailor hat (think Greek fisherman’s cap) all the way home. This sailor hat with the Croatian flag on it would surely bring me back to my kayak-captaining days.