When I told friends and family I was going to Croatia on my honeymoon, they mostly responded with blank stares. I tried to clue them in. “It’s part of the former Yugoslavia,” I said. They reacted with panicked looks and questions about our safety or whether there were even beaches in this dangerous faraway land. I started to wonder whether I had made some terrible mistake, but as our tiny puddle jumper descended below the cloud cover, the sparkling sea and the walled city of Dubrovnik, “the pearl of the Adriatic,” were laid out below, just as the maps had depicted.
My experiences in Croatia were decidedly touristy – I was on my honeymoon, after all. But I was newly-armed with a Master’s degree that focused on post-communist Europe, and I was fairly determined to acquaint myself with the side of the country that might not be found in the average tourist’s guidebook. In one week, I was going to talk to everyone, try everything, and get to the bottom of Croatian identity as it related to Yugoslavia and the EU. Oh, and I was going to take my husband along for the ride, because what part of the violent breakup of one confederacy, twenty years of rebuilding, and the joining of another doesn’t scream everlasting love?
Finding Croatia – even in a wholly superficial, tourist-oriented way– proved more difficult than I imagined. The typical “easy” entrances to a foreign culture, food and history, are discolored by a somewhat forced pan-Europeanism complemented by the country’s confused set of conquerors and alliances throughout its existence. Based on its history (and the in-flight Croatia magazine provided by Croatia airlines), Croatia could easily be categorized as the most European country in Europe. Dubrovnik and its environs claim Greco-Roman heritage – Odysseus is said to have been shipwrecked on the island of Mlijet, and canals from the Roman era still flow in the Konavle region today. Later on, as the city became a maritime trade hub, the Republic of Ragusa (as Dubrovnik was then known) had close ties with Italy; Marco Polo was born on the island of Korcula. Napoleon took the city just before it became a part of the Austro-Hungarian empire and all the European grandeur it signified.
On the ground, the situation is the same. When you sit down at a Croatian restaurant, you may as well be in Italy. Pasta, risotto, and stone-fired pizzas adorn the menu, complimented by simply-prepared local fish dishes, which, while mouth-wateringly fresh, do not offer insight into what is considered thoroughly Croatian cuisine or custom. You are waited on by an array of attractive but detached young people with perfect English. They are interested in giving you a pleasant European experience, not in discussing the efficacy of the Croatian government or the merits of EU membership. Croatian tourist attractions focus on the natural and historical beauty of your surroundings, without providing any detail of their origins. Guides acknowledge that this fort or that church was built by X, Y, or Z historical figure, but the way these landmarks figure into the recent history of Dubrovnik is glossed over in order to give preference to the popular pan-European myth of the Croatian Republic.
I spent the journey home contemplating what independence had brought for Croatia. The nation spent three bloody years defending itself and attempting to expand its territory, and yet Croatian national pride seemed to be nonexistent, replaced by shops with boardwalk-style souvenirs catering to cruise ship passengers and other uneducated, transient travelers searching for an item with “DUBROVNIK” emblazoned on it to prove that they set foot within the city. All visible remnants of communism had been erased, and an aspirational vision of Europe and Croatia’s place in it was all that remained. And yet, the one Croatian who would give me her views on her country’s impending EU membership was not so certain if these changes had been made for good. She asked, “Why should we subject ourselves to another Yugoslavia, another failing union?”