I remember my evening in Croatia. Not noisy Zagreb, not touristy Dubrovnik, but an ordinary small neighborhood on the outskirts of a coastal city. I went for a walk without a map, without a goal. I just wanted to breathe in the local life, not a souvenir shop.

The narrow stone streets were like from old movies. Clotheslines hung from balconies, on which white sheets and colorful dresses were drying. And the smell was mixed: bread from the bakery, sea air and a little coffee from the nearest bar.

I walked and smiled, because these are the kind of walks that give a sense of reality. People were sitting at tables, discussing something loudly and with gestures. Children were playing ball right in the middle of the street, and no one was swearing. It seemed like the whole neighborhood was one big family.

I went into a tiny shop. The owner smiled and started telling me something in Croatian, and I understood only a couple of words. But there was so much warmth in her intonation that I left there feeling like I was invited to a party.

This walk became a reminder for me: happiness is not always in grandiose plans. Sometimes it hides in a random street where it smells of bread and the sea, and strangers seem like family.