They say the best parties are the unplanned ones. I’m not sure who “they” are, but after my recent experience, I’d like to buy them a drink and shake their hand. Because they were absolutely right.

Now, this story begins in the most ordinary of ways: a birthday party for a colleague. A perfectly planned, standard affair. Nice pizzeria, good company, wine flowing at just the right pace—not too fast to cause a scene, but not so slow that anyone noticed how much we were actually drinking.

But then, just as we were approaching that inevitable part of the evening where you start wondering whether you have space for dessert (or if ordering pancakes is going to send you into a food coma), something unexpected happened.

The kind of thing that reminds you why you live in Dubrovnik—or at least why you should visit if you don’t.

Enter: two teenagers. Now, teenagers in a restaurant aren’t exactly a spectacle worth noting. But these two were different. One of them was holding something in his hand. And no, it wasn’t a phone. That was the first shock of the evening.

“Wait, what’s that?” asked one of my colleagues, peering suspiciously. Our eyes collectively darted to the object in question. A lijerica! Beautiful when played correctly, ear-splitting when not. I know because I once tried. Now, for those of you who don't know what a lijerica is. Imagine a violin and a banjo had a baby, and that baby grew up listening to ancient Dalmatian folk songs instead of classical music. That’s a lijerica.

So, you can understand our surprise when this teenage boy casually carried one into a restaurant.

Carrying one is a statement in itself, but playing it? Now that would be something.

Cue surprise number two. “Can you play that?” someone at another table asked. The boy didn’t respond. He just moved to an empty seat, placed his foot firmly on the floor, and proceeded to play the lijerica like he was channeling the spirit of every great Dalmatian musician before him. Beethoven had his piano. This kid had his lijerica.

And just when we thought the surprises were over, his friend jumped up, clapped his hands, and began calling out commands. Oh yes, this was no ordinary friend. This was a dance master.

Now, let’s take a moment to appreciate what was happening here.

We were digesting a few too many slices of pizza, sipping the last of our wine, and suddenly, we were front row at a full-blown Linđo performance. Within minutes, people were clapping, joining in. “Where are you two from?” asked the birthday girl, clearly as enchanted as the rest of us.

And then, ladies and gentlemen, came the biggest surprise of all.

One that deserves dramatic music and a slow-motion reaction shot. The dance master was related to the birthday girl. Let me just let that sink in for a moment. Of all the pizzerias in all of Dubrovnik, of all the evenings they could have walked in, of all the tables they could have sat near, these two teenage boys had unknowingly wandered into a relative’s birthday party.

If there was ever a moment that confirmed the world is both tiny and delightfully ridiculous, this was it.

Cue hugs. Cue kisses. Cue joyful exclamations of “I can’t believe it!” and “No way!” Cue the birthday girl being forced (lovingly, of course) into dancing Linđo with them.

And then surprise number (OK; I forgot which number we’ve got to) the other boy, the player, was also related to the birthday girl.

And then, as quickly as the madness had begun, it was time for our unexpected guests to leave. “We’ve got to go now,” said one of them, suddenly transforming back into a responsible teenager. “We have to be back at the student dormitory by 22:30.”

This moment alone deserves its own standing ovation. Here were two young boys, keeping a beautiful Dubrovnik tradition alive, entertaining a whole restaurant of strangers, and still making sure they didn’t miss their curfew.

A rare breed indeed.

Before they could protest, a man from another table waved them off. “Don’t worry, I’ll call someone. You just eat and enjoy yourselves.” And with that, they were handed an unexpected reward: a hot meal and, courtesy of the birthday girl, pancakes for dessert. Because in Dubrovnik, when someone brings joy to your evening, you make sure they leave full and happy.

These two were a credit to their families. Polite, talented, and passionate about their heritage.

So yes, the best parties are the unplanned ones. Because no matter how much you organise, plan, and schedule, you’ll never be able to recreate the magic of a lijerica, a Linđo dance, and a long-lost family reunion happening spontaneously over pizza.

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