I hold vivid memories of my first visit to Croatia. The War of Independence from Yugoslavia had run from March 1991 to November 1995 and while Croatia earned autonomy, it came at the cost of about 20,000 lives and hundreds of thousands displaced from their homes. Almost two years after the conflict ended, my parents picked the country as our holiday destination.
For northern Italians, the Croatian coast had long been a renowned tourist spot. Expectedly, tourism plummeted during the conflict, but its resolution (coupled with low post-war prices) made it possible for visitors’ swift return, including my working-class family. Even at 12, I was well-acquainted with the atrocities of that war from news reports and people who fled to Italy, sometimes sharing first-hand accounts of the horror they experienced. Croatia was such a regular feature of my pre-teen years there was a sort of voyeuristic thrill of visiting it in person with those stories stuck in my memory.
When we crossed the border and stopped to refuel our gray Peugeot 405, we found the gas station stocked with food essentials, road maps, and a few indispensable copies of Serbo-Croatian/Italian dictionaries. Post-war, every one of those books had the word “Serbo” manually crossed out from its cover, title page, back cover, and spine. The shopkeeper meant to make a point: Croatians wanted to share nothing with Serbians, especially if it was already printed and bound.
Marked out words weren’t the only noticeable remnant of the war. The country was beautiful, with vibrant Mediterranean vegetation, crystal-clear azure waters, and tranquil pebble beaches, but bullet holes still spotted buildings and crumbling walls. Croatia was on a transformative journey, and the pain of war was behind, but lingered.
Nearly 30 years later, I found myself in the Croatian village of Svetvinčenat. Sitting on the walls of the Morosini-Grimani Castle, surrounded by commanding stone towers and a serene, rural landscape, I sipped on a Porter made by Kampanjola Eko Bira. It was a moment to recall that family trip and what’s been built since, this time with a reminder in hand of what comes from patience and a search for new beginnings.
Words + Photo by Jacopo Mazzeo