Today is Sunday!
and other failures of travel math
Dobar dan, my friends!
Who knows what time it is in the States! Not me! However: I have now learned to say good morning, good day, thank you, thank you very much, you’re welcome, please, and cheers in Croatian. Sadly, I have also learned goodbye. I have left the beautiful five-star luxury resort and spa where the inaugural Adriatic Writers Conference was held - traveling four hours with shuttle and ferry-
to arrive at last in Zagreb, where I will be spending the next two nights in the city near old town.
I’ve been spending a lot of time in cafes, both because the first one I found was a cat cafe and I had a lot of company and because the cafes expect you to sit two hours per latte. Even when there aren’t any cats.
I’m glad to be taking this journey since from the beginning it has been clear this is a transformative time - and truly there’s nothing like going someplace new solo to give you new perspectives on your situation. (I do a lot of solo walks as you all know from the photos on my Facebook page, and I very much believe in alone-time, though I prefer to take mine in the company of a big crowded city!)
This idea that writing is an art as well as a business has been rattling around in my mind for weeks now. The visit to MoCA showed me that artists can be tremendously commercially successful once they “arrive” (note that I am wearing Frida Kahlo earrings and carrying an artist-illustrated bag) and this conference hammered over and over that the reader is the most impotent gauge of a writer’s success. They can’t be confused, can’t be lost
Even the Michelin starred chef needed to start us with a deliberate and elaborate menu (wax sealed) to create anticipation and then before each course, a waiter meticulously described not only each ingredient, but put all of that into historical context for us. That dinner was art, of course, but it also came with explanations and satisfied expectations.
I’m putting all these lessons into my writing but it turns out a hostel with six bunk beds in the room isn’t a great place to deep dive into a complicated novel. So instead I’m going to museums today: the Museum of Hangovers has already been attended (passing it on the street I couldn’t help myself and went in!), I will skip the Museum of selfies thanks but will try to hit the museum of mushrooms in a few minutes and this afternoon, the Museum of Broken Relationships. Why else do you think I decided to stay an extra 24 hours in Zagreb before departing for Vienna? I speak passable German so that city is much easier to navigate.
But I’m so glad I came here. There is a mayoral election today so the energy of the city is very high. Tour guides passing by my set at the park are telling people the most interesting things. “In 1730, a Jewish man opened the first soup kitchen in Croatia. In 1878 the Catholics who ruled the city that predated Zagreb copied him and decided to help out their poor a little bit.” (I know from yesterday’s walking tour that Croatia was 80% Catholic until just a few years ago. Now 73% Catholic.)
The city is also recovering from a recent earthquake as evidenced from the crumpling stucco and many broken windows (5.8 was the strongest one—the baroque limestone buildings can not withstand this at all) and it makes me think of the news coming out of St. Louis. The tour guide told us that we are lucky to be seeing these buildings today because who knows in 30 years if any of them will be left standing.
Oh! The cannon just went off. Must be noon
(Cannon in open window on the top floor is fired daily at noon! Presumably with blanks or that too would be a lot of broken stucco…)
PS because I forgot to send this at 6pm my time - I went to the Museum of Lost Tales and wow what a place - it was all about folk art and absolutely marvelous!
WRITING NEWS
No new publications this week except the Literary Salon season grand finale is now live:
Have a listen! I recorded it at 1:00-2:00am Croatia time!
I’m eager to find a place where I can get down to business editing my novel. The practical advice given to me by Jo Piazza was priceless (ah the bitter bitter pills….)
RANDOM FINAL THOUGHT
A city feels more foreign when you can actually speak the language — but poorly. Tomorrow I’m going to Vienna and will pull out my pretty-bad German and I will feel more like a proper tourist
Here I’ve tried a bit but the locals just look quizzically at me. When you can’t speak a language at all, the locals just hand you a translated menu and speak to you in perfect English and it is hard to believe you are traveling at all—it feels like an “experience.” Like Epcot or going to Greenpoint or Brighton Beach - like slipping into an alternate ethnic world where nonetheless your English is enough. I much prefer the fascinating endeavor of trying to understand each other when we have no language in common. The farmer market here this morning was of that ilk—the cheese ladies talked to me, indifferent to my inability to comprehend.
(That said, traveling with Google Translate is extraordinary)
(Extra while I travel, I’m doing nearly daily posts for paid subscribers on substacK and of course remember to watch for my posts on Instagram.com/FemmeKafka and copious photos on Facebook.com/mmdevoe and random moments on #walkwithme on Twitter.com/mmdevoe )