Being in Croatia is kind of like being in a permanent dream-like state. That's poetic, isn't it? I'm sorry, but Croatia is poetic and we couldn't very well go there and not brag about it. That's illegal or something.
After two trips to Mlini, where Danny's mom is from, the extent of my Croatian vocabulary is as follows: sladoled, pivo, hoala (ice cream, beer, thank you - in order of importance, obviously). Danny was also really intent (and sometimes straight up bossy) about getting me to say nista glupana (nothing you idiot) in hopes that I would say it to a server at a restaurant. I would be like no, stop it! you're weird! then would mumble it over and over to myself. I don't know, it's kind of catchy.
I highly recommend the business of having a mother-in-law who lives in Croatia. It's good for the soul, especially if she's the type to cook really solid meals that are accompanied by wine and followed by ice cream, and who knows where the best secret beaches are, and who takes you to bars that are inside of caves.