Fish, Squid and Simplicity

September 6th 2007. 8.30pm. In some small tavern in Split.

From my travels in Split, I remember one little room the most. If you ask me what exactly in this room caught my attention, my answer would be simple: Nothing!

It was late evening and I had still a couple of long hours to kill in Split, before I catch my bus to Sarajevo. So, I was wandering around the city without any real purpose. One small door caught my attention as two pretty girls, who were obviously tourists –American ones for that matter- just got out of that door.

As I poked my head into the small opening, a big woman, with simple but strong face, appeared without any warning and started shouting at me.

I, struck with horror, tried to explain myself until I realized she was not cursing at me. She was, in fact, repeating the words Fish and Squid in a completely unintelligible accent.

In ten minutes time, I was sitting comfortably at one of the four tables in the room, eating my deliciously cooked fish and squid and sipping from a glass of Kaltenberg Pils. Apparently, this place only served exactly those things that I was enjoying; fish, squid and beer.

I felt that this dimly lit room was one place I was to remember in Split. But, I wondered, what was so special about it. The walls, which were painted to a dull yellow, carried the only clues to the history of this place: two photographs. One showed a guy (the husband, the brother, the son?) holding a big gun, with pride and with respect. In another, you found a young kid, with a huge smile on his face. The fact that he missed two or more teeth, made him look like an extremely cute boxer with an unnaturally big head. Of course, it has to be mentioned that Elvis Presley was the music of choice in this magically cozy place.

Then, I realized. How much the simplicity of the room highlighted the people inside.
An Asian traveler, with a fancy backpack and cool hair was sitting at one of the tables. He would have been completely unremarkable anywhere else. But, there he was, standing out like a heroic Manga character. I almost expected him to carry a sword or a laser gun. He looked at me, I smiled at him, and it did not work. He just snorted and got back to his squids, as any cool Samurai would.

At another table, an old Croatian couple was sitting. They were eating and drinking fearlessly, as if they were 20. Once in a while, the old man leaned over the table and touched his companion’s hand. Their, happiness and content were so visible that it felt as if this was a film scene.

The next table was occupied by a Spanish couple; both very beautiful, and completely ignorant of their surrounding. Her plumpness contrasted to his grungy attractiveness, and they were ridiculous examples of a happy couple, touching each other’s faces every five seconds, their eyes locked.

These five people were so visible, so unique, and so powerfully present in that little restaurant that I realized this was the magic of the place. It had the power to show what was human and just made sure that people were what they were. In that place, none of us were tourists, none of us had nationalities. We were what we were.

Simplicity… Sometimes that is all it takes to make a place memorable. If you ask me to tell one place in Split, a city of palaces and cathedrals, narrow streets of cobble stone and small cafes, I would tell you about one nameless restaurant in a forgotten, ordinary neighborhood.