Five Quiet Days in Rovinj
After the Budapest and Zagreb incidents, I finally did something I almost never do.
I stopped.
Not dramatically. No vanishing. No stepping through glowing symbols. No arguing with ancient mechanisms hidden behind coffee machines. I simply took a train and a bus toward the Croatian coast and ended up in Rovinj, where the sea is blue, the old town climbs uphill like it is trying to reach the clouds, and nobody asked me to save reality for five whole days.
On the first day, I walked without purpose through the narrow stone streets and sat near the harbor watching boats move lazily in the sun. On the second, I climbed up to the Church of St. Euphemia and stayed there longer than planned, mostly because the view made everything else feel very far away. The third day was for swimming, drying in the shade, and eating grilled fish with blitva and potatoes. The fourth, I rented a bicycle and followed the coast through pine trees, stopping every time the sea looked too beautiful to ignore. Yesterday, I did almost nothing at all, which felt strangely brave.
No anomalies. No talking doors. No frozen cafés. No suspicious pigeons with phones. Just five calm, warm, ordinary days.
I am sorry I did not have time to post. Or, more honestly, I had time, but I did not have the strength to turn peace into words.
Today is Wednesday, and I am still in Rovinj, sitting outside a small café near the harbor, sipping a macchiato and eating a slice of rapska torta, that dense almond cake that tastes like someone compressed an entire quiet island afternoon into pastry.
Now I am considering what to do next.
For once, nothing is pulling at me.
And I am trying very hard not to go looking for trouble.
