This is my first narrative story that I’ve written recounting part of my travels. Now, for this first story, I chose something to open the flood gates, I suppose. I could’ve chosen a medley of different escapades, disasters, or otherwise outlandish occurrences, which all would’ve probably made for some quality entertainment. However, I knew I had to choose this specific episode for a plethora of reasons, which I know will reveal themselves as this tale is spun. So everybody, thank you for tuning in and taking a little time out of your day to join me here. Today, I’m going to share with you the closest I have (probably) come to death — maybe not from my own perspective, but definitely in the eyes of the friends that shared this day with me.
It’s mid-October of 2023. I’m about halfway through my volunteering stint at a horse ranch in Slovenia, working with a man named Boris who was nothing less than a mage-like mentor figure. He had a pure heart, decades of psychedelic and philosophical inner exploration under his belt, and a remarkable connection to the 17 stallions who roamed freely across his seemingly endless plot of land. He got me into contact with a group of fellow volunteers from European Peace Corps who were working with his friend Janus, and of course an immediate kinship was formed. Soon after meeting them, I accompanied 4 of the guys on a day trip to Rovinj, Croatia, a picturesque coastal town nestled on the Adriatic sea. My newfound friends had their sights set on an island slightly off the coast, about a 10 minute boat ride from mainland. Upon the cliffside edifice of the island was a rock climber’s dream: countless natural “soloing” routes above a sapphire sea, affording a semi-safe climbing experience without the need for equipment. First found in a worn and disgruntled European climbing book that was tucked in the shadows of Janus’s bookshelf, Rovinj promised beauty and exhilaration. And so, as the Saturday morning sun rose and crested over the horizon, a band of wanderers were off, consisting of a Swede, a Latvian, 2 Irish chaps, and an American, who had mistakenly consumed an exorbitant amount of caffeine because of his ignorance pertaining to Moka pots… Americans in Europe can truly be as ignorant as they’re made out to be XD.
We arrived to Rovinj, parked our car, hopped on a ferry, and arrived at our cliffside destination. It was a beautiful day; after a week of moderately strenuous and physically demanding work, we were all giddy as we basked in the beatific rays of the Mediterranean sun. I barely wasted time as I thrust my shirt off and soared over the cliff’s edge, plummeting 15 meters down into the crystalline water below. Although I usually don’t have much fear, I barely knew these guys, and so felt I had to prove my worth in a very masculine and cringeworthy way. What followed was hours spent in playful bliss; what better way to connect with new people than by casting off the harness of our logical mind, and roaming free in a childish state of wonder free flowing joy? Collum, Charlie, Nick, and Karlis, you guys are real ones. Thanks for inviting me and becoming brothers.
During my work with Boris and his wife Neja, I was mainly tasked with removing trees and bushes from the land that the horses inhabited. Everyday, Boris and I would hit his fields equipped with heavy duty steel blade cutters, and go absolutely bonkers on any tree or bush that stood in our path. Since my first day at his house, I started reading his copy of Musashi, which was a fictional story of the greatest samurai in Japanese history. And so, every day before we began work, Boris would hand me the cutter, and remind me to follow my own way of the Sword. He would say, “Young Jack, remember the Way of the Sword. This tool is an extension of your being, and responds to the very ebb and flow of your heart’s rhythms. To be at one with the sword is to be at one with this field, and thus is to be at one with the World. Remember this, and go forth with vigor.” Either Boris was SUCH an amazing read of character, and knew exactly what I needed to hear to get in prime tree cutting mode, or he was as big of a philosophical nerd as I was. Either way, I miss that guy.
SO, another part of my job — which only comprised the first week of my stay — was to help him trim his *AHEM* special crops. And so, after 2 hours of climbing and lounging upon that majestic rock outcropping, I informed my fellow journeymen about the certain… crops… that I brought with me on our trip. Before we were about to indulge, I set eyes upon an island out into the distance, and felt a weird symphonic chime resonate inside of me. I asked one of the Irish lads Collum, “How far you reckon that island to be?”
“I don’t know, a half a kilometer I suppose, why?”
“Ok, I’ll be back in about 45 minutes. Wait for me before you ~induldge~.”
Despite seeing his look of puzzle worry, I was off. I informed my other friends of my venture, grabbed my pair of goggles I brought (you know I’m always strapped), and vaulted into the sea. I set out with a fiendish pace, but one that quickly slowed once I realized the gravity of the task I set out to achieve. From where I am now, I don’t know what I was thinking. I know part of it was to prove myself, and show I was the type of person that would and could do stuff like that. However, I didn’t even consider this situation from my friend’s perspectives, which I guess I don’t often do in life. They just met me and have no idea of my athletic ability, so I don’t blame them for doubting my open water swimming capacity. Either way, I was immediately past the domain of my friends, and out towards the salty abyss that felt like a part of home.
My swim began in swift rhythym, ripping through the water on adrenaline and a passion for the boundlessness before and below me. As the minutes ticked on, and the island refused to appear any closer, doubt began to creep in. The cliffside behind me progressively shrunk from view, while the island stubbornly kept its distance, until I found myself alone and at the complete mercy of Universal Will. The reality of what I was doing would hit me, until I furiously maintained my stroke with reignited vigor.
At the complete mercy of the current, animals streaming below me, and bodily processes that could randomly malfunction at any moment, I realized I had truly put myself in a fate that was out of my control. It was as if I had placed my personal life at the sacrificial altar of the natural world, and without consciously knowing it, blatantly demanded her to call my bluff. Regardless, I swam on. As the island steadily grew, my body grew sore. 2 or 3 times on that first half of the swim, my hamstrings would seize with a pain I had not felt before, and wouldn’t reside until I gracefully floated for 10, 15, 20 seconds.
Staying the course, I eventually made it to the island, which had sprouted in a size I couldn’t before have fathomed possible. I climbed the dagger-like rocky slopes, risking the cuts for the exaltation I would feel at the top. Scrambling up through thorn bush, cacti, and snake residings, I stood proudly at the central precipice of the island, and screamed mightily so that my friends might here me. Thought I couldn’t see them — and could barely make out the cliffside for that matter — I screamed anyway, letting my entire being rush out through my Warrior’s roar (as high pitched as it might have been). I set out back again, knowing the journey back was against the current and running on lower fumes than my journey out.
I was exhausted, but without any other option I swam on. That situation was a definitive first for me: never had I been in such a precarious state of peril, even though the peril didn’t immediately present itself to my conscious mind. I swam and kicked, seized and floated, and often gazed up to check my progress. Fortunately, my body didn’t fail me, and I neared the cliffside. I realized I approached from the far east due to the current sweeping me off course, and so I surprised my friends as I came a direciton they didn’t expect.
“YOOOOOgrgrhrfrc…” I burst out, my cry falling deaf in my throat as it used up my last energetic reserves. Essentially floundering at this point, I forced my way towards the nearest rock of exit. I hurled myself up onto the stony sanctuary, closed my eyes in delirious reverie, and let out a mangled cry of victorious pride. After a quick respite from the world, I made my way to my friends, expecting a homecoming of commendment and admiration. However, I was met with anger and derision.
“What the f*ck is your problem, Jack!? It’s been 2 and a half f*cking hours!”
“Bro we thought you died. You told us 45 minutes and then were just off. We lost sight of you and thought you sank.”
“Charlie’s been freaking out, man. He called his dad, sister, and even got in contact with the f*cking Croatian coast guard.”
“Dude I had to! We went to the hotel to get binoculars, and the story just came out. I was freaking the f*ck out because of this d*ck head and couldn’t help it.”
Needless to say, my friends weren’t impressed by my act of ~courage~. It turned out the swim was almost 2 miles roundtrip, and I had taken almost 2 hours more to complete it than what I said. Instead of making some new friends, I angered them and scared the living shit out of guys I just met. Collum though, he trusted me. He kept at his climbing grind the entire time, and knew I would make it back. I guess I just kind of assumed that they would all share that trust, and know I wouldn’t foolishly set off on something that idiotic if I knew I wouldn’t make it back.
Anyway, in the end, I made it back and had an epic encounter with my own death, I suppose. I made it up to all the lads with a round at the bar that night; there’s truly nothing that cools Irish man’s fiery resentment than a cold pint of Guiness, so all was well in the end. Mom and Dad, don’t be terrified. I promise I haven’t done anything like this since…. well, there is the jellyfish incident off the coast of Goa, India, but besides that, I promise!
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