by Erika Matic, currently googling “can you take out a loan for cheese?”
There’s a moment every Croatian adult experiences sometime in their late twenties or early thirties.
It’s not marriage. Not childbirth. Not even the first time you stand up from a chair and make the famous Balkan noise: “Ufff.”
It’s the moment you walk into a grocery store, glance at the price of paprika, and think: So this is how it ends. Not with a bang, but with 8.99€ for vegetables.
I always imagined inflation as something that happened in dramatic countries with unstable governments and telenovela-grade chaos. Not us.
Not tiny, sunny, calm Croatia with its beaches, its lavender, and its ability to pretend everything is fine while quietly dying inside.
But here we are.
A real-life satire.
A country where the price of cheese now qualifies as psychological warfare.
Europe, But Make It Traumatic
Everyone keeps repeating that Croatia is “catching up to Europe.”
My question is:
Why?
Who asked for this?
Where is the petition? Because I would like to remove my signature.
If we were catching up on wages, lovely.
Healthcare? Fantastic.
Human rights? Miraculous.
But no.
We decided to catch up on prices.
Food? European.
Utilities? European.
Rent? European.
Coffee on the Riva? European with a sprinkle of “you should have studied computer science.”
Salaries?
Still proudly Croatian.
Courageously Balkan.
Heroically lower than my self-esteem during puberty.
How Are People Affording Life? A Mystery Series
At the supermarket, I observe people like I’m narrating a nature documentary.
“Here we see a Croatian woman purchasing fish that is not discounted. Her income source is unknown.”
“Watch this majestic man, casually buying coffee AND prosciutto on the same trip. His level of financial courage is unmatched.”
Are they in debt?
Do they have side jobs?
Are they smuggling truffles?
Did they marry rich?
Are they selling organs on the dark web?
Do they have secret German relatives sending monthly envelopes?
Because nobody I know is living comfortably.
Nobody.
Even the rich ones whisper, “Wow, that’s expensive,” like they’re participating in a national sport.
And yet – silence.
No outrage.
No revolution.
Just Croatians doing what Croatians do best:
Suffering politely.
The Real Croatian Survival Guide
After years of observation (and emotional overheating), I’ve discovered the five main methods of Croatian survival:
- Inheritance — a house from a grandmother who lived on nothing but soup and stubbornness.
- Gardens — every Croatian grows at least one vegetable like their life depends on it.
- Cash in envelopes — don’t ask questions.
- Never calculating how much life actually costs — mental health hack!
- Hope — delusional, but charming.
Meanwhile, at the House of Reasonable People
Me, my husband, our daughter, and three cats – The Financially Cautious But Emotionally Done Squad.
We work hard.
We’re self-employed.
We don’t spend money like idiots.
We don’t buy avocado toast.
We don’t chase trends.
We don’t owe the bank our future children.
And still –
Every time I open my fridge, the shelves whisper: “You’re doing your best, sweetie.”
We’re financially okay.
We’re emotionally…
Well, we’re Croatians living in 2025.
So you can fill in the rest.
The Real Problem: No One’s Talking About It
Nobody is ringing the alarm bell.
Nobody is screaming.
Nobody is asking how a country with an average salary of 1.150–1.500€ can afford living costs designed for expats with crypto.
We’re acting like everything is normal.
It’s not normal.
It’s deeply unwell.
It’s giving “late-stage capitalism meets Balkan telenovela.”
The worst part?
We’ve been conditioned to think we’re overreacting.
That we’re dramatic.
That we should be grateful to just exist.
But my gratitude does not cover the price of yogurt.
What the Future Actually Looks Like
Best case?
We collectively learn to grow our own food, barter with neighbours, and eat more potatoes.
Worst case?
We all migrate north, start a Croatian colony in Ireland, and send passive-aggressive Christmas cards home.
Most likely case?
We persist.
We complain.
We adapt.
We survive on family, humor, and stubborn optimism.
Because Croatians always do.
We are too stubborn to collapse.
Too proud to admit defeat.
Too chaotic to disappear quietly.
Our resilience is both beautiful and mildly concerning.
But There’s Still Something Soft Here
Even with the ridiculous prices, the absurd bills, the feeling that your salary evaporates on the 5th of the month – there’s still warmth.
There’s home.
There’s family.
There’s the garden behind the house.
There’s a child laughing.
There’s a cat asleep on your lap.
There’s a husband who shows up.
There’s lunch at your kitchen table, cooked from scratch, because that’s who we are.
Croatians find a way.
Always.
We survive on connection.
On community.
On stubborn love.
On our ability to laugh through everything – even economic collapse.
We’re the people who make a joke at our own funeral.
Of course we’ll survive inflation.
We’ll complain the whole time, sure.
But we’ll survive.
Because if corruption and inflation really did have a baby in Croatia, they forgot one thing: Croatians raise survivors.
Erika Matic is a Croatian wannabe writer documenting the emotional comedy of modern adulthood, domestic chaos, economic absurdity, and the quiet rebellion of living intentionally in a world that keeps raising its prices. She blends satire, sincerity, and mild existential dread into essays that make you feel seen, slightly judged, and definitely less alone.
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