Croatia’s Coast in ’86: Soul Memories, No More Tents

In 1986, young and restless, I boarded a bus from Amsterdam to Poreč, Croatia with Annemarie. This was pre-war Croatia, its coastline a breathtaking stretch of beauty—Poreč, Rovinj, Pula, and the islands’ stunning shores leaving me awestruck. I’d return solo to Pula in 2019, still charmed. We landed at Zelena Laguna, an international campsite with our tent ready. Late June brought scorching heat, no shade—rise early or bake. Days meant sunbathing and boat trips along that amazing coastline; nights were for partying.

The people made it unforgettable. Friendly souls like Marion and Cheryl became fast friends—we even traveled together later and stayed in touch. The food was a revelation: the best pizzas I’ve ever had, paired with Kruskovac, a pear liqueur I adored. Drinks flowed freely, and everything tasted better under that Croatian sun. We smoked like chimneys—cigarettes were cheap, so we loaded up for home. We also smuggled extra Kruskovac past customs, stashing bottles on the bus like giddy outlaws.

But camping? A hard pass. That tent was a furnace, and I was forever sweeping it clean. The bathrooms? Gross—grimy, crowded, miserable. Croatia’s coastline, warm locals, and incredible food and drinks were magic, but they couldn’t save the experience. I spent 1986 falling for Croatia’s charm, not its campsites. Those friendships, wild nights, and flavors linger in my soul—yet I’ll take a hotel over a tent any day. That trip was a glorious chapter of youth, etched with laughter and the taste of Kruskovac, but I’ll never pitch a tent again. Those friendships, wild nights, and flavors linger in my soul—yet I’ll take a hotel over a tent any day.

“In the end, Poreč gave me memories to cherish and a lesson hard-learned: I’ll chase beauty and good company forever, but camping’s not my path.”