When my Japanese friends visit Croatia, they often look at the packed cafes and ask the same question: "Who's working? How does society function like this?"
It’s understandable. If you walk through any Croatian town during the day, the cafes are overflowing with people. They might be sitting for hours with just a single espresso and a glass of mineral water, or sharing a beer or a glass of wine.
Many tourists only know the coastal resorts like Dubrovnik or Split. However, I was born and raised in Vukovar, a town in the inland region of Slavonia. I spent the first 25 years of my life there, and my childhood and teenage years coincided with the tumultuous 1990s. Despite the abnormal and difficult circumstances of the time, one thing in our daily lives remained absolutely constant: "how we spent time" with others.
Having lived in Japan for over 20 years now, I clearly sense the distinct differences in how these two cultures value time.
The Illusion of the Coffee Break
Those packed cafes, they're actually only part of the picture. The true culture of connection is nurtured behind closed doors, in living rooms and kitchens.
When I was a teenager, we didn't have mobile phones. Yet, we always knew where everyone was. Whether school was in session or not, we visited each other's homes every day. Sometimes we'd use a landline to check if they were home, but mostly we'd just drop by. Our friends' parents would immediately offer coffee, and we'd sit for two or three hours, eventually going for a walk (and perhaps secretly trying our first cigarettes or alcohol).
"I'm just popping over to Anita's" — Unannounced Visits
This isn't just about teenagers. Our parents did the exact same thing with their neighbors. In Japan, if you want to visit a friend, it's normal to confirm plans weeks in advance. But in Slavonia, it's perfectly normal to decide, "I'm just going over to Anita's for coffee" in the middle of the day and simply show up at her doorstep.
Somehow, they always made time and welcomed us into their homes. Even if they were in the middle of work, they would stop what they were doing and sit with us for hours. My grandparents were winegrowers and ran a local pub in Slavonia, so I grew up witnessing this unpretentious, immediate form of hospitality firsthand. Welcoming someone was not a scheduled event, but a reflexive action.
The Double-Edged Sword of Free Time
It might sound idyllic, and mostly it is. But as I grew older, I realized it could also cause problems. In such a tightly-knit community, rumors spread quickly. Also, since it's culturally unacceptable to turn guests away, you might find yourself invited in by someone who is incredibly busy or simply doesn't want to see anyone at that moment. Yet, following tradition, they must host you, and you might end up staying for hours until you're finally ready to leave.
Managed Time vs. Shared Time
Today, as a father running a full-time business in Japan, my life is meticulously structured. I value the efficiency, respect for privacy, and order of Japanese society. Still, I often reflect on Slavonian ways of using time.
In Japan, time is something you "manage." We fit plans with friends and family into open slots on our calendars. In Croatia, however, time is something you "share." Work, chores, and personal appointments often take a backseat to the person standing at your doorstep.
This culture of dropping everything to share a drink and conversation is precisely why I am so passionate about the wines I bring to Japan. In the Balkans, a bottle of wine or a cup of coffee is not just a beverage; it's an excuse to pause the world and spend three hours "doing nothing" together.