A few moments in a lifetime

There is something beautiful and curiously nostalgic about laughing and talking with people you’re never going to see again.

On our last night in Zadar, Croatia, my fellow travellers at the hostel decided to throw a little party, to end things brightly.

We were a wonderful variety of travellers from all over the world, with so much to tell – from living with elephants in Thailand to riding across Europe on a motorbike, alone and furiously, splendidly free.

We talked for hours, drinking cheap local wine, giant plastic bottles of beer, and what I was naively informed was called ‘Jungle juice,’ a concoction of fruit thrown into a pot, accompanied by a litre of vodka and left for two days, until all you taste is an extra yumminess to the fruit.

Potent stuff, particularly because it tastes so innocent.

So the night flew by easily, and the chatter only died down at 1a.m., when eyes began flickering closed and hands reached up to cover gaping, crumpled faces. Slowly people started to fade away, murmuring goodbyes, till it was only a small group of us, all of who had been gradually getting to know each other over the last few days.

So, having decided that our early morning flights left only the option of an all-nighter open to us, we went dancing. And it was loads of fun. Clammy; thunderous; vibrant.

I danced, I’m afraid, like a crazy person. But when you’re about to leave a country, why not?

Much later, we ambled home, too poor to pay for a taxi. I had the brilliant idea to go night swimming, which to my surprise was met with groans and blunt no’s from all but one. But what can conclude a trip better than a moonlight swim in the freezing cold ocean? Not much.

Half an hour later, I was jumping off a jutting rock; and the salty, frigid water was coursing over me, swallowing me. When I came up for breath I screamed, so full of life I was bursting with it. We floated in the water, watching the stars.

When the birds started singing softly and the inky sky started to leak in light, I pulled myself out of the water, threw my towel around my shoulders and tiptoed briskly with the others back to the hostel.

I flew home damp, with my luggage hastily stuffed into my backpack 15 minutes before leaving. Hours later, lying in my bed at home, I could still feel salt crystals forming little patterns on my skin.

I love that hostel, with its paper sign. And I love the travellers I met, so happy to grasp and cling to life’s beauty. It made me do the same.