Croatia and Plitvice, part 2

Didn't think my post on Croatia was adequate, so here's the rest of what I typed:

Croat |ˈkrōˌat; ˈkrōˌät; krōt|
noun
1 a native or national of Croatia, or a person of Croatian descent.
2 Ethnically, somewhere between Italian, Greek and Slavic Russian. Eats squid. Speaks funny sounding language similar to polish. Lives in a beautiful country. Hates Italians. Tasty trout.

I realized I never blogged on Croatia. It is a beautiful country and very cheap. Unfortunately, many Americans are still underneath the impression that there’s still a war raging in the Balkans. You’ll find a lot of bullet riddled houses(and land mines, if you venture off into the wilderness), but no war. The Croats are very nice as a people, and polite, not to mention cheap.
Croatia has yet to join the EU, and even though they have a deal to use the Euro for tourism, their main currency is the Kuhn(“Coon” just like the end of “raccoon,” which, oddly enough, means “Fox” in Croatian). It’s about 5 Kuhn to the American dollar, which is pretty awesome when you want to travel around one of the most beautiful places in Europe. Split and Dubrownik are considered the most beautiful part of the world by National Geographic(this is hearsay, but probably valid), but we didn’t have the chance to make it down there.
We did make it to Zagreb in the north, the Istrian Peninsula, and Plitvice National Park.
Croatia, despite claiming to be ‘South Central European”, is extremely Eastern. Conquered by from every direction by a variety of peoples(including the turks, russians, romans and italians), they’re a pretty unique culture that’s just starting to become more well known in the years after the war. We rented a car in Zagreb and drove to Istria, a peninsula of the northern coast. I had hoped to go to Venice while dad was in town, but there was a warning for Americans during Carnevale and we found cheap tickets to Croatia instead. Stumbling around the coastal towns, not really finding any tourists or anything of interest, I was starting to wonder how smart that decision had been. In Rjeki, a small town in the south of Istria, dad and I stumbled into a Carnevale festival.
In Croatia, men dress up as wolves during Carnevale to chase the evil spirits out of town(as I understand it). While waiting for all this commotion to occur, we were enjoying a cappuccino in a sidewalk cafe when a pickup with four guys playing homemade tambourines, trumpets and electric keyboards pulled up, one yelling into a megaphone. They tell me he was ‘singing.’
Behind the european redneck band, was another pickup with a lifesize plastic cow in the back, being chased buy a dozen men in masks and monkey suits. One was carrying a live chainsaw.
I had hoped they had come to sacrifice the band to the cow god, but that wasn’t the case. Instead, they danced around the cow in the square for a while, my favorite devil-worshippers being the guys dressed up as a wolf and a gorilla doing the tango.
Dad and I left after the guy with the chainsaw started spicing things up by chasing passers-by while revving the motor. I’m pretty sure he was drunk. All this time I’m thinking “I could be in VENICE right now at the real Carnevale!” I was kicking myself.
At the next town, dad and I stumbled into a wedding, which was also very Eastern European with fake tuxes and a bride with bad makeup. I think it was in the church courtyard where we decided Istria was a bust.
We piled back in the car after buying some bread, cheese, wine and baklava and started driving south. Switching plans on a trip can reinvigorate things, especially if your first plan doesn’t work out. In our case, it was just time to get out of Istria.
The road to Plitvice National Park was mostly highway until we started driving east. Climbing up a mountain in our tiny Fiat, we were taking 180 degree switchbacks along a narrow, wet road and praying hail marys like nobody’s business. That was before the fog. Once we hit the fog, we couldn’t see more than 20 feet in front of us, and ended up turning back for the nearest town.
We found a hotel just as the kitchen was about to close, and dad ordered squid for the 2nd night. I had veal, or what looked like a dark meat, as it was floating in a puddle of grease. Neither were anything to write about, but the irritable waitress and the owners were a trip.
We thought our server was a piece of work, until we were shown to our room. The two owners, an elderly german looking gentleman with a million wrinkles and teeth like nails, spoke in a raspy German accent to his accomplice. He stood no taller than 5’ 10”, but was the toughest looking Croat I had ever seen. Built like a brick wall, ‘Dozer,’ as I’ve come to call him, had a shaved head and looked like colonel from the war. When they led us into our room and discussed prices, I was convinced they were going to gut us both and take our money.
Dozer obviously had a way with women, especially his wife the irritable Croatian waitress who served us dinner. She had a way of rolling her eyes each time you asked a question and only responding when she felt like it. I’ve since decided to marry a Pole.
In the morning, we left Dozer and drove to Plitvice through still-thick fog. Totally worth the trip. The Hotel Jezero, overlooking the system of waterfalls Plitvice is known for, was very nice and the staff spoke english well. Plitvice has 10,000 visitors a day during the summer, but in February it was abandoned. One of the most beautiful places I’ve ever been.