One Summer Night in Malinska
“My boss she is not nice. I’m nice to people. Why does this happen? I think next the week I will take a new job at a hotel in Turanj, next to Zadar.”
“Well, I’ve already booked this apartment in Malinska for a week. If I can see you for a few days, let’s do that.”
“It will happen.”
After Rijeka, I was prepared to visit any of Croatia’s famous islands: Hvar, Brac, Pag, Korcula and more. But I knew that I’d chose Krk since the Ginger Craft Room girl was going to work in Malinska, a seaside town on the north of the island. Unfortunately, she decided to quit her job only three weeks after she started. I had spent those past three weeks in Zagreb and Rijeka, expecting her to stay on Krk Island all summer.
They say you shouldn’t chase. Not beer with liquor. Nor women with men.
My AirBnb wasn’t quite in Malinska. It was twenty-five minutes away, by foot, in a village called Vantacici. This worked out for the best. Compared to what was available in Malinska, my apartment was cheaper, quieter and cleaner. I was graced with a view of the Mediterranean Sea from the 3rd floor balcony. Additionally, my host was very hospitable. She owned the whole building, and lived on the floor below mine, so she offered laundry service free of charge. When my Internet and lights didn’t work, she came with her son to fix them. She even gave me a ride to and from the Malinska bus station.
Also the Ginger was, in fact, working in Vantacici. Not in Malinska.
On my first night on the island, we met at the seaside hotel she hated to work at. She closed the bar while I waited at a table with a certain pain in my back and heart. I wondered what would happen if she would leave in three days, or two days, or tomorrow?
As we walked by the sea, our conversation made me wonder more. She doesn’t drink alcohol, but she was working at a bar when we met? She doesn’t drink, and all I do is talk about the beer I drink? How did she come from a Croat and a Serb meeting? Do opposites really attract?
Oddly, I drank nothing that night. But I bummed a cigarette from her (I don’t smoke cigarettes.) We talked nonsense while the trails of our cigarettes’ smoke drifted up to the stars. Our feet dipped in the sea as the waves quietly lapped against them. The heat made the sweat on her skin glisten in the moonlight. Her foreign accent danced in my ears. It was all terribly romantic, but I could only think about the next day.
The following morning, I expected nothing. She had messaged me to say that we could meet early, but she had to return to her place to catch a ride to her new job in Turanj. I was at an AirBnb, I couldn’t have guests and I was working until 6pm anyway.
That day, I busked with my guitar in Malinska’s square, made a few Kuna, then walked along the beach back to Vantacici to work.
Sunset, Cigar and Beer In Vantacici
It’s after 6pm.
“I don’t have a bike now, so would you like we meet at Milcetici Beach on the halfway? I’ll bring beer and some food.”
A half hour passes, and I hear nothing.
Then she sends me her location.
“I’m on the wrong way. Not Milcetici Beach.”
“Stay there. I can’t call with my American phone. But you are only two minutes from me.”
I walk down the narrow street to a concrete pathway which runs along the seaside from Vantacici to Malinska. She’s there, standing in faded, cut-off jean shorts and a tank top, with her hair down in twin braids, looking fantastic.
We sit out on the balcony while the sun gets low in the sky. I worry about my Airbnb host who lives in the apartment just below. And her mother who lives in the apartment just across the driveway. I’m sure they’ve already seen my “guest.” But she’s just outside on the balcony.
“Sorry, I just bought you one beer but no food.”
“I have food here to cook. And some craft beer from the USA, also cigars if you like”
“No drinking, you know, but I can cook for you. You can drink beer while I cook. ‘Cigars’ are like the Cuban? Maybe I try.”
If she’s going to cook dinner, she’ll have to come inside.
While I sip on the light Karlovacko beer she brought, I watch her curiously as she cooks. An old blues tune “Come On In My Kitchen” plays in my head. I take out my guitar and start playing it. She doesn’t know it, but asks me to play and sing more songs while she cooks. I sing more songs, self-conscious of my traveled, ragged voice. She says it sounds nice.
This feels so domestic, yet we’ve only truly known each other two days.
It’s just pasta with prosciutto and tomatoes; the same dish I would have made by myself. But food tastes better when someone else is serving it. She calls it her “Krkuska Otok,” and I love it. After the dinner, we return to the balcony. I don’t see the light on in my host’s window below. I crack open one of my American beers. It’s from my city’s own 2nd Shift Brewing: Liquid Spiritual Delight, a Russian Imperial Porter. Not exactly the ideal beer for a steamy hot summer night, but it doesn’t matter. Now it’s perfect. She takes a sip of the beer, says it tastes like chocolate cake and coffee, then gives it back.
I light up one of my Havana cigars; a mellow smoke which is ideal for a steamy hot summer night. I pass it to her. She takes a puff, coughs, then takes another puff of it. She says nothing, then gives it back. She lights one of her cigarettes.
The setting sun is light up all purple, orange and red. She drags on her cigarette. I inhale the Cuban. We talk very little. I stare at the sun as its last rays disappear into the sea, then sip the cold Russian Imperial Porter. This is a fantasy, and I say as much.
“You know, at this moment we are enjoying all the best things in life: a good view, good food, good smoke, good drink…it’s almost like sex.”
She answers, “Sex is like food for me. I need it for life.”
I choke on the cigar, blink, then drag on it for longer than normal. That was not the romantic Hollywood answer I was expecting. Her mobile phone lights up. She looks at it momentarily. Shit, we lost this moment.
I stand up and lean over her, then fumble for words.
“Thank you. This is perfect. You cooked a delicious dinner, I’m drinking a great beer, smoking a good cigar, the sun is setting over the Mediterranean Sea, and it’s all happening with a beautiful girl in front of me. I guess you’re leaving but-thank-you forthistime.”
She’s staring at me, but I don’t know if she understood. I kiss her.
The sun has set, and I’m carrying her into the apartment. I realize I haven’t even finished that 2nd Shift beer. That thought fades quickly as we fall on the sofa. We ignore the bedroom since there’s no air conditioner in there.
“Hold on. At least let me close the apartment door first.”
Although it’s three in the morning, she insists on returning home. I tell her to stay the night, but she won’t have it. Before she leaves, she tells me it’s quite cold and asks to borrow my t-shirt. I give her my Cugino’s shirt, one of my favorites. It’s a St. Louis Italian restaurant which is now better known by beer geeks for being the home of Narrow Gauge Brewery.
She thanks me, then walks down the stairs to the street. I’m stone sober and satisfied, yet I can’t sleep. Will I ever see that t-shirt again?
The following morning, I receive a message from my AirBnb host: If you have guests overnight, it’s not a problem. But we need their information to register with the Department of Tourism.
I relay this message to the Ginger Girl.
“I could have to stayed for a few more days? Too bad. I’m already on the BlahBlah Car to work in Turanj.”
One thought on “One Summer Night In Malinska”