My spring-break-travel-buddy and I have a remarkable flair for encountering awkward situations in foreign countries. There have been several moments on this trip that made me think, “She would be so proud.”

I still don’t entirely understand what happened today, but I’m currently spending my final night in Split in some random Croatian man’s spare bedroom. So that’s a thing that’s happening.

I booked something on Airbnb that seemed cheap and well-located. It appeared to be a room-share situation, where the apartment owner would still be there. In reality, it’s a large apartment that is used a sort of guest house/hostel. I was in a tiny room with a bunkbed, by myself. Totally fine.

When I got here on Monday, though, I realized that she and I never really worked out a plan for how we were going to meet for the keys, or clear instructions on how to get to the place. I took an overpriced cab from the airport, wandered around the old town for a while, because the cab driver pointed me in the wrong direction, and eventually found the place with nobody home.

I walked down the street in search of an internet cafe, so that I could email her and tell her that I had no phone or internet access, but I would just go wait at the apartment.

I sat in front of the door and read for I-don’t-even-know-how-long. People in this little neighborhood were staring at me, because I looked ridiculous. Eventually, a woman approached me. “Do you know the person who lives in this place?”

“Yes, I am waiting for her.”

“For who?”

“Rahela.”

“Oh! No. Rahela lives over here. It is the same number!”

Sure enough, just around the corner was another building with the same number. Yet my host was still not there. So I was about to go back to camping out and waiting, but the woman who redirected me found someone who could call Rahela. After some Croatian phone calls I obviously couldn’t understand, I was let into the apartment/hostel situation.

That’s where I have been since Monday. Things have been good. Until last night.

Last night a man who apparently owns this place, though I had no prior communication with him either, informed me that twelve people would be arriving tonight, my last night, and there are only twelve beds in the apartment. He offered to relocate me and pay me.

Annoying, but I only came with a backpack, so it’s not a huge deal. Fine. Sure. Whatever.

I woke up at stupid-o-clock to record my VEDA video for today (on the laughable subject of “adulthood”) and pack my stuff. At 9am, he arrived to take me to his friend, who he said would help me find another place. I was under the assumption that this friend also had a guesthouse or something of the sort.

Looking back, I’m not sure why I never asked, “What kind of place would it be?” But he said it would also be in the old town, and as I was staying at the edge of the old town farthest from where I would need to go to catch the 5:30am bus, this seemed like a good deal.

We walked to the center of the old town and met his friend. They had a long conversation in Croatian, and kept pointing at me. That’s always fun. Fellow frequent travelers know what I’m talking about; it’s a special kind of experience to sit, semi-helpless, while strangers converse about you in a language you don’t understand.

Still, I was feeling pretty lighthearted about the whole thing. It was going to work out. All I needed was a place to leave my stuff during the day and then a place to sleep at night. That’s it.

Finally, the three of us left together. As we were walking out, it was explained to me that I would be staying at this man’s apartment.

Wandering the narrow streets of the old town, I briefly considered the possibility that I was going to be abducted, and how unfortunate it was that I didn’t have Twitter on my phone to warn the world that I may soon be kidnapped and could you please keep on watch for me kthnxbye. This is how my brain works.

We went to a key shop to get another key to this guy’s apartment, as he was assuring me that I could use whatever I wanted in his apartment and that I would be a special guest and make myself feel at home.

Admittedly, yes, still a little creeped out, but it was also becoming clear that they were actually going out of their way to make this convenient for me. I mean, the actual convenient thing to do would have been to just let me stay in the damn placed I paid for and booked before I came here, but that’s life.

After the key was made, the friend went back to work. “I must go now. It is very nice to meet you. I will be home at five, six, seven o’clock,” he said, shaking my hand.

Oh, all right then.

Hostel-owning-man then took me to the apartment. He stopped along the way and insisted on buying ice cream, which, um, thanks? It was damn good ice cream and the guy was very kind and apologetic, and I was too busy laughing and thinking, “WHAT IS MY LIFE?” to really do anything other than enjoy said ice cream.

At some point, though, I was getting frustrated because this apartment is actually farther from the bus stop than the first place. I kept thinking, “I should have just offered to sleep on the couch. The couch is in the one room with air conditioning! I would have rather slept there anyway!” Being exhausted, hungover, and a little hungry, coupled with the heat, lugging my shit, and the knowledge that I’d be doing this again a little before 5:00 the following morning left me a little cranky. My internal monologue turned on me very quickly.

Just stay calm. It is what it is now. Go with it.

So I went with it. We reached the apartment, and the guy made the bed for me, and spent twenty minutes putzing around with the wireless router trying to figure out how I could get internet (I eventually just told him to let me figure it out after he left). He pointed out where we were located on a map, as well as the location of the place I left, for reference, and, as promised, left me money for my trouble. He apologized about nineteen more times, too.

On the whole, everyone is being insanely hospitable, and I’m grateful for that. So, here I am. Standing in a strange apartment in Croatia, preparing to go pass out on the beach. If I don’t tweet anything tomorrow, send help. If it’s too late, I will all my shit to my little sister.

Yeah, I think my friend will be quite proud of me.