Croatian Agriturismo
When you’re traveling I can’t recommend staying in an agriturismo enough. Agriturismos are farms that offer accommodation to travelers. Usually, you can partake in part of the daily farm activities as well. Some, of course, are better than others, but if you’re lucky you’ll find one that is extremely affordable and really lets you experience the culture of another country.
The one my family and I stayed at in Croatia was pure bliss. We chose it because it was the only place we could find that seemed to be right where my great-grandma grew up. It was crazily cheap and we figured it could end up being wonderful and saving us lots of money or it could be an absolute disaster. We took the gamble. And it paid off.
After getting a bit lost trying to find it, we asked a lady and her young son if they knew how to get there. After following the son’s directions (he spoke English, the mom didn’t) we ended up driving down a long driveway. My grandpa, being a farmer, immediately took interest in the small plots of various crops surrounding us on either side. Ahead of us, at the end of the driveway, stood a stately, 3-story, light green villa.
“This can’t be right,” Mom muttered. “That looks like someone’s house.”
“Great, we’re lost again,” Angela sighed. She was the one made to ask the last people for directions, and was probably worried we’d all vote her to ask the next people too. And sure enough…
“Hey, look, there’s a guy right there,” I pointed as we got closer to the house. “Let’s ask him if he knows where we are.”
He was smiling as we pulled up along side him. Mom rolled down her window and showed him the address of the place we were staying.
“Yes, yes,” he answered, still smiling. “You are here.”
“We’re here?” Mom replied in surprise. She looked back at my me and my grandparents and I could tell we were all thinking the same thing. You mean we get to stay in this beautiful place?
The man, Mladen, was joined by his wife, Jasne, and they both beckoned to us to park in their garage. As we piled out of the car, the two of them greeted us like we were old friends.
“Welcome, welcome,” Mladen said warmly. “Come, I will show you to your apartment.”
He led us up the first flight of stairs that ran between the house and the garage. To our right, above the garage, was a beautiful terrace with a long table adorned on each side with green benches.
“That is where we will eat,” Mladen said, gesturing toward the table. He veered toward the left behind the house and after a couple steps, we ascended up another staircase.
“This is your apartment,” he said at the top as he opened up the door. And it was indeed an apartment. It had a long hallway with two bedrooms and a large bathroom jutting off of it. The hallway opened into a large and airy living area with a round table and green leather couch (green must be a popular color in Croatia). A full kitchen was at one end of the living area. At the other end was a sliding glass door leading to a balcony with a view of the houses, green hills, and numerous agriculture of the area. We later learned that the three levels of the house served a specific purpose. Jasne and Mladen lived on the lowest level. Their son Pero lived on the middle level, where there was also another apartment for tourists, and the upper level, where we were, also had two apartments for tourists. We were the only ones staying there that weekend so we had the nicest. In fact, during low season, Mladen and Jasne live there, since it is more updated than the bottom level apartment.
Mom hadn’t come up yet, so we trudged back down to see her standing by the outdoor table talking to Jasne, who was inquiring about dinner and what time we wanted to eat.
And oh my God, did we eat amazingly well in Croatia. I’d always said the best I’ve ever eaten were the three days I spent with French relatives in Paris, dining daily on five course homemade meals. Well, let me just say, Jasne gave my French relatives a run for their money…or should I say croissants.
That night the table was heaping full of delicious food. We had porkchops, which were cooked to perfection. Behind the table was what looked like a very large brick chimney. It was actually where they smoked and cured the meat every night. My favorite meal we had in Croatia was the fish Jasne cooked the third day we were there. We had Trilja, which was red skinned and a bit sweet and Arbun, which was white and had a more mild taste. I love fish, but what was a big feat for me is that these were whole fish, with eyeballs and everything. And it wasn’t like a big fish you picked meat off of. These were small fish that could be considered a single helping. So as Jasne served them onto my plate (when it became clear I wasn’t going to voluntarily help myself to any. I’ll just have the potatoes and bread, thank you very much), I looked at the crispy things staring back at me and sighed wearily. Now that they were on my plate, I knew I had to eat them. Europeans are not happy when people don’t eat all the food on their plates.
I picked the white one up first and clumsily started to break it apart.
“No, not like that,” every single person at the table said. I should mention that I was a couple minutes later than everyone else to the dinner table since I had been showering after a day at the beach. I glared defiantly at my family. So…what? They’ve been eating this fish for three minutes longer than me and are already experts on how to do it?
Pero was laughing at me and grabbed my fish and in about ten second had completely demolished it with the bones on one side and the meat on the other.
“Oh! Thanks!” I said, happy that it now looked more like fish I was used to. Although the other fish was still staring eerily at me…
I happily started eating the fish, which was really quite delicious, and even went back for more. Which I once again turned over to Pero to tear apart before I devoured the fish meat. I had to stop at the eyeballs though, I couldn’t eat them. The pressure was on, though, so I offered to eat the weird looking mothball shaped caviar that came from the Trilja. It was disgusting. Oh, well. You can’t like everything.
The best part of staying there wasn’t even dinner. It happened after dinner when we would have a very late evening snack and drinks. The same homemade wine that was served at dinner would be brought out again. It was a sweet white wine, which Croatians mix with sparkling water. With or without the water, it was a wonderful wine. The table would once again be covered in food. This time with proscuitto, sir cheese which tasted like a mix of cheddar and parmesan, bread, and freshly picked tomatoes covered in salt. We also sampled their homemade brandy and Prosek, a type of mead. I liked the mead, and probably would have liked the brandy, if I could handle hard liquor, which I can’t.
While we had this snack, we would sit and talk and hear about the lives of our Croatian hosts. We learned so much about the way the lived. When we commented on how beautiful their home was Jasne joked that Croatians spend all their money on their villas and have no money for anything else. Pero and Mladen talked about living off their land, but how that still didn’t make enough money, so they also had jobs in the city, though they were home by around three every day. We also laughed and laughed and laughed. Croatians are very light-hearted and have a great sense of humor. I now know where my great-grandma got her quick wit…it’s in her blood.
Tags: Bacina, Croatia
Pokeyike
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