John Wise

Just as I’d suspected last night, the family hosting us at their country homestead is out here with the wood fire going; the table is mostly set with homemade bread, jam, a couple of varieties of cheeses, smoked meats, and some strong Turkish coffee. It will be close to an hour before any of the other guests appear.

After saying good morning to the Jelaš family and learning that somehow these elderflowers that were just picked from some nearby trees were going to be part of breakfast, I took a walk around the property. From the kitchen, Croatian music played quietly while the birds sang their own morning songs. A light wind rustled the trees, and I got a close-up view of the flowers among the shrubbery. For a brief moment, I was able to find a sense of what a more typical day alone out on this hilltop might be like if this was the place I called home.

Elderflower pancakes are a new treat to me. Never in my 56 years have I eaten a breakfast that included fresh cuttings from a nearby tree that were simply dipped into batter and fried with the branch still attached to use as a handle when eating the delicate blossoms. Gluttony being my middle name, I likely ate half a dozen of these before I could finally refuse Ivka’s pushing more of them on me. Ivka is Juraj’s wife and is pictured below in the last photo of this entry.

The building with the outside stairs is the main house, and under a gallery on the right side of it is the dining area with a view of the trees and surrounding countryside. The building on the right is the house Caroline and I stayed in, specifically the upstairs room closest to the camera.

Shortly we’ll be leaving the homestead for the day, though we’ll return later this afternoon as we have two nights out here. Our destination is the Mrežnica River Canyon for some kayaking: our first paddling experience of the trip.

Suited up in wet suits and splash jackets, we are close to putting in on the river. Our kayaks are sit-on-top two-person affairs, and while Caroline said she’d never ride in a kayak, a.k.a. divorce boat with me ever again, that is exactly what she’s about to do.

I can’t tell you that I’m not approaching panic as I look down and face the river below. If only I didn’t have an inherent fear of water, this would likely be a lot easier, but being pushed off the back of a boat into Lake Erie when I was about four years old and then being caught in a riptide only a few years later in California made some of my early encounters with the force and nature of water one fraught with anxiety.

The first briefing of the morning, and we’re learning about the type of travertine waterfalls that we’ll be navigating. I’m fairly certain that Caroline is as nervous as I am, but we are surrounded by guides, have our personal flotation devices strapped on tightly, helmets on our noggins, and have been assured again and again that this is safe for beginners.

Down a hill, we carried our boats to a relatively calm pool where we practiced getting our bearings and reinforcing the skills to have our kayaks do what we’d like them to do. While not convinced I’d be graceful in my actions, I was determined to stay upright as we headed downstream, encountering a chute that was to send us over our first waterfall. The hope was that we’d still be upright after doing so, but things didn’t work out that way. We rolled out pretty quickly after entering the rapid/waterfall, but pretty quickly, we were right back in our kayak with the help of a guide who was standing in the waist-deep water just in case he had to help a passenger or two back into their kayak. Good thing we were right back in because we were soon flying over the next fall, where strangely enough, we remained out of the water and on top of our kayak.

I should probably mention at this time that our Croatian guides for this trip are Petar and Ivan (pronounced E-vahn, not Eye-van). These two guys seriously helped push our river skills into new territory today. Ivan’s patience in helping again and again by bringing my attention to correctly maneuvering our kayak was always on point. Caroline and I both consider ourselves beginners because although we’ve been out in the Gulf of Mexico, on the Straights of San Juan De Fuca, and a couple of other places, we’ve never been seriously coached in how to properly kayak, and so we’ve inadvertently mostly worked against each other.

The river was running high today due to recent heavy rains. Even when we were out on the water, we got hammered by a hard downpour, but as it finished, a fine mist rose over the river in the canyon and added to the already tremendous beauty we were witnessing. It’s not just the river that is gorgeous either, but the deep greens of spring are painted over the forest and only add to the fascinating spectacle on display. Hands down, though, it is the travertine falls that are going to enchant anyone who visits here as they are struck in disbelief that they are actually in this place of the extraordinary.

On one particularly difficult waterfall, our guides set up ropes and used carabiners, attaching them momentarily to our kayaks, allowing them to drain so they’d not be too heavy as we went over the final drop.

We now understand that we can figure out the direction of the kayak and stay upright, going over one to two-meter waterfalls boosting our confidence to great new heights. Petar and Ivan work for a company called Raftrek and were helped today by their coworkers named Marko, Dario, and Eugen, who not only helped us climb down a waterfall because we were too nervous to jump down a 7-meter (21-foot) cliff over the edge of a waterfall into a deep pool below but also helped by often jumping back into the hip-deep water rushing over the travertine edges in the middle of the river to help ensure we made the line we needed to for navigating the various rapids.

With the wet suits on we were well prepared to be comfortable on the cold water and in it. Our guide Eugen had an infectious enthusiasm that allowed him to ply the waters in nothing more than shorts and a t-shirt. This guy jumped from a travertine edge over the 7-meter tall waterfall into the center of the maelstrom below; he jumped out of kayaks with a backflip to get back in the water and, at the end of the trip, jumped off a bridge more than 10 meters over the river. This guy certainly relieved stress for some of us by demonstrating absolute comfort with any part of the river. The confidence of our well-skilled guides definitely lent loads of confidence to the rest of us who needed it.

Off the river and getting changed into dry clothes was no easy feat due to the intermittent rains that had us in a hurry to wrestle out of our clingy, wet suits in a rush to get warm. Once we were packed up and back at the Raftrek base camp, it was time for our picnic lunch, coffee for me and a beer for Caroline.

There’s no way to adequately convey in these post-adrenaline moments just how amazing this all was. What started in near panic ended with new confidence that only after kayaking down waterfalls can offer. This must surely be one of the most beautiful stretches of river in all of Europe, well at least today it is.

We’ve already seen this type of sight dozens of times on the local roads: a damaged house has been abandoned. The owners may have perished at the hands of the invading military, or maybe they left the country after the trauma of having their homes made unlivable due to the Balkans War of 1991 to 2001. There are signs of the conflict in every village we pass through, as bullet-riddled walls can be seen over and over again. The cost to repair the damage to the walls seems to be secondary to replacing windows and roofs in order to regain protection from the elements during winter or seasonal rains.

We could be in Wisconsin, Idaho, or Maine with these views. We could be in love under these skies. We could let these landscapes linger in our memories forever. We could return someday and fall in love with it all again.

The next stop on today’s adventure is in the village of Slunj. This old mill town was built over an area of dozens of waterfalls and is obviously the influence of many a sci-fi film where one need not think long about the movies it inspired.

I found no way to do justice photographically to what I saw here. The breadth and scale of the place with intricate details defied capturing it for me with a single image that might share some of the character seen from the overlook we walked along.

While writing this part of the blog, I went over to Google to search for the images I was certain I’d find, but I quickly learned that others are having the same problem in finding the perfect angle to share a fraction of what will greet your senses as you walk around the old town center.

I’d be willing to go so far as to say that a visit to Croatia would be incomplete without a stop here. It is that important for your own eyes and ears to have gazed upon the spectacle of so much water flowing through and under this small patch of land that people call home.

It’s only about 5:00 when we arrive back at the Jelaš homestead. Being early and having passed a bunch of sheep, Caroline and I took a walk back down the road to check them out.

The sheep were being moved over to another pasture as their dogs were herding them to a different hillside and started barking wildly at us as we got too close for their liking.

These sheep are not supplying their coats to any fiber artists but are instead meant for dinner tables.

Not two seconds after turning around, a white van came racing around the corner; it was our host Juraj, also called “šef” or boss by our guides Petar and Ivan. He tried telling us something that was being lost in translation, so he motioned us to join him in the vehicle, and we hopped in. We backed down the narrow road to a steep grassy incline where he was able to turn around before heading down it and around the corner to the thing he was trying to tell us about.

We were at an “Izvor,” or spring, where freshwater was trickling out of a seep. Gesturing, he let us know that the water was safe to drink, and after we sampled it, he offered us a large plastic bottle to fill, and off the three of us went on another adventure.

The road narrows, and we speed along with the familiarity of someone who’s driven this road so many times before that it’s mapped into the back of his mind and is now traveled by instinct.

Can the road get narrower? Yes, and we are now on it listening to Radio Velkaton deep in the countryside of Croatia. Further into the woods, we drove, not able to share a word or idea of where we might be going. When we finally pulled over at a scenic overlook, Juraj pointed to the center of the landscape, drawing our attention to a tower ruin called Sokolac.

This is not where tourists go, this is where travelers arrive knowing that they are seeing a rare sight compared to those who cannot leave their trophy collecting. We do not see Saint Mark’s Basilica in the distance or snow-capped mountains of the Himalayas rising to the heavens; we are merely offered a glimpse across time into the heart of rural Europe with a rare opportunity to simply see and experience an ordinary moment. It’s priceless.

Our fellow rafters are either busy tending to the drying of their wet river clothes, are showering, or are off napping. I’m off to visit with Ivka to see if I might be able to learn a thing or two about Croatian cooking.

Ivka and her helper friend are busy in the outdoor kitchen getting ready to finish the final baking of the stuffed peppers we’ll be having later. The bake will happen “Under the Bell.” In Croatian, this is known as Ispod čripnje, and should you be interested and find yourself in Croatia, it turns out that a group in Zadar is organizing cooking classes and wine tastings in the area that focus on learning about this popular method of cooking in the Balkans. They are called Truly Dalmatia, and maybe one day, we’ll take them up on their offer to teach us more about cooking Under the Bell.

The weather is bringing back the overcast skies while dinner is nearing completion. Our stuffed peppers are being served with mashed potatoes and homemade bread.

Ivka Jelaš is the wife of Juraj Jelaš, who came to me and, through Ivan, let me know that should Caroline and I ever come back to Croatia, she would like us to be their guests. How much more touching someone could have been at that moment, I cannot say. If I thought their generosity reached a limit that night, I would have been wrong, as after the majority of guests went to sleep, Ivka brought out a loaf of still-hot soda bread. With a large block of butter, Juraj and I put a pretty good dent into that loaf.

Here we are at the best time of day again when almost everyone else has gone to bed, and now it’s just Juraj, Ivka (wearing the cowboy helmet – it’s Cliff’s custom-made boating helmet!), Petar, Mira (the woman behind Ivka), and Cliff sitting at the dining table drinking and smoking late into the night.

I don’t know how the conversation came up, but we fairly quickly got to Jebi Se (Croatian for “fuck you”). It was the very first thing I said to Ivan upon meeting him at dinner on the night of our orientation meeting. I explained to him that someone once told me it was a common greeting in Croatia, his eyes looking at me in disbelief were perfect. Now we’re all laughing about it and how curse words are always people’s entry into another language.

The wine is flowing as the radio serenades us with accordion music, and the fire burns strong with the new log Juraj just added. Listening to the mostly Croatian spoken around the table, there are occasional breaks used for translating the important bits. For these moments, we are outside of time, having an experience that feels like we are with family on a Balkans adventure that cannot be bought.

A step out into the yard allows for a more focused listen to the crickets, the trill of the frogs, and a few drops of rain that are falling. Back at the table, I learn to say no shit, “ne seri,” or as kids say, “ne kakaj” for the slightly more polite “no kaka.”

Ivan relates his two-hour wait for Caroline and me at the airport, holding the sign from Wantok that escaped our view. He had seen us but decided that these happy hippy people, who moved like they knew what they were doing, couldn’t be the people he was looking for, so he just kept waiting until we reached the hotel and word got back to him. I think he’s enjoying himself just a bit too much by holding our feet to the fire for “blowing him off.”

Caroline and I called it quits shortly after midnight and did our best to quietly head upstairs while the two other couples in our building hopefully remained sound asleep, enjoying their slumber.

The instructions were clear and succinct last night: breakfast starts at 7:00, and everyone needs to be ready and curbside by 8:30. For those accustomed to the $30-a-night roadside motel where you might be lucky to find stale cornflakes, this luxurious hotel in Zagreb put on an extravaganza for breakfast. While we skipped the caviar and champagne, we scoured the tables for those things we hoped might be uniquely Balkans-influenced before heading back upstairs to grab our bags and comply with our trip leader Petar’s request to be punctual. It was raining as he pulled up on the narrow street that he might not have been allowed to stop on. We packed up our luggage, piled in, and were soon on our way to Plitviče Lakes National Park.

The necessity of the timely departure was in small part due to the 130km (80 miles) two-hour drive we had ahead of us, but more importantly, was that we were on a timed entry schedule. To deal with the extraordinary popularity of Plitviče Lakes, the park service has started to schedule entry times in an attempt to combat overcrowding. After parking, our group took shelter near the entrance while Petar finalized our entry, and some of our fellow travelers replenished their supply of coffee.

Established in 1949 as Croatia’s first National Park, this place is knock-your-handknitted-socks-off-your-feet beautiful, and we’re here in the rain. It’s quickly apparent just how lucky we are to be here on a Monday before the summer vacation season gets fully underway, as it’s easy to imagine the trails with 100 times more people than are here now. The poor weather also likely worked to our advantage and probably dissuaded some people from showing up today, and it nearly feels like the park is ours alone, even though some might have thought otherwise (there were plenty of buses in the parking lot). Peeking through the forest is a small hint of what lay below. Fortunately for me, I never researched any specifics about the locations we’d be visiting on this journey into the Balkans.

There’s another important thing to note for me here: as I don’t watch television, I’ve not been exposed to every amazing location on Earth. My bucket list is still being discovered with surprises that continue to capture my imagination here in my mid-50s. I learned not too long ago to not always hope for great weather and disallow disappointment should I encounter what some might call less than ideal conditions. I’m lucky to visit places at least once in my life that I could have never dreamt of seeing in person as a younger adult.

One can visit the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon under clear blue skies in the middle of summer and never see a drop of rain, but they will have been cheated from seeing clouds collecting below the canyon rims. They will not see spontaneous waterfalls come into existence with a good monsoon soaking. Had they been in the park in the winter, they might have had the pleasure of looking up to see snow-capped rims. Measure your expectations and allow yourselves to be enchanted by the opportunity instead of finding disappointment that your ideals were not realized.

Petar stops at the park map to show us the route we’ll be taking today, promising us a solid four- to six-hour walk through this extraordinary landscape of lakes, travertine pools, and waterfalls that promise to astonish us.

It should be obvious from this photo that the first impression that strikes hard is that the water is extraordinarily and profoundly crystal clear. The second impression, if you are in a group situation, is that different people have different ideas on how long one should dwell in being mesmerized staring into the pools. Lingering what might be an adequate amount of time for Caroline and me would require a multi-day visit to the park and probably across the seasons, too.

The third likely impression is going to be your astonishment at the boardwalks that are guiding you through this environment. There are no guide rails on the trails; they are bidirectional, and when they are wet, they look deceptively slippery, though they are surprisingly not, and at times, they are barely a hair above the water except for the occasional spots that are actually in the water.

With these elegantly placed boardwalks taking visitors directly over the water, they are able to bring people to the best imaginable views that would otherwise be impossible to see without the help of a small boat.

Caroline and I struggled to race ahead of our group to remain out front in order to capture these photos without getting in the way of others. Along the way, I was told by one of our guides how, at the height of the season, it often happens that people effectively move along on a kind of conveyor belt where the flow of traffic forces the stream of visitors to rarely, if ever, stop.

Water is seemingly flowing everywhere as it cascades over the majority of surfaces, wrapping us in its web of channels, waterfalls, and pools. Returning to the thought of how fortunate I am to have not seen anything about Plitviče prior to our arrival, how many times have you watched a movie trailer only to be left feeling that you’ve seen the best parts of the movie? Today, I can stand here and honestly say that every corner is a constant non-disappointing surprise of standing in awe with mouth agape that such a place is so easily accessible to people without the ability to walk on water.

What’s missing from this photo? The audio of what it sounds like to stand right here, well, that and a hammock.

The elevation is constantly changing as the water falls from one pool to another. We walk along shores, next to ledges, through the trees, and over streams until we emerge at wholly new views that could not have been anticipated just seconds before arriving at them.

You’d think that while taking in a million new impressions, a few more would easily fit, but you have to make a serious effort to stop and look at the other trillion things if you are going to process the fraction you are struggling to hold on to and make space for just one more detail. There are tiny orchids along the path, along with other delicate flowers, all competing with the constant movement swirling around your feet that beg you to see them, too. Immersion is inevitable here as you are surrounded by a reality that envelops you as deeply as the flower here is part of its ecosystem.

The path to the right will remain a mystery to me as we came from behind and took the boardwalk to the left. Then again, there were moments I felt I was in a maze, and only our guides’ familiarity with the park helped me find where to go.

I’m still wondering how these and many other trees take root in the flowing waters of Plitviče Lakes. I get that the water freezes during winters, but that’s not the time when trees sprout, either. Maybe the travertine pools that contain the waters that flow through here occasionally break and allow the water to change course, but then how do all of these trails through the park seem so perfectly aligned to guide us past the most spectacular sights?

The obligatory selfie (in front of Veliki Slap – or the Big Waterfall) is required to prove that we were, in fact, here where we claim but not for anyone else except Caroline and me as we are ourselves hardly believe we have been where our travels have taken us. Look to Caroline’s right, and you will see a hint of our umbrella. It was nearly constantly open to protect the camera from the rain while I snapped away. I can appreciate that even under gray skies, we were treated to a landscape that required no embellishment, and will look forward to a day we might return when winter brings a new level of solitude and quiet to the park or when we arrive to witness the glorious sun smiling down upon the Plitviče Lakes.

Looking at these incredible formations of travertine implies some amazing limestone deposits and, consequently, a rich hydrological world below us. I’d guess that there’s a labyrinth of caves that are still quite active in their development. Matter of fact, during our walk-in to the park, we passed many a sinkhole where the ground had subsided, and in some cases, former trails had become inaccessible.

We are not necessarily in a rush to exit the park, but we also have a lot of ground to cover in trying to explore a wide variety of sights along the trails. I see untaken photographs that will have to wait for a return in the future while others beg to be illuminated under the gaze of the sun in order to show their full spectrum of color. Even with their vibrant hues muted in the gray light of an overcast sky, there are hints that tease the passerby that an order of magnitude more beauty verging on the psychedelic is waiting for the rays of our star to truly shine. All the while, I sense that everything within our purview is evolving right under our noses more rapidly than we can comprehend.

What is it that we find intrinsically magical by observing flowing water? Why do the depths of the sea draw us into their mystery while being inherently dangerous to our very survival? Something runs deep within us that remains inexplicable to my conscious mind, where water seems to speak to me on some basic level. I cannot be certain if it is my awareness that is excited by proximity to water or if maybe my cells are communicating to this larger force excited by the energy at play.

Self-contained and able to live up to 25 years in captivity, I’d imagine that due to their languorous speed while moving through nature they experience life to be thousands of years before they move on to snail heaven. For whatever reason, I perceived this snail to be quite old. From its broad foot to a massive scar on its shell, I could easily believe that this specimen of snailhood has been cruising across Plitviče Lakes for a long time and has taken in kilometers of the park. This would be quite the feat, considering it moves at a maximum of 25 meters per day or about 82 feet.

What kind of tragedy befell this boat? Were its passengers able to be rescued from the turbid waters that must have been raging back on that fateful day? Is it possible that Gilligan has been able to survive all these years since this small craft took its tragic turn? The mysteries Plitviče Lakes National Park will continue to hold back from sharing its knowledge, keeping me curious for years to come; obviously, we will have to return one day.

There are waterfalls within waterfalls just beyond what the camera can observe. Our ears are useless in teasing out all of the directions where the sound of flowing water is traveling. While down there on the trails that take you right into the heart of this multi-level cascade I found it impossible to capture with photos what it looks like to be surrounded in such an environment. If it is true that under direct sunlight, we see a near infinity more beauty than we are allowed to observe on the day we are visiting, I can honestly say that should we have been exposed to such a sight, my tears would have certainly sprung forth adding yet another layer to the waterfalls too numerous to comprehend.

The visitor to Plitviče will never know what this place truly looks like. They may have some small idea of a corner, a snail inching over the lichen, the song of a bird in a nearby tree, or the raindrop that fell out of the sky to touch their cheek, but what they believe they saw will be profoundly altered by the light, changed angle, the height of observation, or the frame of reference operating in their mind after getting lost in the visual symphony of complexity that is too grand to remember every note. Try to comprehend the many layers, the flow of water, the work of nature sculpting an environment that is always being reshaped, and you will be lost. The macro overview is easy to have; it may be simple to say one has been to Plitviče, but seeing is not knowing, and knowing the intrinsic universe that is found in this corner of Croatia will continue to mystify you in your dreams and memories of such a wonderful place.

Through the hills and over dale, we drove until we reached a designated meeting area in what appeared to be the middle of nowhere at which our host was patiently waiting in his van for our arrival. The shortcut he would lead us on took over an hour off our drive time had we taken the roads Google had recommended. Good thing he acted as a guide because the single-width lane we took is a maze that zigzags over the lush rolling hills.

We arrived at Imanje Jelaš, where our host Juraj welcomed us to his homestead with several different flavors of homemade Rakija, Croatian fruit brandy. There was the famous Šljivovica (plum brandy), but also concoctions based on grapes, lavender, apples, and herbs. I believe Caroline tried them all, but with five or six to choose from, I lost count at her third shot.

Dinner felt like a true Croatian experience. We sat outdoors on long tables next to the cooking fire (complete with the aforementioned iron bell). The homemade dishes were a gourmet delight and accompanied by large helpings of heartfelt welcoming from our hosts. While our fellow travel companions were relatively benign, I felt a bit embarrassed for their lack of enthusiasm. I don’t mean to imply that anyone was rude, but from the reaction to our dinner and tempered response to heartily digging in, I’d say that the crowd couldn’t truly appreciate the wild boar and deer goulash served with polenta and dumplings that were all cooked “under the bell.”

Dessert of walnut bread and poppy seed bread followed with offers of more wine, beer, or Rakija.

Shown to our rooms, Caroline and I were the lucky ones who had first dibs and consequently felt like we scored the best room of all – under the roof.

Plitviče Lakes National Park is already becoming a memory as I scratch out the notes I’m able to collect. It’s now after 11:00 p.m., and after a long day and the pleasure of spending more than a couple of hours with our hosts at the same table they fed us at, I need to give in to the need for sleep. As has been the situation with nearly every other river trip Caroline and I have taken, most everyone goes to sleep before 9:00 p.m., leaving us to be the ambassadors with our hosts who genuinely seem to appreciate that we are interested in hanging out with them into the middle of the night even though they’ll be up well before everyone else in order to make our breakfast.

If today were the totality of our Balkans adventure I’d say that we already received the full value of our investment to visit this corner of the world. That we still have almost 11 days of experiences ahead of us only lends wealth to our incredible good fortune to be able to participate in such opportunities.