A Barcelona Breakup, Dubrovnik Rebound, And A Danish Love Story

One particularly hot summer in Europe, I had planned to spend a few weeks in Italy and Spain with some friends before ending the season in Croatia, where I would stay with my partner and his family until we both flew back to the states.

Practically melting under the Spanish sun, my friends and I drudged our way to the closest place we could find some shade and a pitcher of sangria. Luckily for us, this led us to a rooftop bar that just happened to be overlooking the Basílica de la Sagrada Família.

The waiter collected our order, and I excused myself to take a call from my partner. I walked to the other end of the patio, and with only a few days left before I headed to Dubrovnik, I began to relay my excitement and eagerness to see him. His response was harsh and unforgiving: "I have been sleeping someone else, and I don't think it's a good idea for you to come to Croatia anymore." Yeah, I'll say!

The day of the dumping.

I don't know what came over me to maintain my composure, but I responded with a simple but effective "okay" before hanging up the phone, and walking back to my friends to give them the run down. The pitcher of Sangria landed at the table the same time I did, thank god. I decided two things right then: (1) I would still be going to Dubrovnik, and (2) I would be getting absolutely wasted tonight.

And that we did. With their deepest sympathies, my friends agreed the best course of action was to drown ourselves in pitcher after pitcher of mai-tais at the bar of our hostel.

Mornings on the patio

I had barely taken a sip from my first cocktail when I found my target. I was a woman an the prowl, and there was a particularly tall, beautiful brunette across the facilities. That's all I needed to know.

The games began, exchanging eyes and smiles as the pitchers flowed. And after who knows how long, I found myself approaching him, cornering him near the bar, demanding he tell me why he insisted on playing games but didn't have the balls to make a move. Got him.

We had our first conversation there before heading outside for a cigarette. I learned that his name was Filip, and he was Danish. I explained to him that I was going to be heading to Croatia in a couple of days and I would love for him to join (I work fast, okay).

Sleeping on it, he had agreed and a few days later, I watched as his cab drove away, revealing that same beautiful brunette who was now walking towards me and my beautiful Croatian villa.

Afternoons in Dubrovnik

The week was a dream: cliff jumping, breakfast on the patio, stolen kisses. When it finally ended, I was satisfied with my brief European romance slash post-breakup festivities.

We stayed in touch for a couple years, and I saw him again on my next round of Euro summer, when we planned to meet on a second trip to Croatia (this time in Split) before heading to his place in Copenhagen for a few days. That few days turned into a total of three months, when we began to have a romantic relationship. We continued to date for the next three years.