June 25, 2018. I slept on a hill behind the church, wondering if a police officer might find me. The bar in the valley below blasted music until 5 a.m., and the train noise was nothing compared to that. At 7, the church bells rang and woke me, so no rest for the weary. I headed back to Isola and wandered around in the rain. I found out my ATM card had been stolen—great. I began planning how to get another card and called the bank, only to learn it had been their mistake. Thank God. I actually liked the way the rain filled the streets.

Later, I drove to Piran, which was packed despite the rain and had nowhere to park. I eventually found a lovely café called Neptun Caffe that served fair trade coffee. I walked around for two hours, taking photos while my phone got completely rain-soaked. Then I continued on to Poreč, which I loved. The coastline was beautiful and had won Blue Flag awards for its clean beaches. I visited the Euphrasian Basilica, a UNESCO World Heritage Site and one of the best-preserved Christian basilicas. It was stunning, with mosaic floors and facades. I climbed the bell tower, visited the lapidarium, and walked along the shore. I wanted to stay but pressed on to Fortuna, which was small and quaint. Then I went to Vrsar, a very pretty town. I walked up the main street and visited a 12th-century church with a beautiful ceiling painting. I continued down to the busy port, where La Rosa appeared to be a very popular restaurant, with people waiting outside. A picturesque overlook under a tree caught my eye, and the tourist information office was incredibly helpful. They suggested places to visit in Croatia. There was a castle at the top near the church with a large wall surrounding it, and many charming Mediterranean-style places to stay on the hill.

Finally, I arrived in Rovinj at dark. I wandered into the old town, which extends like an island into the sea—it was gorgeous, and I resolved to return. I roamed the narrow streets, exhausted, and returned to the car around 10:30 p.m. I found a spot near the road to Pula, but a barking dog nearby convinced me to sleep in the car. I managed to sleep lightly.

June 26. I wandered around Rovinj until 2:30 p.m., feeling punished for even speaking. First, I waited at a wok place where the man ignored me for 20 minutes after I pointed out that other people were also waiting. Then at the post office, a woman rudely told me to wait, even though a man had cut in front of me and all I needed was a stamp. I’d already been waiting 25 minutes. Then Mike S sent a sarcastic message, claiming I didn’t have to leave, even though I already had—when Ilan was the one who started the conflict. I also sprained my foot by slipping on the marble paving stones.

I ate a ton of gelato at a really good place and had a kind conversation with a Bosnian man who worked there. That’s when I decided to visit Bosnia—places like Trebinje, Jajce, Travnik, Višegrad, Bjelašnica, Perućica, and Počitelj, along with Sarajevo.

I visited the main church in Rovinj, where the sarcophagus of a young girl is said to rest. According to legend, her body washed ashore and was dragged by a man and a skinny cow. Rovinj is such a beatific town; it was once the largest in Istria in the 1700s. I had planned to visit Pula but felt a strong pull toward Plitvice Lakes, so I rushed to Pazin in central Istria. I went to the museum in the castle, which featured folk costumes and displays about life in the three regions of Istria—red, white, and blue—based on soil color, with blue representing the sea. Under Austria-Hungary, the most important animal in Istria was cattle. I liked the town—it felt relaxed and, best of all, free of tourists.

Next, I headed to Opatija and Lovran. A near head-on collision on the highway shook me—someone refused to let me pass. The road down to the towns was narrow and winding, but the scenery was worth it. I walked the 12-km trail that used to be a railway line and got some great tips from the tourist center. That night, Croatia won a soccer match, and people were singing like crazy in the bars. I finally found a spot to stay as I made my way toward the national park.

June 27. Germans were hiking up the hill next to my car—I had camped at the trailhead. I enjoyed a nice latte on the way to Rijeka. The city, a major port, was once beautiful but has fallen into disrepair. I explored the old town and Roman ruins, and walked through a WWII-era tunnel built to protect civilians from air raids. I had a good quiche at a boutique bakery before heading down the coast.

I stopped in Senj, where I saw a hilltop castle and a charming old town. I also visited Sveti Juraj, where I admired an old church, ate, and watched the sea. Two girls sat nearby in this pretty town. As I drove along the coast, I passed through beautiful villages with houses built right on the sea, complete with boat births. One maritime exhibit in Zadar showed a huge tree trunk that had been used to make a boat—it made me wonder about the history behind it.

I arrived in Zadar around 7:30 p.m. and explored the very pleasant old town. Its Venetian defensive walls have a long history and were bombed during WWII—what remains is largely reconstructed. Everyone was out admiring the sunset, which Alfred Hitchcock once praised, and I saw a lovely rainbow. I wandered until 9:30 and then stumbled upon Klapa Caprice, a women’s a cappella group singing traditional Dalmatian music. I followed them, recorded their performance, and was delighted when they invited me for drinks. I told the leader about Kitka, the women’s vocal ensemble from back home. Klapa used to be a male religious singing tradition, and it felt special to connect with these women. Eventually, I had to leave. I found a pine-lined dirt road near Vinjerac and slept in the car with the doors open, listening to the wind in the trees.

June 28. I returned to Zadar via the seafront, where I passed gorgeous old villas. I stopped at the Maritime Institute and received a personal tour. A woman there, a technical writer, has published many letters that revealed key parts of local history. She was incredibly kind. Later, as I drove, I saw a kitten by the side of the road. At first, I thought it was vomiting, but when I stopped, I realized its shoulder and front paw were crushed—probably hit by a car. I gently moved it onto newspapers, petting it for a long time to calm it. It was blind, and flies kept landing on its damaged eyes. I waved them away over and over, unsure how to help. I cried and cried. The image of that kitten haunted me all day. I returned later to try and find help but couldn’t locate it. I even knocked on the nearest door.

The connection I felt with that kitten stayed with me. I spent the rest of the day walking around Zadar. The archaeological museum had a strong exhibit on the Indigenous peoples and later the Romans—I learned a lot. I found Eva’s Gelato and spoke to a German woman about the kitten. She said she had adopted one herself, though she thought this one would likely die. I went back again, but the kitten was gone.

Eventually, I drove to Plitvice Lakes and walked into the park around 7:30 p.m. It was closed and raining, but I was so glad I went. I wouldn’t have had time the next day, and tickets were $40—not worth it with the crowds. As the rain misted the trails, the landscape took on an eerie beauty. I even climbed into a cave.

June 29. I awoke to the sound of a truck unloading benches and umbrellas emblazoned with “Plitvice Lakes.” A man told me the church and entire village had been destroyed by Serbs in WWII. I’d camped just outside the park. It took me 29 minutes to pay at a rest stop in Zagreb and another 40 minutes to get through the Slovenia–Croatia border.

The drive was terrible—rain, endless crowds heading to the lakes. I wished I’d visited ten years ago. Now it was overcrowded and slow, with one-lane roads and traffic backed up for an hour. Trucks and slow drivers added to the delay. Eventually, I reached the highway, only to wait another 20 minutes at a toll gate and 40 more minutes at the border.

I had wanted to visit Ptuj, the oldest town in Slovenia, but the bridge closure caused too much traffic. I skipped it and stopped in Maribor instead. It’s a lovely old city with a bridge over the Drava River and many beautiful old buildings. The castle celebrated 170 years of railroad history. I had fantastic pistachio ice cream at Illich and chatted with a local man who told me about an upcoming music festival. I heard some performers by the river and saw a guy asking for money using a scam about being handicapped. I reluctantly gave him two euros.

From there, I continued on to Graz. I spent three and a half hours exploring and was blown away. I hadn’t realized Graz was one of the most important cities in Central Europe. The UNESCO-protected old town had stunning architecture, a castle, beautiful parks, and opulent churches. I happened to visit during Mass, so I couldn’t take photos. Since it was Friday night, everyone was out eating and drinking. The university added youthful energy. I climbed the hill to the clock tower and admired the ornate well cover near the city hall—one of the best in Europe. It was a wonderful experience, and I definitely want to return.

Later, I called Shawn to stay awake on the road and ended up in Mikulov. I didn’t realize I’d been there the year before—until the next morning, when I recognized it from a different angle.