Wars Week-The Plitvice Parking Incident During Uprising

One peaceful afternoon in Plitvice National Park, a Lancia was sitting quietly in the parking zone.

Nothing unusual.

Until Miljenko from Široki arrived.

Miljenko was a distinctive-looking fellow: small eyes, ears like sandals, and the general appearance of a man who had never allowed common sense to interfere with a good afternoon.

When I approached him, he was holding an Ultimax machine gun with a 100-round magazine.

And he was shooting at the Lancia.

BRRRRRRRRT!

The Lancia was getting more attention than it had received at the dealership.

Miljenko was laughing like a man who had just discovered a new hobby.

I stared at him.

“What are you doing?!”

He pointed at the license plate.

“Screw it. It says BG.”

I looked at the plate.

“Miljenko... that’s from Bergamo.”

He paused.

“Bergamo?”

“Where is that? In Serbia?”

“No! Not Serbia! ITALY!”

Miljenko's smile disappeared.

“Yes. Italy.”

There was a long silence.

Miljenko slowly looked toward the parking lot.

And then we heard:

“Aiuto! Aiuto!”

The Italian tourist was standing nearby, screaming and crying, apparently having discovered that his relaxing Croatian holiday had unexpectedly become a live demonstration of Balkan hospitality.

Miljenko looked at me.

I looked at Miljenko.

Miljenko looked at the Italian.

Then he handed me the responsibility of international relations.

“Go ahead and handle it. Bye.”

And just like that, Miljenko disappeared.

I walked toward the terrified tourist, trying to look as diplomatic as possible.

“Niente parla Italiano? Inglese?”

The tourist said absolutely nothing.

Not one word.

Understandable.

At this point, I decided to use the universal language of bureaucracy.

I looked him straight in the eyes and said:

“The Minister of the Interior will pay.”

The tourist blinked.

I nodded.

“Arrivederci!”

And that was the end of the Plitvice incident.

The Lancia was finished.

The Italian tourist was traumatized.

Miljenko was somewhere enjoying the rest of his afternoon.

And once again, we learned an important lesson:

Never assume that BG means Serbia.

Especially when Miljenko is holding the 100-round magazine.