7 Days in Croatia & Slovenia: Castles, Cream Cake and the Art of Lingering

My sister-in-law, Ana, is Croatian. Her family is from Đakovo, a small town about two hours outside Zagreb, and she, my brother and my nephew travel back to visit about every other year. In the years they don't make it to Croatia, someone from her family often makes the trip to the U.S. instead.

That year, my brother and his family were going to Croatia for Christmas. I had only recently started traveling to Europe when Ana made an offhand comment about us “going too.”

Her offhand comment was more encouragement than I needed.

I immediately started researching.

Croatia wasn't a destination I'd given much thought to before that. Like a lot of people, I mostly associated it with the coast. But once I put my Lonely Planet and Rick Steves guides to work, I started realizing there was much more to Croatia than beaches and islands—and that Zagreb, with its Christmas markets and medieval center, could be a particularly interesting place to experience in winter.

So I let my brother and Ana know that we'd be happily accepting their “invitation.”

I'm pretty sure I caught them by surprise.

It wasn't that they didn't want us there. The reaction was more along the lines of: Wait. Are you serious?

I was serious.

And, because I am me, I was soon meticulously planning everything I wanted to see, eat and experience.

Don't worry, Reader. I didn't completely crash their family trip to Croatia.

They were staying for about two weeks, spending the first few days in Zagreb before heading to Ana's hometown for Christmas with her extended family. We would arrive in Zagreb a few days before them, giving us time to explore on our own before overlapping with the family for a few days. Then we'd fly home for Christmas while they continued on to Đakovo.

Ana also had extended family in Zagreb, and her parents would make the trip from Đakovo to join us in the city before everyone headed home together.

So, we'd get a little bit of both: a few days to travel around Croatia exactly the way I normally would—and a few days experiencing it alongside the people who actually called it home.

Day One: Christmas Lights and Jet Lag

I know myself. I want to plan. I want to see things. I want to go, go, go. So, the mix of having a few days to explore exactly the way I wanted before slowing down for some family time when my brother and Ana arrived felt like a pretty good formula.

Our first day in Zagreb started with a late-afternoon arrival at the Esplanade Hotel. And the Esplanade is much more than just a place to sleep.

Built in 1925 to accommodate travelers arriving in Zagreb aboard the famed Orient Express, the hotel is a grand Art Deco landmark with over a century of history behind it. I love knowing those little details about the places I stay. There is something exciting about sitting in a hotel lobby or climbing a grand staircase and knowing travelers have been doing exactly the same thing for a hundred years.

But it wasn't just the history that struck me when we walked inside. The Esplanade felt distinctly old-world. The sprawling lobby, grand staircases, dark reds, heavy furnishings and formal elegance all felt a little more old-fashioned than the hotels I was used to staying in. It was beautiful and unmistakably luxurious, but it also felt quintessentially Eastern European—in the very best way.

And almost immediately, I had that wonderful feeling I travel for: We are really somewhere else.

It had also taken us a while to get there.

At the time, there were no direct flights from the U.S. to Croatia, so after an overnight flight, a four-hour stopover in Vienna and one last hop to Zagreb, we had finally arrived. We were tired. Probably more tired than usual.

Nevertheless, we went sightseeing.

We checked in. Unpacked. Showered. And headed right back out to get to know the neighborhood.

It was about ten days before Christmas, and Zagreb was in full festive mode. The city is known for its Advent celebrations, with Christmas markets and events spread throughout the city, and conveniently for us, the Esplanade was hosting one right outside on its terrace.

We had a dinner reservation at Byblos that evening, but I had mapped out a route that would take us through a couple of Christmas markets on the way. Because apparently merely getting ourselves from D.C. to Zagreb that day wasn't enough of an accomplishment.

We started with the small but lively market outside our hotel. The square was filled with Christmas music, colorful lights, garlands and groups of people eating, drinking and socializing. It had a great energy, but most of the stalls were selling food and we had dinner waiting, so we took a quick walk through and continued on.

The next market was much bigger, beginning at King Tomislav Square and stretching through the green spaces toward Zrinjevac Park. There was an open-air skating rink, live music, food stalls and kiosks selling crafts and Christmas gifts.

We browsed for a while, taking in our first look at Zagreb at Christmas, but eventually jet lag won.

We made our way to Byblos for a sleepy Mediterranean dinner and then, finally, admitted defeat and headed back to the hotel.

Tomorrow, Zagreb had my full attention.

Day Two: Up to the Upper Town

Day Two was our big get-to-know-Zagreb day. I had mapped out a walking route through the city that would hit many of the major sights, with a stop for lunch, and a couple more Christmas markets along the way.

Zagreb is divided into the Donji Grad, or Lower Town, and Gornji Grad, or Upper Town. The Lower Town is the more modern, commercial heart of the city, while the Upper Town is where you'll find the winding streets, medieval buildings and many of Zagreb's most historic sights.

Our hotel was in the Lower Town, so that's where we started.

We wandered along busy shopping streets, popping in and out of stores—some very familiar to my American daughters, like Zara and MAC. There were trams rumbling past and people going about their everyday lives, and for a while it felt like the kind of urban European morning we'd experienced before.

But as we made our way toward the Upper Town, Zagreb started to change.

The commercial streets gave way to older buildings and narrower passageways, and eventually we reached one of Zagreb's most charming little attractions, the Zagreb Funicular.

Opened in 1890, the funicular connects the Lower and Upper Towns and, at just 66 meters long, is one of the shortest public-transport funiculars in the world. You could certainly walk up the hill instead, but where's the fun in that?

For just a couple of dollars, we climbed aboard for the very short—and very steep—ride to the Upper Town.

When the doors opened at the top, Zagreb felt different again.

On one side stood the imposing Lotrščak Tower, dating back to the 13th century. On the other, the hillside opened up to a sweeping view over the rooftops of the more modern Lower Town we'd just left behind.

This was the Zagreb I had been waiting to explore.

Lotrščak Tower was built in the 1200s as part of the city's fortifications, guarding one of the entrances into what was then the medieval town. I find old buildings like this fascinating. It's one thing to know intellectually that a building is hundreds of years old; it's another to stand beside it in the middle of a modern city and think about all the change that has happened around it while it just...stayed there.

But on this particular morning, the tower's age wasn't what had drawn the growing crowd.

We had timed our arrival for just before noon because every day, at precisely 12:00, the Grič Cannon fires from a fourth floor window of Lotrščak Tower—a Zagreb tradition dating back to the 19th century.

As noon approached, more and more people gathered below. Then, at about 11:59, a window high in the tower opened.

A countdown began.

In Croatian.

We didn't understand the words, but we certainly understood what was about to happen.

And at exactly noon—

BOOM.

The cannon was much louder than I expected. The crowd erupted in applause, everyone laughed and reacted, and then, almost as quickly as we'd gathered, people scattered back into the medieval streets of the Upper Town.

We followed them.

From Lotrščak Tower, we walked the medieval streets deeper into the Upper Town, eventually making our way to St. Mark’s Square and one of Zagreb’s most recognizable landmarks, St. Mark’s Church.

The church dates back to the 13th century, but you don't need to know anything about its history to understand why people stop to photograph it. Its roof is incredible—a colorful mosaic of glazed tiles depicting the coats of arms of Croatia and the city of Zagreb.

There are grander churches in Europe. There are certainly more ornate ones. But I had never seen a church that looked quite like this.

My camera kept clicking.

This part of Zagreb felt wonderfully preserved and distinctly different from the commercial Lower Town we'd left behind that morning.

A short walk brought us to the Stone Gate, the only surviving gate from Zagreb's medieval walls. But this wasn't simply another old structure to walk through.

Inside the passageway is a small shrine to the Virgin Mary, centered around a painting that, according to local tradition, survived a devastating fire in 1731 even as much of the gate around it burned. Today, people still stop here to light candles, pray and sit quietly for a few moments.

I loved this place.

People passed through on their way somewhere else while others stopped completely. Candles flickered against the stone walls. Some people prayed. Others sat silently. And then there were people like me, trying to take it all in without getting in the way.

It was one of those little places you could easily walk through in a minute but shouldn't.

Eventually, we continued down from the Upper Town toward Dolac Market, Zagreb's signature open-air farmers market. Just steps from the city's main square, its bright red umbrellas shelter stalls piled with produce, flowers and other local goodies. It's the kind of market I love finding in a city—not really an attraction created for visitors, but part of everyday life happening right in the middle of everything else.

From there, we made our way into Ban Jelačić Square, the city's main gathering place and the point where the Upper and Lower Towns seem to meet. Trams crisscross the streets around it, pedestrians pour through it, and throughout the year the square hosts festivals, celebrations and public events.

In December, of course, it was Christmas.

The square was filled with lights and market stalls, and after a full day of walking through Zagreb, we were perfectly happy to stop for mulled wine and hot chocolate and take in the atmosphere.

We had started the morning among the shops and busy streets of modern Zagreb. Since then, we'd ridden a 19th-century funicular, heard a cannon blast from a medieval tower, photographed a church with a coat of arms made of colorful tiles on its roof, walked through a 13th-century city gate and stood quietly beside people lighting candles at a centuries-old shrine.

It had been exactly the kind of day I love when we travel: lots of walking, lots of history and a lot packed in.

In other words, just what I’d planned.

We headed back to the Esplanade for an early night because the next morning I had something even more ambitious planned.

We were going to Slovenia.

Day Three: Slovenia—Castles, Dragons and the Alps

The next morning, we were picked up right at the Esplanade for a guided day trip to Slovenia. We'd be traveling with a small group of other visitors, first to the capital city of Ljubljana and then on to Lake Bled.

This was exactly my kind of excursion day. Two destinations. Another country. Lots to see. Let's go.

First thing's first. How the heck do you pronounce the name of this city we're on the way to? I'm told it is LEE-OOH-BLEE-ANNAH. In my American head, I exchange the "j"s with "i"s and it works out. Ljubljana. I am pretty sure I had never heard of this magnificent place until I started planning for the trip. Anyway...

After the drive from Zagreb, our guide dropped us in Ljubljana with about two hours of free time to explore the compact Old Town on our own.

And apparently we had started collecting funiculars.

One of our first stops was the Ljubljana Castle Funicular, which carried us from the Old Town up to Ljubljana Castle, the medieval fortress overlooking the city. But as much as I enjoyed exploring the castle, what I remember most clearly is what I could see beyond it.

The Alps.

This was my first real glimpse of them, stretching across the horizon in the distance, their peaks covered in snow. I remember standing there looking out at those mountains and thinking they were absolutely incredible.

There are certain moments in travel when the sheer distance from home hits you. Not because anything is difficult or uncomfortable. You simply look around and realize: I am really far away.

Standing above Ljubljana looking toward the snow-capped Alps was one of those moments for me.

Back down in the Old Town, Ljubljana felt almost storybook-like. The Ljubljanica River winds right through the center, lined with historic buildings, little shops and cafés, while bridges connect one side of the city to the other.

And there were dragons everywhere.

The dragon is the symbol of Ljubljana, and once you know to look for them, you start spotting them all over the city. Most famously, large green dragons stand guard over Dragon Bridge, looking appropriately fierce and making the bridge one of those places you simply have to stop for a photo.

We wandered along the river, browsed some of the little shops and stopped at a small outdoor market for lunch. Nothing fancy—sausages and sauerkraut, eaten outside on a cold December day. Exactly right.

Nearby, the bright pink façade of the Franciscan Church of the Annunciation dominates Prešeren Square, Ljubljana's central gathering place. Against the muted colors of a winter day, you couldn't miss it.

At some point while we were walking, the church bells began to ring.

That's one of the memories that has stayed with me most clearly: the old buildings, the river, the pink church, bells ringing through the square and the cold December air around us. I even remember a few snowflakes drifting through the sky.

For two hours, we walked, shopped, ate, rode another funicular, saw a castle, found some dragons and got our first glimpse of the Alps.

Then it was time to meet our guide again.

We weren't finished yet.

Next stop: Lake Bled.

Lake Bled: Yes, It Really Looks Like That

If Ljubljana felt storybook-like, Lake Bled looked like someone had actually painted it.

Our first stop was Bled Castle, perched high on a cliff overlooking the lake. Our guide dropped us off with about an hour to explore before meeting us again to drive down into the town of Bled.

We walked through the castle, but honestly, the castle itself wasn't what I remember most.

It was the view.

From high above the lake, we could look out over the deep blue-green water with tiny Bled Island sitting almost perfectly in the center. On the island, the little Church of the Assumption rose above the trees, surrounded by water, with mountains stretching into the distance behind it.

It remains one of the most beautiful views I've ever seen.

You know those places you've seen in photographs so many times that you're almost prepared for the real thing to be slightly less impressive?

This wasn't one of them.

It looked like a painting.

Before meeting our guide, we also managed to squeeze in one more important Bled experience—cream cake.

Bled is famous for its kremšnita, a tall slice of vanilla custard and cream layered between crisp pastry and dusted with powdered sugar. We stopped at the castle café, ordered a slice and ate it outside while looking out over the lake.

It was delicious.

And because we had a guide waiting for us and another stop to make, we ate it fairly quickly, gathered our things and moved along.

There was still more Bled to see.

Our guide drove us down from the castle into town, where our perspective completely changed. Now we were standing beside the lake we'd just been admiring from above, looking up at Bled Castle clinging to the cliff.

The Christmas market was in full swing along the waterfront. We wandered among the stalls, browsed, took pictures and walked along the lake. Swans glided elegantly across the water. Christmas lights and decorations lined the shore. Above us was the castle; out across the water was that tiny church on its island.

I’m not making this up.

It was ridiculously picturesque.

Eventually, our guide collected us one last time for the drive back to Zagreb.

In a single day, we'd crossed into another country, explored Ljubljana, ridden a second (and much longer!) funicular, visited two castles, seen the Alps for the first time in our lives, eaten sausages and sauerkraut at a market, found dragons, watched a few snowflakes fall, eaten Bled cream cake and stood beside one of the most beautiful lakes I'd ever seen.

It had been a spectacular day.

It had also been very, typically us.

And tomorrow, my brother, Ana and my nephew were arriving in Zagreb.

Day Four: Zagreb, This Time with Family

Day Four changed the rhythm of our trip.

My brother, Ana and my nephew had arrived in Zagreb, and after three days of following my carefully constructed plans, we were now going to spend the next couple of days with family.

We started by retracing some of our steps through the Upper Town. Normally, I don't love repeating things when there's something new I could be seeing—but this time we had my young nephew with us.

And there are some things that are just more fun to see through a kid's eyes.

So we headed back to Lotrščak Tower and gathered with the crowd for the noon cannon. We already knew what was coming. My nephew didn't.

BOOM.

His reaction alone made the repeat visit worth it.

Nearby, we also walked through the Grič Tunnel, another piece of Zagreb history—but from a much more recent era. The tunnel was built during World War II as a bomb shelter beneath the Upper Town. It was eventually reopened as a public pedestrian passage.

In December, its wartime origins stood in strange contrast to what we found inside. The long underground passage had been transformed for Christmas, decorated in a winter wonderland theme as part of Zagreb's holiday celebrations. We walked through before continuing on to meet Ana's parents for lunch.

And lunch meant ćevapi.

Lots of ćevapi.

Ćevapi are small grilled sausages popular throughout the Balkans, usually served simply and in large quantities—which was exactly how ours arrived. We shared an enormous platter at the table, and they were delicious.

But lunch was also the beginning of a subtle shift in the trip for me.

I'd met Ana's parents before. Her mother, especially, is absolutely lovely and always makes an effort to speak English with us when she's visiting the United States. She had been learning and practicing, and she tried her English with me in Zagreb too.

Her English, I should point out, was infinitely better than my Croatian. I could barely manage hello.

Still, Croatian was naturally the language between her family members, so conversations moved back and forth. Sometimes I understood what was happening. Sometimes someone translated. And sometimes I simply sat and listened to a language I couldn't understand.

It wasn't uncomfortable. I was just very aware that I wasn't home.

After lunch, we returned to Ban Jelačić Square so my nephew could experience the Christmas market, then stopped to see Zagreb Cathedral. The cathedral was under construction during our visit, so this was more of a photo stop than a proper visit before we headed back to the Esplanade for some rest.

That evening, we met up again for dinner at Stari Fijaker, a warm, casual restaurant serving traditional Croatian and other regional dishes.

This time, there were even more of us.

Ana's parents joined us again, along with her cousin and her husband and a niece. The restaurant was lively, the food was wonderful and our big table quickly filled with conversation.

Much of it was in Croatian.

People spoke English to us. Ana's mother made the same effort she always did. Someone could translate when necessary.

But inevitably, the conversation around the table would slip naturally back into Croatian. Everyone would be talking and laughing, and I would sit there smiling, catching just bits and pieces.

And I remember thinking about how rarely that happened to me.

Even when I'd traveled internationally before, English was everywhere. At restaurants, hotels and tourist attractions, I could almost always communicate. And back home, of course, I moved through the world in the language everyone expected me to speak.

Sitting at that table in Zagreb, I found myself thinking about people who do the reverse every day—people who live, work or simply move through places where the language being spoken around them isn't their own.

For me, it was one dinner.

And even then, I had family beside me.

It was a strange little contradiction. Croatia was beginning to feel like one of the places I'd traveled where I was most aware of being far from home.

And yet here I was, sitting around a table with family.

Day Five: The Art of Lingering

I woke up on Day Five with something I almost never have when we travel.

No plan.

We knew we'd be spending the day with family. Ana had mentioned possibly visiting a small town outside Zagreb. But there was no tour booked, no departure time, no carefully mapped-out list of things I intended to see.

So we had a slow morning at the Esplanade.

By mid-morning, Ana met us in the hotel lobby for coffee and to figure out what we might do that day. And as we sat there, I started noticing something.

People in Croatia were very good at lingering.

All around that grand hotel lobby, people were gathered at little tables talking over coffee. Not elaborate breakfasts. Not multi-course meals. A coffee. Maybe two.

And they stayed.

And stayed.

Nobody seemed particularly concerned about what they were doing next.

I'm very good at drinking coffee. I'm less good at lingering over it all morning.

But eventually, a plan emerged. We would go to Samobor, a small town about 30 minutes outside Zagreb.

We took a taxi and met Ana and her family in Samobor's main square. And then we did something else I'm not always particularly good at when I travel.

We walked aimlessly.

There was no attraction we needed to reach at a certain time. No tickets. No guide waiting for us. We wandered out of the town center. We walked a path alongside Gradna Creek which ran through the middle of town. It was a nice paved path with some wooden bridges crossing the creek. Eventually, we made it into a quiet residential neighborhood.

It felt both foreign and strangely familiar.

There were televisions glowing through windows and signs of ordinary life happening inside the houses we passed. The streets were quiet, some unpaved, and there was nothing touristy about where we were walking.

Eventually, at the end of the road, we found the ruins of Stari Grad Samobor—Samobor's 13th century medieval fortress—sitting high above the town.

We didn't tour it. We didn't really do anything with it.

We just stood there below it and looked.

And I remember wondering about the kids who grew up nearby. Did they climb up there? Did they explore the ruins? Did this centuries-old castle become “their castle” because it had always been at the end of the road?

If I'd grown up there, I know I would have tried.

Eventually, we wandered back toward the center of town.

One of the things I love about Europe is the idea of the town square. In both cities big and small, there is this central place where life seems to collect. You walk there to run an errand. You meet a friend there. You have coffee. You sit. You talk. The town seems to radiate outward from this shared center.

And in Samobor, we eventually did what everyone else seemed to be doing.

We sat down.

Like Bled, Samobor is known for its cream cake, so we stopped at a bakery and ordered slices along with coffee.

Cream cake again.

Just two days earlier, we'd eaten Bled's version high above its lake. It had been delicious. We'd eaten it, admired the view, checked the time and moved along because our guide was waiting.

This time, we ate our cake.

We drank our coffee.

And then...

we stayed.

The cake was gone. The coffee was mostly gone. There was no next attraction we needed to reach.

So we talked.

And talked.

An hour passed. Maybe more.

Around us, other people were doing exactly the same thing. Sitting over coffee. Talking. Staying.

Somewhere along the way, I started to understand that the cake wasn't really the activity.

This was the activity.

Being together. Talking. Having nowhere you urgently needed to be next.

I don't want to oversell my transformation here. I did not leave Samobor suddenly prepared to spend three hours over every cup of coffee for the rest of my life.

I still like a plan.

I still like to see things.

I still like to go, go, go.

But for an afternoon in a little Croatian town, I stopped wondering what we were doing next.

And just lingered.

Day Six: Plitvice Lakes—Even Better Than the Pictures

After our slow day in Samobor, Day Six was a return to our regularly scheduled programming.

We had another guide picking us up at the Esplanade, another full-day excursion planned and one of Croatia's most famous destinations ahead of us: Plitvice Lakes National Park.

Here's another one I need to help you pronounce. You might think it's straightforward, but I already know you're pronouncing it wrong. It's not PLIT-VIS. It's PLIT-VIT-SAH. You're welcome. On to PLIT-VIT-SAH...

I had seen the pictures.

Turquoise lakes. Waterfalls everywhere. Little wooden footbridges winding right through it all.

It looked incredible.

And once again, like Lake Bled, the real thing wasn't a letdown.

It was better.

I had actually prepared myself for a very different Plitvice. We were visiting Croatia in December, and I'd seen winter photos of the park looking like a snow globe. I was ready for snow, ice and freezing temperatures.

Instead, we got a day in the low 60s.

Perfect hiking weather.

We spent about four hours making our way through the park, following trails and those little wooden footbridges I'd seen in photographs. Everywhere we looked there seemed to be more water—clear blue-green lakes beneath us, waterfalls spilling from one level to another, streams running through the landscape.

The water was so clear that in most places you could look straight through it.

And the waterfalls just kept coming.

Big ones. Small ones. Water tumbling down cliffs and slipping through the trees. We'd round another corner or climb to another viewpoint and there would be another scene that made me stop and take out my camera.

Partway through our route, we boarded a small boat to cross one of the lakes, giving our legs a break and letting us see the park from yet another perspective.

Plitvice is one of those places where I'm not sure photographs can quite explain the scale of what you're seeing. Individual pictures capture a waterfall or a lake or one of those winding wooden paths. But being there means walking through all of it for hours, with one jaw-dropping view giving way to another.

It was easily one of the prettiest places I'd ever been.

And after four hours of hiking, we were exhausted.

But our day wasn't quite finished.

On the drive back to Zagreb, we stopped in Rastoke, a tiny historic mill village where the Slunjčica River meets the Korana. For centuries, people here harnessed all that moving water to power mills. They built homes, wooden mills and little bridges right into a landscape crisscrossed by streams and waterfalls.

And once again, I had that strange feeling of having been transported into another time.

Water was everywhere.

It rushed underneath and between the old houses and through the remains of the old mills. I remember looking at these homes sitting above all that rushing water and wondering how they had possibly stood there for so long. It was one of those places where the setting itself seemed almost impossible—like surely people couldn't actually have built a village here.

But they had.

It was almost sunset by then. The light was fading, our legs were tired and we still had the drive back to Zagreb ahead of us.

So we stopped for coffee.

This time, we didn't linger.

We took it for the road.

But standing in another little Croatian town at the end of a very long day, coffee in hand, something about it felt strangely familiar.

A few days earlier, so much about Croatia had made me conscious of how far away from home I was. The language. The old-world hotel. The towns and traditions that felt different from anything I knew.

Now here I was at sunset in Rastoke, exhausted from one of the most spectacular days of our trip, holding a cup of coffee and looking at centuries-old houses built over rushing water.

Still very far from home.

But not quite so far from familiar.

Day Seven: Our Own Version of Lingering

By our final morning in Zagreb, the family portion of our trip was coming to an end too.

My brother, Ana and my nephew were leaving Zagreb to continue on to Đakovo for Christmas with Ana's family. We said our goodbyes at the hotel, and suddenly it was just us again, ready for the final day of our trip.

And for once, I didn't have anything major planned.

We were tired.

Good tired. The kind of tired that comes after a week of walking through cities, hiking around waterfalls, crossing into another country, climbing to castles, wandering Christmas markets and generally doing exactly as much as we possibly could.

So we spent our last day mostly in Zagreb's Lower Town, doing what we often do on the final day of a long trip. We wandered. We shopped. We bought souvenirs. I'm fairly certain there was gelato involved.

And without really planning it, we ended up doing our own version of lingering.

We walked familiar streets. Stopped when we wanted to stop. Did a little snacking. Revisited some of the Christmas decorations we'd been walking past all week.

By then, Zagreb didn't require quite so much figuring out.

The streets around the Esplanade were familiar. We knew our way to the main square. We'd been through the Christmas markets enough times that they no longer felt like something we needed to see. They were simply where we went.

And then, for our final dinner in Croatia, we made a very sophisticated culinary choice.

McDonald's.

Or, as we preferred to think of it, Croatian McDonald's.

Honestly, it was perfect.

We'd eaten plenty of wonderful Croatian food. We'd spent the week trying new things. And on our last night, nobody needed another big meal or another plan.

We needed salty fries.

So we ate our Croatian McDonald's while we packed up at the Esplanade.

We were ready to go home.

Far From Home

When I think back on this trip now, I think what made it so memorable was how different it felt from so many of our other trips to Europe.

Croatia felt far away.

Not just geographically. The language was unfamiliar. The culture felt different. Even sitting at a dinner table surrounded by family, I could find myself listening to an entire conversation I couldn't understand.

And yet, because we were there with family, it also felt curiously familiar.

We weren't just seeing Zagreb's churches and Christmas markets or taking day trips to beautiful places. We were eating ćevapi with Ana's parents, walking through Samobor with people who knew this country as home and sitting around a table while an extended family caught up in Croatian.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, I discovered the art of lingering.

Not instead of the way I normally travel.

Alongside it.

Because I still loved our marathon day in Slovenia. I loved hiking for hours through Plitvice. I loved having a guide explaining, a destination ahead and a plan for what we were going to see next.

But I also loved that afternoon in Samobor when the cake was gone, the coffee was finished and nobody got up.

There was room for both.

Maybe that's why this trip has stayed with us.

We went to Croatia in December instead of summer. We stayed in Zagreb instead of heading for the coast. We crossed into Slovenia, hiked past waterfalls, ate plenty of cream cake, spent time with family and learned that sometimes one coffee can last an entire afternoon.

And on our final night, we ate McDonald's.

It wasn't the Croatia trip I would have imagined before I started planning it.

But all these years later, if you ask my kids?

Still one of our best trips ever.