Sailing the Croatian Coast

Never sailed before.

Not really. Not like this.

Seven days. Adriatic Sea. A boat too small for the journey about to be taken.

The captain is Croatian. Older. Weathered. Speaks three words of English.

"Wind good," he says on day one.

Nodding. Not knowing what that means.

Sailing for six hours. The coastline unfolds. Islands. Harbors. Towns built into cliffs.

At night, anchoring in a bay. Eating fish. Drinking wine. Watching stars not recognized.

Dubrovnik is the destination. But the journey matters more.

Stopping at Korčula. Marco Polo's island. Maybe. Nobody knows.

The streets are marble. Worn smooth by eight hundred years of feet.

Buying a postcard. Writing nothing. Sending it to myself.

It never arrives.

Hvar is for partying. Partying for one night.

Too old. Too tired. Too aware of the hangover waiting.

Leaving at 7 AM. The boat rocks in the harbor. The captain is already awake.

"Wind better today."

He is right.

The last day, sailing in silence.

No music. No talking. Just wind. Water. The occasional cry of a gull.

Understanding something not understood before:

Every moment does not need to be filled.

Some moments are enough on their own.

Arriving in Dubrovnik at sunset.

The captain shakes hand. "Good journey?"

"Very good."

"You come back?"

"I hope so."

He smiles. "Wind will be waiting."

Not becoming a sailor.

But learning that some journeys change you.

Not because of where you go.

Because of who you become along the way.