We’re sold this idea that growth looks like "more" but, after 67 countries, I’m starting to think progress sometimes looks like returning to a place that reminds you what calm feels like.
I’ve been lucky; I’ve eaten my way through Tokyo basements, Barcelona pinchos bars, Bangkok night markets, and Paris dining rooms where the waiter looks like he could critique your posture.
I’ve done the big hitters, the ones everyone puts on their “must visit before I die” list.
Yet, when I get a gap in my calendar and I want to actually feel good again, I keep booking flights back to the same under-the-radar corner of Europe most people can’t point to on a map.
Ladies and gentlemen, I present: Istria, Croatia.
I mean the peninsula up north, where the hills look like Tuscany’s quieter cousin, the sea is still ridiculously clear, and dinner is more about olive oil than showing off.
The place that keeps pulling me back
I first ended up in Istria by accident; I was working in luxury food and beverage at the time, in that era of my life where I thought exhaustion was a personality trait.
Back then, I had a few days off, looked at a map, and basically chose a spot because flights were decent and the photos looked green.
I expected pretty views and a couple of good meals.
What I didn’t expect was the weird sense of exhaling I felt after about 48 hours.
You know that feeling when you’ve been clenching your jaw all month and you don’t even realize it until you’re finally somewhere quiet?
That was Istria for me.
The towns are small, the pace is slower, people linger, and even the light feels softer, like the whole place is telling you to stop performing.
I’ve been back multiple times since, and every trip has that same effect.
I arrive slightly fried from airports and notifications, and I leave thinking, “Why do I live like I’m being chased?”
Food that tastes like someone actually cared
Because of my background, I’m annoying about food in a very specific way.
I’m the guy who wants the ingredients to taste like they were respected.
Istria is basically built for that.
It’s one of those regions where people talk about olive oil the way sneakerheads talk about limited drops as something they genuinely care about.
You taste an oil there and you suddenly understand why salads exist.
Then there are the truffles.
Yes, I know, truffles can turn into a tourist trap fast.
In Istria, however, they feel normal, like, “Oh yeah, it’s truffle season, obviously we’re shaving this over eggs.”
I had a simple plate of pasta in a konoba (a local tavern vibe) that I still think about.
Nothing fancy, just hand-rolled pasta, butter, a little cheese, and truffle on top.
I’ve eaten at places that cost more than my first monthly rent, and that bowl still beats a lot of them.
Even if you don’t eat meat, this region is a dream because it’s naturally plant-forward without trying to be trendy about it.
Grilled vegetables that actually taste like vegetables.
Beans and chickpeas cooked slowly, with herbs and olive oil, not drowned in “healthy” marketing.
Seasonal produce that doesn’t need a TED Talk to justify itself.
You don’t have to hunt for wellness because it’s just built into the way people eat.
A masterclass in the Mediterranean diet without the lectures
We all know the Mediterranean diet has a reputation: Lower inflammation, better heart health, longevity, and all the good stuff.
However, most people interact with it the way they interact with budgeting advice.
They understand it intellectually, then go back to ordering whatever is fastest and saltiest because life is chaotic.
What Istria does is make the Mediterranean way of eating feel easy.
Breakfast might be yogurt, fruit, and strong coffee.
Lunch is something simple, maybe grilled peppers and bread with olive oil, maybe a tomato salad that tastes like it came from a different planet.
Dinner is social as it’s later and slower; there’s wine, in a “this makes the conversation better” way.
Movement is baked in since you walk because the towns are walkable, you swim because the sea is right there, and you cycle because the roads through vineyards and olive groves are basically begging you.
It made me realize something a little uncomfortable.
A lot of my “healthy living” struggles back home are about environment.
Put me in a place where the default is real food, sunlight, and walking, and suddenly I’m a wellness guy without even trying; put me back in a city where the default is stress, sitting, and delivery apps, and I have to fight for every decent choice.
The question becomes: How do you design your life so the good choices are the easy choices?
Istria quietly answers that.
Why the pace resets your nervous system
Let’s talk about the real reason I keep returning: It’s the tempo.
In a lot of popular destinations, you feel like you’re consuming the place.
Checklist sightseeing, lines, “We have to hit this spot before it closes,” content capture, and move on.
Istria rewards boredom, in the best way: You sit in a town square and watch people live their lives, you take a long lunch and nobody brings the check until you ask, and you walk without a destination and end up at a small winery where the owner pours you something they made.
That pace does something to your body.
My sleep gets deeper there, and my appetite gets more normal.
Even my workouts improve when I get back, because my system isn’t running on fumes.
I think we underestimate how much of self-development is just nervous system management, just learning how to live in a way that doesn’t keep you in low-grade fight-or-flight all the time.
Hospitality that makes you rethink relationships
Here’s a thing I learned in luxury hospitality: most people don’t remember the details.
They remember how you made them feel, in a human way.
Servers are warm without hovering, hosts treat you like a guest, not a transaction, people offer recommendations because they actually want you to have a good time.
I’ve had strangers argue with each other (politely) about which village I should visit next, like my happiness was a group project.
It messes with you, in a good way, because it makes you ask questions you don’t usually ask when you’re rushing through life.
Do I create spaces where people can relax around me? Do my friendships have room for long conversations, or are we just swapping memes and calling it connection? Do I treat meals like fuel, or like a chance to actually be present with someone?
Every time I’m there, I come home wanting to be a better host in my own life.
I mean being someone who makes people feel welcome.
That’s a skill, and it’s one a lot of ambitious people accidentally lose.
How I bring Istria home between trips
Finally, the point of falling in love with a place is to steal what works and bring it back into your real life.
I can’t teleport Croatian sunlight into my apartment and I can’t make my city magically quieter, but I can recreate the principles that make Istria feel so good.
Here’s what I do now, especially when I feel myself getting edgy and scattered.
I eat more like an Istrian on weekdays, not perfectly, but intentionally.
More beans, lentils, vegetables, good olive oil, fruit, simple protein when I want it.
I take “long lunch” energy seriously at least once a week with my phone away and an actual break, even if it’s just 30 minutes.
I walk after dinner more often.
It sounds basic, because it is, but it works; it helps digestion, it calms the mind, it signals the day is winding down.
I build one slow ritual into my day: Coffee without scrolling, a proper breakfast, and cooking one meal that isn’t optimized for speed.
Honestly, I try to host the way Istria hosts.
If a friend comes over, I make it feel like they matter because they do.
The best habits usually are just consistent, and they’re supported by an environment you shape on purpose.
What an underrated place taught me about progress
We’re sold this idea that growth looks like more: More countries, more restaurants, more achievements, and more experiences stacked like trophies.
After 67 countries, I’m starting to think progress sometimes looks like returning.
Returning to a place that reminds you what calm feels like, to food that makes you slow down, and to a pace that makes your body unclench and your mind stop sprinting.
Istria gives you the quiet realization that your life doesn’t need to be intense to be meaningful.
If you’re the kind of person who’s always chasing the next thing, here’s a question worth asking: Where do you go, or what do you do, that brings you back to yourself?
If you do find yourself on that little Croatian peninsula one day, order the pasta, ask for the local olive oil, take the long way back to your hotel, and let the place do what it does.
It’ll make you want to live better, without even trying.
