postcard 6: the in between

goodbye, ceiling cats.

There were the ceiling cats. And the crumbling mortar between the stone walls that Hazelnut’s tail would knock loose every time she passed by. There was the shower that didn't drain and the stove with only two settings (burn and off) and there were the bugs. Oh, the bugs. Millipedes and spiders and, biting flies and scorpions and weird large beetles.

But despite all of this, we’re still trepadacious when we cram the Dacia Sandero with as much of our life as will fit (it turns out it’s approximately a quarter of it, there are several loads). Hazelnut sits in the footwell of the passenger seat and we make the quick trip across town to our new Airbnb. It can’t be any worse, right? We ask ourselves hopefully. An old woman shows us to the top floor of her house, pointing out every little detail. She hugs her cat close as we head back down the stairs and when we pet him she tells us “this is life!” Which she’ll repeat every time she pets Hazelnut.

The WiFi is pretty much non-existent and there’s a sewer gas smell in the bathroom. The washing machine is in her apartment and she offers to do our laundry as I vow to wash my underwear in the sink for the next month. Otherwise, it's perfect. It’s clean and open and a big bougainvillea-laced patio peers over the rooftops. The neighborhood is quiet and tidy.

We walk to the only Chinese restaurant in Pula to celebrate and we’re the only ones there other than a teenage couple dressed to the nines who giggle incessantly at each other. We drink Croatian beer with our eggrolls.

It’s cold and windy on the southernmost tip of the Istrian Peninsula as we walk along the coast. The wind whips the ocean into dark and angry navy waves. The brochure says the place is covered in dinosaur tracks. We think we maybe spot a pair, but we definitely see a pheasant, it’s tail long and green.

We were given an address and told to come by between 12 and 1:30 on Tuesday when we enquired with the local health department about COVID boosters. We loiter nervously in the lobby and a nurse tells us to take a seat. I’m only 50% sure we’re going to get what we want, but after she jabs us with a needle, the certificate she hands us has the name of the newest vaccine on it. It’s the bravest thing we’ve done yet, other than the actual move, and we’re jubilant if not a little sick and sore.

The tide is unusually high when we arrive in a town up the coast called Rovinj. The waves lap over the docks and the boats moored in the marina threaten to float onto the sidewalk. The town is built right into the water, alleys between buildings leading to steps straight into the sea. The cobblestones are worn smooth like glass and we climb them up the hill to a church, street cats scampering away. Our hands are sticky from drippy gelato and we marvel that this is just another pre-work morning.

Sometimes life is magic, drinking rose and dancing in the kitchen to the soundtrack of a thunderstorm and focaccia sandwiches assembled from market finds. Other times it's hard and there’s tears and we argue. This is the hardest thing we’ve ever done, but it’s beautiful too

love,

Mikaela