Me and my town in the magic twilight

Uff. I got a little dispirited after my last entry when I poured out my heart about my homesickness and nobody said anything about it! And then I sent an email to those who follow the blog a few weeks later, not realising that WordPress had closed off the comment option by then. Thanks for the emails telling me you’re still out there. I ❤ you guys.

To re-emphasise what I said about being very happy here and this being sort of the ideal place, I thought I’d post a few pictures. The above was taken by Cassandra just this past weekend, when we went for drinks in the balmy late-summer air of historical Trsat, which is like a little fairy-tale village but very much part of the town (and even fairly central). The picture doesn’t do the view justice by a long road, the panorama stretched all the way to what’s far outside the left edge of this picture.

I’ve been travelling a little too, but only in my own car, because one COVID scare is enough for me by far (not that there’s any way to completely exclude the possibility of infection in any case, but at least I’m not taking any planes or trains). In July, I drove to Germany to visit my auntie and my dad. It was insane: Two full-day trips for just over a day there, but I’m so so glad I went. Dad is 91 and getting thinner and more frail every time I see him. His dementia means that he doesn’t quite get what’s going on, and that’s probably for the best. I got to spend a good hour with him, pushing his wheelchair around the little park of the care home (visitors are not allowed inside at the moment) and sitting on a bench and chatting. I’m not even sure he still knows who I am, but he corrected me when I got the name of a street in his hometown wrong – that he still remembers!

On the way there, I spent one evening with my Auntie Inge who still lives in the said hometown. I have memories of a lot of childhood holidays there, but it was only now that she told me the details of the day when her younger sister died in 1945, and the exact spot where it happened. I’d always known that I should have had another auntie who died in the very last days of WW II at age five, but I never knew the details, and I must say, it’s a harrrowing tale.

Hers was a completely pointless death, all the fault of those asshole Nazis who were already utterly defeated but still insisted on sending soldiers – including teenagers and old men – to attack the US forces, who would never have decided to shell that little Bavarian town if they hadn’t been under constant, hopeless, last-ditch attack from them. One of the first hits destroyed a house next to which my Auntie Edith was just walking with the youngest (my dad had four sisters), trying to get home because the air-raid sirens had gone off. She was flung aside as Maria-Luise got buried under the rubble of the crumbling house wall. And then it fell to that 11-year old to carry her dead sister home, after digging her out. And my Auntie Inge who told me the story, only got away because she had decided to skip ahead. Imagine what these girls must have been through, imagine that on a child’s psyche, at a time when there was no psychological care for trauma sufferers after the war.

On to more cheerful subjects. Back in Croatia, I spent a few carefree weeks going swimming in the sea 1-2 times a week and working from my little dreamy spot outside the house:

I also looked after the most adorable little cat for a while, who has thankfully found a home in the meantime, because I couldn’t keep her, of course, much as I wanted to because she truly stole my heart. But she’s very happy now!

In August, I took a 3-day mini holiday at my doorstep, in Istria. I drove the 2 hours or so to Rovinj, a romantic historical town with enchanted little cobblestone streets and cafes by the sea. The next day I took the ferry to the island Cres, where Claudia lives, and spent a day with her. We went swimming and had dinner in yet another fairy-tale old town, and the next day I got the grand tour around the island with Claudia as my chauffeuse and tourist guide!

Here’s a sunset impression from the old town of Rovinj, looking out to the sea and a little island I wish I could live on:

I can see already that I’m going to have to make another entry talking about a further subject I’m very excited about, because this one’s getting too long. But there’s one more thing I still need to tell you! I’m hoping the infection numbers will go down in autumn because I’ve decided to spend December in Vienna, pandemic situation permitting. Vienna is magical at Christmas, and of course so is Rijeka, but I haven’t been to Vienna in December in 15 years and so it’s time. I’m booking lots of concert tickets which luckily are fully refundable in case they should get cancelled. I don’t care if I have to wear full HAZMAT, I need to get out and hear live music. Fingers crossed.

I know this blog entry gives the impression that I’m out and about a lot, but believe me, these two trips represented two Monday-to-Wednesday car journeys on my own. That was it. I’m still mostly in isolation at home, when I go swimming I’m on my own, I’ve met with a friend twice over the last six weeks, and otherwise I only do grocery shopping. I’m high-risk, and there are too many fascist conspiracy theorists believing COVID is a hoax and boycott masks – stupid science deniers that they are – for me to take any chances. After 6 months, it’s really starting to feel heavy being isolated. Fuck Nazis.

So this was Part I. Expect Part II within the next week or so! And before I sign off: Below is a shot I took in the famous Valentino cocktail bar in Rovinj, where you actually sit “on the rocks”, on cushions, directly above the sea. It’s ridiculously beautiful and romantic – well, I think the picture gives you a good impression.

Take care of yourselves, and let me know how you are.

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Valentino Bar in Rovinj

I hugged a total of four humans in the past two weeks.

Thought I’d start with the most important news! After three months of touch-deprivation, it’s beyond wonderful to hug actual, living, breathing people of flesh and blood. Now, I’ve always been a cuddly hag, but the last few months have made me appreciate the sense of touch even more.

It’s also midsummer. The Solstice happened on the 20th this year and was a time of intense, deep emotions for me, because a dear friend back in Ireland, Brendan, died just the day before, in one of those freak accidents you sometimes read about, never thinking it could happen to anyone you know and love. I cried until my eyes couldn’t produce any more tears and paced up and down for hours (most of the night, actually), then I did a ritual Solstice dance to process the sadness, anger, and mourning. After 24 hours I was able to function again, and on the other side of the weekend I’ve begun to, I don’t know, accept? Not that I’ll get used to talking about Brendan in the past tense any time soon. But it’s beginning to sink in.

On a happier note, last weekend may have been the first day of summer, but today is the first day of summer weather. 29 degrees! Over the past few weeks, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the first proper spring I’ve seen in years, with a mix of sunshine, cloud and rain and constant mild temperatures between 18 and 24 degrees. Now it feels like we’ve made the jump into full-on summer, and in Croatia that means serious business.

Over the last weeks, I bought:

• summer clothes (because I hardly owned any),
• a beach towel,
• beach shoes (beaches are stony rather than sandy here),
• a straw hat,
• and sunscreen.

After around 18 years of not swimming in the sea – which I love – I was being a bit of a chicken, but thankfully Aleksandra dragged me along last week, and it was great!

The end of June of course also means that the first half of the year I gave myself to decide where I’m going to live, is now over. To spoil the ending: I’m no closer to a decision. But I thought I’d share my thoughts and feelings so far, unfinished as they are (and I’m not pushing myself either; there’s a reason I gave myself 12 months).

I love it here. Croatia is everything and more – much more – than I ever expected. Obviously, I picked the worst time to move to a new country. I’ve been here for six months and have hardly seen anything or made friends, because I’ve been a) gone and b) in lockdown for all but a few weeks of my time here. Having said that, I’ve met quite a few amazing people already, people I can truly relate to on a meaningful level – in other words, friends. That this happened so quickly astonishes me and is, in my humble opinion, a good sign.

It’s so beautiful here, I have to pinch myself several times a day because I can hardly believe it. Seriously, this place… the bay, the towns and villages, wedged in between the mountains and the sea… it’s breathtaking. Obviously, the weather is great, too. And the people are lovely and helpful throughout. I’m already in love with the language, and my little house may be small, but it’s beautiful and functional and really everything I need right now.

Sounds like a no-brainer, right? And it is, or would be, if it wasn’t for the fact that I’m so homesick it hurts physically. It sounds mental, but I miss the wind and the miserable rain, I miss the lakes and the green and the rough Atlantic coast. At this point I’d give a lot to be able to go to a cafe and order a proper sandwich. I miss my lovely friends, obviously, but most of all Mayo, Massbrook Woods, and archery. I’d give a kidney to be able to teleport myself there for just one day.

Reminder: This is my fifth country. I’ve missed people from all these places after moving away, and I smile fondly when I remember places and experiences. But there’s only one home, one place I actually belong. And while Croatia suits me better in almost every single way, I’m going to have to decide, come December, whether I can make a worthy life away from home. Others have done it, of course. My job is to find out if I can, too.

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I made it home.

After the second cancelled flight (the one I wrote about last week), I phoned Croatian Airlines and was lucky to get one of those people on the phone who don’t just shrug and give up. It took about half an hour, and then I was booked on a flight that she guaranteed me wouldn’t get cancelled.

The only trouble was, the flight was once again out of Frankfurt, so I had to find a train and get across the border. The night train was cancelled, so I spent Monday night sleepless in the most uncomfortable seat – not even the back was adjustable – and made it across the border because luckily, I have a German passport.

Changing trains in Munich and later on waiting at the airport was a PITA with no shops open. It was 2 degrees and I sat there shivering on a cold plastic seat for two hours. At least the airport was warm. When the time came to check in, I was told only Croatian citizens were allowed to fly. I explained that EU citizens who are residents in Croatia could, too, and after a lot of back and forth, they allowed me on the flight.

In Zagreb, the whole experience became a lot more heartwarming, if no less complicated. I still don’t have a Croatian ID – everything is closed here, too – although I do have permanent residency now. Fortunately, they found me in the system at passport control. Then I wandered around the completely deserted terminal and spent about an hour talking to police, the information desk, and the car rental who all disagreed on what the correct procedure was – rental car, taxi, what else? There’s a 14-day mandatory self-isolation after entering the country, and driving between cities is only allowed with a special permit these days, which I don’t have. Fun.

In the end, they told me to just wing it. I got into the rental car and drove, grinning from ear to ear because even in pandemic times, Croatia is as beautiful as ever, the weather was gorgeous, and the penny dropped more and more that I was actually going home. As expected, I was stopped by a police patrol before I reached Rijeka, and explained that I’d just arrived from abroad and was on my way to 14 days of quarantine. The officer asked where I live, and I said: “Rijeka. Well, Viškovo, really.” -“You live in Viškovo?” -“Yes.” -“Me, too!” Turns out he lives all of two streets away from me. We proceeded to assure each other that Viškovo is the best possible place to live, and then he sent me on my way.

I adore the people here. If you were wondering why I feel so at home in this country, there you go.

When I first glimpsed Kvarner Bay, I almost lost it again, just like that first time months ago. Once again, I had in front of me the deepest blue sea with sunlight sparkling on the water and the mountain panorama. Jaw-droppingly beautiful. I left the rental car at the drop-off station in Rijeka, from where Andy – the saint – picked me up, face mask and all, and drove me home. He’d also bought a boatload of groceries for me, so I won’t have to worry about starving any time soon.

After 26 hours of travel, 0 hours of sleep, and lots of drama, I was finally at home. It truly felt like I’d been crossing enemy countries in a war!

Behold the most-kissed piano in the world:

The next morning, I developed a cough and shivers.

I phoned the epidemologist (which is mandatory upon arriving in Croatia), who ordered a test. I got an appointment an hour afterwards and was told the result would arrive the next day.

Now I’m a fairly rational person. I’m not one of those people who imagine they have all sorts of illnesses they’ve heard about, and neither was I particularly fearful of COVID-19. But I have to admit, that day was surreal. I sat down and thought through, to the end, what would happen if a) I did have it and b) be amongst the few percentages of severe cases (which would be more likely for me, with my damaged lungs). This isn’t morbid, by the way – I live alone in a foreign country, so I need to take precautions. I reviewed my “testament”, made sure my emergency contacts are up to date, and then went to dance for a few minutes and practice the piano, in spite of feeling really ill.

By evening, I had developed more symptoms and suspected that I just had a severe cold, because COVID-19 doesn’t usually come with these. But it was still a relief when I got the call the next morning, confirming that the test had come back negative. Phew! The cough is just a cough. Still, great timing for coming down with one, two days after going out into public spaces, trains, planes, public restrooms…!

So all’s well, and now I’m just very very grateful. It’s so good to be home. I don’t mind this quarantine at all. I sit in the grass outside cuddling Kiki, I work, play WoW, practice, study… or just rest, as I’m still sick. But I’m happy. And I’m not going to go anywhere (except grocery shopping) until this is over.

I hope you’re all coping well. Be gentle with yourselves and each other, and most of all, be safe and stay healthy!

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I’m still here. Meaning, in Vienna. Travel is pretty much non-existent at the moment, and it’s absolutely impossible for me to get back home. Which sucks, because I’m paying double rent on a reduced income with so much fewer proofreading and translation work now that companies and universities are closed all over the place, whilst everything I love most about Vienna is denied to me anyway: the people, the music, the theatres, and the museums and galleries and nightlife.

On the plus side, I’m healthy and safe and have food to eat. It could be a lot worse. It’s just that it would be better in my kućica, for reasons such as:

• Now that the days are getting milder, I could step out into the garden in the morning and walk around barefoot in the dewy grass.
• I could cuddle Kiki the kitty, who loves visiting me at home.
• I could walk to the front of the house and see the bay. I miss the sea sooooo much.
• I’d practice the piano. And then, with reckless abandon, practice again the next day! The luxury.
• I’d remember that music sounds great when you can actually hear the bass. In other words, through speakers rather than a laptop.

I just thought the other day how cruel it is that two months into being the European Capital of Culture, Rijeka was cut off from tourist visits and forbidden from actually going ahead with all those cultural events. The same goes for Galway, of course. I hope they’ll allow both towns to make up for it somehow, maybe move everything forward so they can be Capitals of Culture in 2021?

Because I don’t know how soon this will be over. I don’t see things changing much until at least June, and we may be looking at most of the summer as well. It’s a scary thought, although I’m doing well so far. I’m just not sure what prolonged isolation will do to me. Touch is important. I just thought back, and the last time I hugged a human being was three weeks ago when I visited Kati. It seems a lifetime ago already.

I know of couples who are stranded on different continents. Others who simply don’t live together and now can’t see each other at all. I don’t have any of those problems, and like I said, I’m dealing with it all pretty well so far. But that’s just the thing.

There’s no doubt I’m good at being alone, as you may remember if you’ve known me for a while: So good, in fact, that for years on end I had isolated myself completely and been quite “happy” – except that I was actually in a mild depression and had kicked people out of my life.

My problem is not that I struggle, it’s how easy it is for me to be by myself. How the numbness beckons. I remember the ecstasy of coming back to life during that enchanted spring of 2016, connecting to people again, meeting friends, drowning in a lover’s arms… – and how I swore to myself I’d never stop feeling my feelings again.

And yet, here I am.

It’s been just over four years and I remember it well. I must be very careful, remind myself to keep reaching out to people, keep talking, messaging, send virtual hugs in the absence of actual ones, and use my body to ground myself, because that’s the key to everything I am, even when it ends up looking rather undignified and silly:

I hope you’re all holding up, wherever you are, that you and your loved ones are healthy, and that you’re coping with all the material and emotional fallout. We need to stay connected, support each other, create, and be as happy as we can.

And hope to the gods that this mess will be over soon.

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Gods, there is just so much to do!!

(…she cried, as she was enjoying the shit out of all the insecurity, chaos, and rapid change)

But seriously, it’s getting a little scary. I’m currently on a weekend shift, and come Monday, I’ll have all of two more weeks left at my job. I’m still madly organising the move and all the bits and pieces connected with it, and juggling this with friends who are coming to see me because, well, they won’t see me again in a while. Obviously, I’m making time for that, but it’s not easy alongside working my hagish backside off for my two businesses, which will have to carry me financially a few short weeks from now.

Before I continue with the interesting stuff, here’s a few practical announcements, to anyone here in Ireland: I’m selling off some of my stuff! As in:

• 3 tall bookcases, black
• 1 chest of drawers, black
• 2 more chests of drawers, pine and a darker wood
• 1 IKEA double bed in pine with hardly-used mattress
• 1 IKEA wardrobe

Anyone who’s interested, and able to pick up what they wish to buy here in Mayo, they’re yours at a nominal price. And the piano – in excellent condition and only a few years old – is 2,000 EUR and will be transported professionally to wherever you live. Get in touch, shoot me an email or a Facebook message, and we’ll sort something out.

To those of my friends who usually send me seasonal cards: I’ve moved from the place I was in last year, and while I’m happy to give you my current (temporary) address, please do keep in mind that I’ll leave right after Christmas. So either send your cards really early, or consider waiting and sending me a different greeting to my new home in Croatia a few weeks later! I’m happy to give you that address as well.

Because yes, I’ve found a kućica, a little house to rent. It’s lovely, perfect for me, just outside of Rijeka and in the garden of my landlady’s house, as you can see above. The interior is just as pretty! Cue happy hag.

So now this headache is dealt with, I’m finding pockets of time to contemplate the huge shift in my life. Anyone who reads this blog, will hardly be surprised to learn that while I’m a fairly rational person who likes factual evidence and all that, I’m also up to my neck in the woo-woo – magic, intuition, the spiritual world, and the classic elements of earth, fire, air, and water are a hag’s natural habitat. And thinking of the latest developments and my upcoming move, I can’t help but wonder how it all came together and fell into place.

There are little things I never mentioned before, because they either seemed insignificant or just me being a little silly as usual. In hindsight, they make me go “hmmmmm!” For example, when I first decided to learn Croatian in March/April this year, I passed the weeks until the sign-up to the beginner’s course opened (in May) by reading up and watching every documentary I could get my hagish claws on, about Croatian nature, people, geography, history, politics… I’ve always loved maps, and so I also spent hours on Google Maps.

But I didn’t just look at places, I found myself looking up towns and districts and contemplating which would be the best place for me to settle down in. Then I’d pull myself up and think, ‘what am I doing, I’m only ever going to spend a holiday in Croatia. It’s not like I’m moving there.’ Little did I know! And this is just one example out of about a dozen things that were not-at-all-subtly nudging me. It wasn’t just a once-off either, I found myself obsessively coming back to the map, and Wikipedia, and looking up places for rent (yes, really) all over the place.

In hindsight, it was perfectly obvious. But my stubborn head was so intent on buying a house here come hell or high water, I didn’t even see it.

When the house in Kilmaine fell through near the end of August, my first thought was: “Fine, I’ll move to Croatia then.” This is the first time I remember thinking it in this clarity. I still dismissed it as a slightly crazy Sibylle-plan and only told very few people I was even considering it. But I found myself getting unreasonably excited at the prospect. Eventually, I strictly told myself that it was time to act like an adult and be a homeowner, and then I jumped right into the attempted purchase of the house near Kilkelly. It was only when that became impossible despite me allowing no doubt and thinking of it as “my house” and fighting tooth and nail, that I remembered that “other option”.

You may make of this what you will, but I believe some things happen for a reason, and this is clearly my path. I’m very, very curious what it’ll bring.

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