A Happy Place: The Port of Split

The sun is not yet up behind the buildings, but the city is already in a rush. The Port of Split (and the bus station) is probably the only place in the world where all the noises and the crowd don’t make me panic. I get there early to catch a bus that would take me to my uni city, which is normally around 3 hours away, but with this route, it would take us 5+ hours to get there. I don’t mind because the drive from Split to Metković is one of the most beautiful drives ever – a road trip as soon as I get my driver’s license.
But let’s go back to our station. That has to be its own pocket world. Maybe it’s the concept of impermanence, of brief moments, simply passing through, where nothing stays, not even your worries. Maybe this movement, travel, coming and going vibe is what gives me ease. I don’t know what it is, but sitting on a bench people-watching, sipping my coffee-to-go, helping people with directions and bus schedules, picking up a conversation with random people, listening to a variety of languages – familiar and unknown – as people pass me by, makes me happy. It makes me want to grab my suitcase and go. I can feel this sensation that makes me want to be impulsive and jump on a random bus or a ferry – not knowing or caring where it goes – to end up somewhere I’ve never been.
I need to record the concoction of sounds of the wheels of the carry-ons on the pavement, people running not to miss their rides, laughing and stressing at the same time, the buses’ engines starting, the ships’ horns, someone shouting God-knows-what (my people are always loud), and someone waving goodbyes with promises of seeing each other again soon and text-me-when-you-get-there’s, pigeons cooing and sneaking around everyone’s feet, waiting for the crumbs of someone’s sandwich or a pastry, and crows skipping on the station canopy. Can I have that place in a snow globe to carry around wherever I go?
Summer is a minute away, and I can’t wait for that switch to flip back on again. That thin, soundproof glass box that I feel always around me, that separates me from the rest of the world, disappears the moment I step foot in the Port. I feel like I’m actually a part of something. I feel alive. You know that special feeling you get at the airport? Yeah, it’s the same in the Port, and for the same reasons. Passing through. Nothing has the time to stay.
Next weekend, I’ll be on my way again. As always, I’ll get to the station earlier than needed. I’ll grab my coffee, a snack, and a book I probably won’t focus on because the Port is too alive and intriguing to ignore. I’ll sit on the same bench on the same platform. There won’t be as many people – Split is a summer city – but the Port will be magical nonetheless.