Adventures back home

“Help yourself to my figs” a cool, dry voice whipped around our carefree bubble and retracted back. Ensnaring the paradise we thought we’d found after an afternoon of swimming in the stark turquoise Adriatic Sea. Having grown used to Ukrainian summers where weighted limbs of apricots, cherries, and peaches, drooped over fences and a midday walk meant a buffet, we’d eagerly grabbed the fruit. Turning it over in our hands, the rind sticky, we guessed at what it could be. We’d never seen a fig tree before. Now roped back into reality, a world occupied by more than just us two, we remembered our manners. Wide-eyed, we turned and approached the gated garden behind us. “Sorry, we didn’t know those trees were private” we stammered as our searching eyes finally met the voice’s owner, almond-brown eyes, and a kind smirk. “I’m joking! Take as many as you like, but those aren’t ready” the man responded. His new tone dancing upon and snapping the invisible rope, giving our lungs room to exhale. “Come, I have ripe figs” he said while unlatching the gate. He invited us to sit at his patio table and we listened as he, Denys, told us about his life as a fisherman. As he pointed to pictures of fish, whose names he didn’t know the translation of, an old woman stepped out of the house onto the patio. She spoke with her son. The words ran around us, toying with our ears, both muddled and distinct; foreign. She said, “Hello”, the only English word she knew. We all smiled and nodded. She retreated into the house and returned a few minutes later carrying a plastic bottle of clear liquid and four shot glasses. Her son translated as she explained that it was homemade fig brandy, a national specialty. The liquid bitter, a near antithesis to its bearer, was still fresh on our lips as she poured another. “Hvala” (thank you), we managed to say. The only Croatian word we knew.
Denys had one more secret to share with us before our goodbyes, “Come, I’ll show you where the locals swim. It won’t be crowded”. He walked us out to the path that edged the sea and pointed down. Etched into the white cliff face were a set of stairs. “The stairs end. But just keep going through those rocks there”. We scaled down, grasping where possible on the rounded boulders. Then we saw it, a small pool of water set slightly above the sea behind it, mostly calm despite waves crashing against its wall. Staring out at the seemingly endless sea, a slate blue now, I knew we had found our paradise after all.