Dubrovnik? Gorgeous, no doubt. But so are the crowds, the cruise ships, the overpriced gelato. You walk the walls early, before the day gets loud, and leave before the dragon merch wakes up. Zadar breathes slower. The sea plays music, the sky turns orange, and nobody asks where you’re from. You follow the shade. You eat grilled fish. You forget your plans. That’s the point.

Then the coast fades, and the real Balkans begin. Gone are the yachts — now it’s wood smoke, cheap wine, and meat that comes with no explanation. Someone’s uncle pours you rakija. Someone’s aunt piles your plate. You lose count of how many times you’ve said yes.

Croatia isn't one place. It's two, maybe three. It’s not about what you see. It’s about what finds you when you stop chasing.