postcard 60: here we go again
Leaving Croatia
I start to get concerned that Topher’s slight wrists are going to snap as he precariously balances…51.2 pounds on the little luggage scale. Damn it. We open the suitcase back up and hem and haw over each item. That pair of socks can go, the measuring spoons can go. We spend all of Saturday in this push and pull, desperately trying to fit all of our lives (plus an undisclosed but truly large quantity of olive oil) in four suitcases, two duffles and one bike bag. Hazelnut panics as we gather up her toys. When we’re not looking she steals her favorite—a stuffed fox her grandma Sally got her—and runs away, trying to bury him under her bed. Its enough that we both start crying, again.
It’s cold and windy, but we’re determined to have one last sandwich by the beach. We turn it into a hike and let our anxieties slip off and be carried out to sea with the whipping wind. There’s tile to be scrubbed and windows to be cleaned, condiments to be tossed and clothes to be donated, but we linger a little longer and watch the waves toss pieces of driftwood around like matchsticks.
I have nearly as much to do at work as in our corpreal life leading up to Thanksgiving and it's a balance of early mornings and late nights and lots of Vitamin C (thanks for the reminder, drinking some now!) Tuesday comes before we know it and Hazelnut and I are dropping Topher off at our tiny airport two hours ahead of his flight to Frankfurt. There’s a handful of security agents drinking coffee on the patio tables outside which does not strike me as something they’d do if they were particularly busy, but he wanted to be here plenty early. Sure enough, Topher waits until half an hour before the flight is set to take off for the check-in desk to open. After he and the other nine passengers get their boarding passes, the woman behind the desk turns off the lights and heads to security where she turns on those lights and checks their passports again before they walk through the metal detectors. She’s also the gate agent and the plane has propellers, that’s where he’s at. There’s a stop in Zadar and a plane change in Zagreb before he picks up the van in Frankfurt and drives it 12 hours back to Pula since one way rentals are exorbitant over international borders. Back in Pula, I take Hazelnut walking in the rain on my own and let her zoom around on the empty beach, trying to avoid the muddy woods and another bath and bathtub clean. Inexplicably, she finds the only sand on the Adriatic and does wild little spins in it, kicking sprays of sand everywhere. You win some, you lose some.
We’re down to 12 hours what seems like screamingly fast. I order kebab on Wolt, Croatia’s Uber Eats, and we stick the last things in suitcases, wipe down a few more surfaces. It’s like Tetris getting everything in the van. Topher tells me three times it's not all going to fit and I feel victorious when my plan works. Hazelnut has pretty much no room, but, c’est la vie. Its all in there.
I don’t know if we really have slept when the alarm goes off. Hazelnut crawls into bed and watches the alley cats one last time. It’s Topher’s 30th birthday. Everything now is a last, but it’s less bittersweet than I thought it would be. I think I’ve been saying goodbye for weeks now and finally doing it feels like the weight has lifted. We shake our landlord’s hand and give him the keys and drive the Ford Fiesta back to the rental car return. When I pull up, Hazelnut is riding shotgun in the van. Our precariously balanced stack of suitcases has already fallen and almost crushed her, so a trip to the hardware store for some straps is in order. We get everything ratcheted down and head to the stretch of coast where we take our morning walk every day, one last time.
Hazelnut zooms through the woods and onto the rocks and there looking out at the water we finally cry. But not for long. There’s birds to watch and cats to chase and it's just another morning walk, even if it is our last. I’m so grateful for all of the hundreds of mornings spent here, spotting dolphins or stopping for cappuccinos or getting pelted by spray on stormy mornings. Pula disappears in the review, and then Croatia, and we are really, truly leaving.
We stop for sushi and what has quickly become our favorite spot in Trieste, Italy, eating nigiri with our hands in a marina parking lot. The thermometer drops as we climb into the Dolomites and we turn on Christmas music as it snows, just for a brief moment in time. Hazelnut huffs the whole way, mad she doesn’t have her usual row of seats to herself. She takes to smashing her face between the armrests, snuffling loudly as she tries to sleep.
When we pull into Innsbruck, it’s hovering around freezing and already dark. The lights twinkle as we huff our duffle bags through the old town to our hotel and the Christmas market comes into view. A giant, real tree trimmed with lights towers over the square and the painted green stalls are steaming with gluwein and sausages. We drop our bags and bundle, and Hazelnut play barks at us. I think she remembers where we are and it’s confirmed when we order mugs of wine and rosti and she pulls us over to the standing tables and sits waiting not-so-patiently for a bite. We obviously oblige. The thick shreds of potato, formed into a pancake and browned, then topped with lox and sour cream might be my favorite dish we’ve eaten in the past year. It’s just as good as I remember.
We wander through the market, underneath big lit chandeliers and houses with windows decorated like an advent calendar. Topher gets a Bosna (two hot dogs, one bun, fresh onions, ketchup, mustard, curry powder) and I get a pretzel covered in raclette cheese and when we finally turn it in feels so much later than 9pm. Our legs are numb from the cold and I put on my baselayers as pajamas, happy to finally feel cold. I don't even complain when I wake up with chapped lips. The dry feels excellent after the humidity of the last few weeks.
As the dates inched closer and closer, I’d been worried that we were trying to do too much, moving and squeezing in the Christmas markets, but it was just what we needed. The anxiety and sadness melts away as we immerse ourselves in the festive wonderland of Innsbruck. The snow covered mountains come out the next morning and we stop at Starbucks and marvel at their beauty, coffee in hand. The Swarovski crystal tree capping the market along the river sparkles like nothing else in the sunlight. We walk Hazelnut through the covered farmers market and the park and she bounces with joy at the weather. When we get back to the hotel, she opts to stay back and snuggle in bed of her own volition while we go get lunch.
A shared pastrami sandwich made with fat slices of fall-apart meat, and a plate of potatoes covered in sweet sauerkraut, eaten in the smoke from the grill. It’s perfection. Since Hazelnut ditched us, we decide to head to the Golden Roof Museum. The beautiful, gold-plated balcony stands guard over the square and it looks like you can peer out from under it at the museum. The man selling tickets is so bored he’s reading a book when we walk up. Though the market below is bustling, there’s nobody here. We buy tickets and immeadiately get to stick our heads out under the roof and look down at the market below. It's worth €5, just for that, but we check out the rest of the exhibits on Maximilian I, the ruler who commissioned it, anyways. We spend the rest of the afternoon reading in bed.
The markets get more crowded as the day wears on and we push through the masses, trying to keep Hazelnut from getting stepped on, and order roasted chestnuts in a paper bag. I'm prepared to hate them, but they're surprisingly delicious and a totally new flavor. We peel and eat them as we walk, heading to the riverside market to see the lights on the water. There’s a light show on the crystal tree and we all watch as it flashes before unexpectedly breaking into fireworks. Hazelnut is not amused and we hightail it back to the old town market and order more rosti.
-Mikaela