Living the Dream: My Reality of Calling a Croatian Paradise "Home"
You’ve seen the pictures. You’ve probably even pinned them to your travel board: impossibly clear, turquoise water lapping against pebbled shores, terracotta roofs tumbling down to the sea, and ancient stone walls glowing in the golden hour light. For years, that was my dream, too—a two-week escape to a Croatian beach paradise. Then, life took a turn, and I did the unthinkable: I moved here.
This isn’t a vacation recap. This is a love letter to the daily reality of living in a place most people only get to visit. So, pour a glass of local Pošip wine, and let me tell you what it’s really like to call a Croatian beach destination home.
Beyond the Postcard: The Rhythm of the Days
My morning alarm has been replaced by the gentle percussion of fishing boats heading out and the melodic chatter of neighbours grabbing their morning coffee at the local kafić. There’s no frantic rush. The pace is dictated by the sun and the sea. A typical "commute" might involve a walk along the Riva (waterfront promenade), breathing in the scent of pine and salt, or a quick dip in the Adriatic before I’ve even checked my emails. The water isn't a weekend treat; it's my backyard, a constant, calming presence that resets my nervous system daily.
Life here is undeniably seasonal. Summer is a vibrant, chaotic, and glorious explosion of energy. The streets hum with different languages, the air is thick with the scent of grilling fish and rosemary, and the buzz continues late into the warm nights. It’s a time for fjaka—that beautiful Dalmatian art of doing nothing—and long, lazy evenings sharing stories over a bottle of wine.
But the true magic, the secret I whisper to anyone who will listen, is the off-season. When the last ferry of tourists departs, a profound peace settles over our little cove. This is when we get our village back. The sea remains a stunning, deep blue, now all to ourselves for swimming well into October. We have time for long, uninterrupted conversations with the baker, the fisherman, and the family who runs the konoba. This is the time for hiking in the hinterland, for exploring empty Roman ruins, and for witnessing the stunning, stormy drama of a Bura wind whipping the sea into a froth of whitecaps.
The Not-So-Glossy Bits (Let's Be Real)
Of course, paradise has its quirks. Living in a centuries-old stone house is charming until you realize the Wi-Fi signal struggles with history. That "quick errand" you need to run in July? It’s now a 30-minute stroll through a pleasant but dense crowd. And yes, the infamous "pomalo" (take it easy) attitude that makes vacation so relaxing can sometimes be a test of patience when you’re trying to get something done with urgency.
The cost of living, especially in popular areas, has risen, and some specialized goods or services require a trip to a larger city. It’s a trade-off: unparalleled natural beauty and quality of life for the convenience of a 24/7 megastore.
The Soul of the Place
But these are small prices to pay for the riches you gain. Living here means your diet is dictated by the catch of the day and what’s ripe at the local market. It means your social circle is a wonderfully international mix of lifelong locals and fellow "transplants" who all fell under the same spell. It means your history lesson comes from stumbling upon a 2,000-year-old wall on an afternoon walk.
The greatest luxury isn't a five-star hotel; it's the deep sense of connection. Connection to the natural world, to the slow, satisfying rhythm of the seasons, and to a community that, once you’re accepted, will treat you like family.
So, is it all a dream? In many ways, yes. But it’s a real one, with sandy floors, sun-bleached laundry, and a heart full of gratitude for the simple, profound joy of watching the sunset over the islands, not as a visitor, but as someone lucky enough to call this paradise home.
By- Andrew Milan Bosnjak