A Father’s Death Leads to a Healing Mother-Son Road Trip Across Croatia
Silence speaks loudly for Darren Joe ’02 during a three-week trip down the Croatian coast
When Dad passed away this February, we were devastated. Mom and I had spent two months bedside with him in intensive care, and then two more months at Barlow Respiratory Hospital in Los Angeles where he fought to get off his ventilator, before his heart failed him. My parents had just remodeled their kitchen, redone the floors and bathrooms. Now, the house felt too big, a luxury without him.
I wanted to give her something to look forward to. She had always loved to travel and cruised to 60 countries with Dad during their retirement. Croatia was next on their list. How about a mother-son road trip there in July? I could drive and be the tour guide. She could slow travel and take a back seat for once, instead of planning everything like before.
We’d fly to the capital Zagreb in the north, and make our way down Croatia’s Dalmatian Coast, visiting Rovinj, Plitvice Lakes, Split, Hvar island, and Dubrovnik over the course of 20 days. Preparing for the trip, I never knew Croatia had so much natural beauty: Karst mountains, emerald lakes, and more than 3,000 miles of coastline dotted with dozens of islands growing grapes and olives. Though Split-Hvar-Dubrovnik was a popular summer route, I was looking forward to quieter spots and family-run B&Bs in places like Rovinj and Lake Plitvice.
The trip started off well. Mom used points to secure us two business class seats.
“Welcome to the good life,” she said as I played with the remote-controlled leg rest. She was beaming. “Dad always wanted this for you. So, you could enjoy life more.” She returned to her iPhone.
I left my laptop at home. I normally spend most of the week on it running a website that helps MBA applicants worldwide get into leading international business schools. There would be no work on this trip. Only an empty notebook and pen to plot my next chapter. With Dad gone, I felt untethered. I craved clarity.
We flew to Zagreb, and stayed across from Ban Jelačić Square, the capital’s old-world “Times Square.” I hadn’t been to Europe in 15 years, and wanted to wander the town’s cobblestone paths. I always bookmarked travel days with one or two sights. But, going off the beaten track satisfied me more. That’s why I loved living in Ho Chi Minh City in Vietnam — there was always something new, even around the same corners.
“Mom, want to join me?”
“Where are we going?”
“I don’t know… up that way? And then Mirogoj Cemetery — the architecture is supposed to be stunning.”
“OK.”
Mom was content to tag along — even to the cemetery. After a few hours of exploring and eating, she’d retreat to our hotel room and watch her favorite Hong Kong influencers on YouTube, her routine back home. We followed travel writer Rick Steves’ self-guided walking tours. She didn’t care much to understand Croatia’s history or the stories behind the sights. She tuned out as I read about Franco Tudman, Croatia’s controversial first president, whose grand tomb towered over Mirogoj.
“Can we go back to the hotel now?” she asked.
On our way back, we met Zagreb’s sky-high Cathedral, undergoing restoration. “I’ve seen so many like this…it’s just like Italy,” she said, fanning herself in the shade. “But go ahead.” I rolled my eyes. Mom could recite itineraries from 10 years ago. She held strong opinions about the best sights, scenery, and safaris: Scotland had the most beautiful landscapes, but would be boring for more than a few days; Egypt was too dirty; nothing could beat the migration of wildebeests from Tanzania to Kenya. While her travel stories dragged on, I was so thankful she could relive 60 countries with Dad, forever.
After a full day bicycling around Rovinj’s pebbly beaches, I joined her for dinner, sharing Istrian red wine and fisherman’s pie. “It’s just so beautiful,” she said looking out onto Rovinj’s dome-shaped skyline, punctuated by a tall bell tower. We talked about my recent breakup, and as the sun set, how Dad would’ve been bugging us to take more pictures.
When we arrived at our villa B&B in Plitvice Lakes, the host family didn’t have any rooms with two beds — we’d have to share one. We descended a limestone canyon to walk over Plitvice’s four lower lakes —only rail-less wooden planks separated us from the pristine water, fishes, and waterfalls under our feet. After a homemade dinner of locally sourced trout and ćevapčići (grilled meat), we retired for the night. Mom fell asleep instantly, snoring loudly. I couldn’t sleep, unused to this new role as mom’s life partner: travel buddy, confidant, financial planner. Sleeping in the same bed was the ultimate realization of it. I took a walk at sunrise, stumbling upon one of Plitvice’s best view points, overlooking two lakes and three waterfalls, shifting colors by the minute. All I could think of was Dad. Why did you leave us? What should I do? I missed him so much.
Mom was still snoring unevenly when I returned. It worried me to see her wheezing and pained, face flushed. I realized I had never spent so much time with her since I was a little kid, nor really heard her sleep through an entire night. How many more trips would we share? I tried to remember this.
After the first week, we didn’t have much to say. Mom’s hearing was bad, and I gave up repeating myself. On our drive from Lake Plitvice to Split, cruising through wheat fields, she kept asking, “Why are there no cows? Where are all the cows?” I don’t know, I responded. But she kept asking anyway.
Three hours in, I spotted one anemic cow, grazing roadside. “Cow. Oooh, cow!” I hooted. It was the only time we laughed the entire trip.
Split was scorching hot. Diocletian’s Palace — the city’s main attraction — was full of young tourists, bikinis, and gelato; the old town had the feel of college summertime romance. Meanwhile, Mom was overheating, impatient with my wandering. “It’s so touristy here,” she said, as we sauntered through the Roman emperor’s retirement palace, which took 11 years to build. “I need to lie down.”
In Split and Hvar Island, notorious for their summer parties, Mom spent most of the day in our air-conditioned hotel room, watching her YouTubers. I’d spend afternoons at the beach, floating in the Adriatic. I felt enveloped by the turquoise sea, the coolness of the water perfectly matching the heat of the day. I gave up trying to figure out what it all meant. I just wanted to feel like this more.
We had a great afternoon in Dubrovnik, climbing its old city walls, shelled during the Croatian War of Independence in the 1990s and made more famous by Game of Thrones. My mom braved the 90 degree heat and made it the entire way around in a few hours. Near the end, we stopped for drinks, watching the sun set atop St. Lawrence, Dubrovnik’s oldest fortress. The next day, we toured its historic churches and Rector’s Palace before taking a cable car to see the entire port of Dubrovnik from afar.
It was our last sightseeing excursion. Mom was exhausted, her face tomato red. I didn’t know it at the time, but she had gotten COVID. She spent the last three days in the hotel as I visited Dubrovnik’s beaches and old city again, alone.
One night, we struggled to find seats to watch the European Championship soccer final between Spain and England. “That is what I call poor planning!” she complained. She stormed off to the hotel. I went to a bar to get some fresh air.
The next morning, she apologized for not being fun. “I feel so lost. I miss Dad. I’m just not excited about travel like I used to be. I need to find purpose. I need to find new travel partners.” My heart melted.
“Really, right now, I’m only excited when I see you excited.”
I got COVID soon after her, but we made it back home to Los Angeles. I’ll remember 2024 as the year Dad passed. I’ll also never forget my road trip with Mom, driving and ferrying through Croatia, much of it in a comfortable silence. Croatia has breathtaking sights and a culture that has inspired me to visit the rest of the former Yugoslavia. Yet what I’ll remember most is the sound of Mom sleeping. How her face lit up seeing me fly business class, float in the sea, and climb Dubrovnik’s medieval walls.
I thought I was helping Mom by traveling with her to a country on her bucket list. Now, I realize she mostly came along to help me heal.
Darren C. Joe ’02 is a Vietnam-based entrepreneur. His company, Touch MBA, helps MBA applicants get into leading international business schools. He is author of The Fail-Safe Solopreneur: 6 Essential Practices to Manage Your Well-Being Working for Yourself.
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