summer vacation reverie

by Wassily Kandinsky

We are some weird sort of migratory birds. They move south when it becomes too cold; we move south when it becomes too hot. We return home for the third time because I suddenly remember we forgot the kettle needed for making the formula just before we hit the highway. The trunk is packed to the brim because we had to bring a portable crib, among other things, because when we asked the hotel about the crib, they said that it depends on availability upon arrival, which is just a complicated way of saying ‘no’. We departed at 5.30 on a Sunday because we wanted to avoid congestion (which we did, and the two-hour ride went smoothly) hoping we could check in early even though we received the same complicated ‘no’ when we asked about that. When we finally checked in thirty minutes before the usual check-in, the crib was waiting for us in our room.

We are no longer people who stay in Airbnbs, go out on fancy dinners, or drink gemists until midnight. Now we drink gemists from the family hotel buffet covered by full board, but only available at meal times that we make with sparkling water from a machine and wine on tap reachable after a slalom through children pouring sodas. Fish travel across our plates. Sea bass. Scorpionfish. Even towers of monkfish, which was always too expensive in restaurants and looks demonic but tastes angelic.

The hotel is not crowded, which is unusual for this time of year. Maybe an indicator of a bad season, the terminal fear for the government which decided, very wisely as always, that tourism is one of the three main branches of industry. Which is why tourism represents 20% of the country’s GDP, double the amount of, for example, Italy, which is a popular tourist destination by any means. The government takes 25% of anything sold in Croatia, more than double the rate during the Ottomans’ occupation, so the government is not happy when there is not much sold because the guests are not arriving. The government also likes when things are expensive for obvious reasons, but the guests kinda dislike that, which — it really takes big brains to figure this out — might be the reason for the not-so-great season. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe this season will turn out well again somehow, and the government will have enough money in the budget.

We are walking in endless loops around the hotel yard with you in a stroller, and I keep thinking about this month’s essay, hoping I don’t forget to write everything down. I’m in a reverie, so time stops existing. I love you so much, and I think you’re perfect, but I also can’t wait for you to grow up a little so we can do more things together. I want to read you books and I want you to understand what I’m saying. You are already asleep because the background noise of people murmuring and crickets chirping is the best lullaby. The occasional seagull squawks above us, and I hope it doesn’t wake you up. I keep thinking and walking in loops. I am just grateful that I have you.