“Ah, that reminds me of my youth,” I overheard a tourist in Mlini. “We used to be outside in the dark with other children,” he added. That got me thinking. When he first made the comment I had assumed (wrongly) that he was referring to the fact that these children were playing and not stabbing their fingers at a mobile phone. The truth was (as I later found out) was it was a surprise, a pleasant surprise, for him that these children felt safe outside after dark.

So let me fill in some of the blanks. Last weekend after a family dinner in Mlini the children in the group asked if my wife and I would go to the park with them and play hide ‘n seek. It was already dark and that probably meant it would be easier for them to hide.

Indeed, as we arrived at the park there were a couple of younger boys on their own already playing, so we asked them to join us. After a couple of games, I was dead on my feet so took the role of an “umpire” away from the commotion. So it looked like five children playing without any adult supervision. And that’s when I overheard the passing tourist walking with his friend.

Now, all of this it perfectly normal. Children playing outside shouldn’t be looked on as strange. Well, it should be normal. I guess what I am trying to say is that in Dubrovnik we take safety for granted.

I am a news freak and watching CNN or Sky News every day is both informative and alarming. From gangs of young adolescents committing knife crime to teenagers shooting their teachers in class. It is a horror show. And not to mention the sex crimes. Just a nightmare.

And this is exactly what this tourist meant, it was both reminiscent and at the same time sad. A sad reflection on what has happened to wherever he lives.

Living in a society and a community that is safe is priceless. Community is the key word here. The two young boys that we meet at the park on their own, weren’t in fact on their own. Almost every local that appeared through the darkness waved at them and throw in comments like “when will you go home” and “be careful on that slide.” That community spirit is irreplaceable.

Whenever a poll or a survey comes out “living abroad” in some foreign newspaper you can bet that Croatia will be high on the list. And the main “winning” factor is always the 10/10 for safety.

Earlier this summer, just as the tourism season had started, I meet a group of American tourists at the villa they had rented. Their main concern was “are we going to get robbed” and “what security measures does this villa have.” It was literally all they asked about. “You can walk around at 3 in the morning and you’ll be fine,” I tried to assure them. But all my words were in vain. When I told them that my car and house were both unlocked they thought I was a) mad and b) lying.

I came back to the villa to meet them the next morning the whole place was completely locked up. Again the main emotion I felt was sadness. Sadness at their having to live their lives constantly looking over their shoulders. It must be so exhausting, but unfortunately for them (and many others) a “normal” way to live.

This is how weird it has got, the way that we live here has become the exception to the rule and somehow not typical.

It’s funny how what’s "normal" depends on where you stand. For those of us here, the casual waves from neighbours and the watchful eyes of the community are just part of life. The way we live—leaving our doors unlocked, knowing our neighbours by name—has somehow become an island in a sea of uncertainty.

And maybe that’s what made me pause when I overheard the tourist.

His simple comment revealed so much about the state of the world: in so many places, safety has become a luxury, not a given.

As I left the park, with the kids still darting around in the dark like little ninjas, I couldn’t help but chuckle. For so many, that kind of carefree living seems as mythical as a unicorn sipping a cappuccino. And yet, I felt a pang of sadness for that tourist.

His reaction wasn’t just surprise; it was a mix of nostalgia and loss. He was reminded of a time when his world wasn’t dominated by security cameras, deadbolts, and curfews. A time when his own childhood was probably filled with those same night-time games of hide ‘n seek, the freedom of roaming around without fear.

Now, instead of worrying about how long his kids should stay out playing, he’s likely consumed with the question of whether they’ll make it home safely at all. For many, the safety and sense of community we take for granted here is a distant memory.

Read more Englishman in Dubrovnik…well, if you really want to

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About the author
Mark Thomas (aka Englez u Dubrovniku) is the editor of The Dubrovnik Times. He was born and educated in the UK and moved to live in Dubrovnik in 1998. He works across a whole range of media, from a daily radio show to TV and in print. Thomas is fluent in Croatian and this column is available in Croatia on the website – Dubrovnik Vjesnik