Surprising things Croatians have asked me, an American

No wonder travel is so eye-opening

The view from our rental house last fall, just down the road from the house we built.

This year marks my eighth summer visiting Croatia. Now that we are spending more than just our vacations here, I’ve had more in-depth conversations with people who aren’t related to my husband.

For the most part, Croatians speak excellent English. Especially the younger folks who are quick to credit watching American TV shows with Croatian subtitles. If you work helping tourists—tourism is one of the main industries here—you’re trained to make it easy on your guests and automatically switch to their language, too.

When we are out to dinner or I am running an errand, this is what happens as soon as I say my few halting phrases in Croatian. Although I’ve been complimented on my accent—it’s dobar dan as in Don Draper—it’s obvious I’m not a native, which leads me to the first question.

Deutsch or English?

One of my first stops when we arrived this summer was at Aura, a family-run distillery in Buzet that produces Istrian brandies, liqueurs, gins, and jams. I wanted to grab a bottle of Fernet Amaro 78 and these were the shopkeeper’s first words to me. 

I stopped short because I’ve had people speak to me in German—including German tourists—but I’d never had that question put to me so directly. I could see her thinking, “Hmm. Blond. Fair skin. Definitely a tourist, but I’m just not sure.” I was proud to be able to answer: “Engleski. Ja sam Amerikanka.” Then I asked her all of my questions in English, including when they plan to begin exporting to America. (Not soon, I’m afraid.)

If you’re not familiar with rakija, this fruit brandy is a traditional Croatian spirit. Each region has distinct versions and we often buy ours from an OPG or family farm. I love Istrian Biska, which is made from grape marc—the waste left over after making wine—and mistletoe leaves.

Is it true that every state has its own laws?

The wife of the architect who designed our house asked me this question. How to convey her incredulous look? Croatia is in the EU but it’s small—the entire country would fit inside West Virginia. When you cross borders here, you are entering another country with different laws. So I completely understood her confusion.

I answered as honestly as I could. “Yes, it’s true,” I said. “And it has never made much sense to me either.” Why can you buy beer in a grocery store in one state but not in another? (Does Pennsylvania still have beer distributors, I wonder?) My driver’s license in Colorado was already a Real ID, but that didn’t stop Massachusetts from doing the entire approval process again as if I were foreign. Don’t get me started on the disparate laws for healthcare, guns, and voting. 

I often wonder if the U.S. will go the way of Yugoslavia and break apart.

Do you eat chicken wings? 

It’s a simple question. But I had never thought of chicken wings as a particularly American food. It’s not exactly up there with peanut butter, chocolate chip cookies, or apple pie. But I guess if you’re eating at dive bars and chain restaurants, then yeah, it’s American. 

I answered, “No, not really. But lots of people do.” I always find them odd. A bucket of oysters? Sure. But I don’t like thinking about how a bucket of wings is made. Fun fact: My ex-husband once won a chicken wing eating contest and my Croatian husband cannot stand to eat them.

Is it true that Amazon delivers on the same day?

For an American, shopping in Croatia is an adjustment. You can order from Amazon, but there’s no Amazon site for Croatia. Instead, you go to another EU country’s Amazon site—like Germany—and make sure the retailer ships to Croatia. My husband just tried to order something from Amazon Germany and canceled the order when he couldn’t even get an ETA for delivery. So it’s a bit iffy.

I answered this one excitedly: “Yes! The first time that happened to us though, we were both shocked.” I was actually happy to wait 48 hours for the delivery—it was nothing I needed urgently. I would also be happy to wait until they were making a delivery near my house, but I know that isn’t what makes Jeff Bezoz the big bucks.

Is it true that on Thanksgiving you all fight with your families?

I laughed out loud when asked this. I immediately flashed on all of the memes joking about how to sit through dinner with your racist uncle. In Croatia, meals are a time to slow down and enjoy—the food and especially the company. 

As someone who grew up reading in women’s magazines that we should be eating more like Mediterraneans, I can see why fighting on a major holiday would seem preposterous. I answered, “Not me personally, but yeah, it happens. But probably not as dramatically as in the movies.”

I’m reserving the right to reassess after the upcoming election.

Is it easy to get a job in America?

Croatia considers Americans third-party nationals, so I’m only allowed to be in the country for three months at a time. I am in the process of applying for temporary residency, which means I need a background check from the FBI, something I thought I only needed for permanent residency. This is why I found myself chatting with a police officer in Pula last week.

After taking my fingerprints and filling out the FBI form, he was walking me out of the building when he paused with a searching look in his eyes. When he asked, I wondered if he didn’t like being a police officer in one of the safest countries in Europe. But I just said, “Yes, but they get rid of you once you’re old.” I know too many people in their 50s and 60s looking for work right now. His eyes widened a bit and he just nodded before saying goodbye.

What is your wife’s name?

Here’s one last question about me. We were staying in a rental cottage and my husband struck up a conversation with a couple who were fixing up their family’s old stone house on the weekends.

When Rade told him my name, he blurted out, “Like Heather Locklear on Dynasty?” I told my husband, “I hope you said exactly like Heather Locklear on Dynasty.” (I pictured myself walking down a huge staircase wearing a sequined gown ready to get into a huge catfight with Alexis Carrington.)

As you’d expect, the names here are quite different from American ones. My name is so common back home that I once attended a meeting of 12 people and three of us were named Heather. Here? Not so much. But at least they can pronounce the H. On my high school trip to France they called me “ezz-er.”

After I heard this, I wanted to make sure I knew the man’s wife’s name in case I bumped into them. So I asked my husband. This time, it was my turn to gasp.

Her name was Sneježena: Snow White.