So, what happens when three college students on vacation in Croatia split a bottle of vino and are given the streets of Old Town Dubrovnik to traipse around in? They find Jasmin Stavros at ClubRevelin. What’s that? You’ve never heard of Jasmin Stavros? That’s really embarrassing for you.

This week, Grandma has ventured outside of  Turkey for the first time since putting her off-white orthopedic Keds on Turkish soil. It’s spring break at my university, and thus time to live it up like the young kids do. So, on a whim, I decided with a friend from my program to meet up in Croatia with a fellow Georgetowner, currently spending his semester in Spain.

What did I know about Croatia prior to arriving? Just about nothing. In fact, I had to Google Maps it after booking my flights. What did I learn about Croatia? That it is actually a very young nation that experienced quite aggressive warfare in the early ’90s; that it is one of the cheapest vacation destinations (with one U.S. dollar being equivalent to 5.7 Croatian kunas — the phrase “monopoly money” was thrown around pretty frequently), and that their pop stars look like even older Mick Jaggers, are roughly 65 years old and are a really big deal.

On one particular night in question, my friends and I began the evening with no expectations and about 600 kuna between us, ready to make it rain on the streets of Dubrovnik. 600 kuna, by the way, is about $105. After our 350 kn dinner we set out, moving from one pub to the next, trying to find the right feel. At last we got a recommendation: “Go about 50 meters up the stairs and on your right there’s a club,” said the bartender at Cafe Pub Bar Laura (it couldn’t decide which one it wanted to be).

While my other two traveling companions seemed confident in these directions, I sat there doing the math. Meters … meters … OK, I know this … a meter is a little more than a yard … 50 yards is half a football field … and that’s 35 more yards than the pass that Tim Tebow threw to defeat the Steelers in the playoffs. OK, we can find this. Just keep walking up stairs until I get lightheaded. And bingo. 50 meters of stairs and, three water breaks later, we found Club Revelin.

At the door we were stopped by a rather large Croatian man, who explained in English that the cover charge is 80 kn because of the performer, the performer being THE Jasmin Stavros … or just Stavrosas we like to call him. After paying 240 kn, we enter what seems to be an old castle turned nightclub, find ourselves a cozy spot by the side of the stage, and bop our heads to progressive house music while anxiously awaiting Stavros’ performance.

Half past midnight, the lights finally dim. If you ever want to see a large crowd of Croatians turn into Eastern European party machines, turn down the house lights, pump up those neons and get Stavrosin the room. Regardless of this being my first trip to the Balkans, let me tell you, I’ve never seen the Balkans bump so hard. As Stavros came on, the three of us crowded close to the stage and swooned as if we just saw Justin Bieber run his hands through his flow. We elbowed our way closer so we could blow kisses, reach for just a feel of the Croatian Jagger’s size four pleather pants and scream“STAAVVRROOOSSS!” so that he could hear the pure excitement in our voices.

At the end of the night we left Club Revelin with a newfound sense of culture, more ideas for Facebook album titles and an appreciation for the dance moves of someone who could qualify for the senior discount tickets at the movie theater.

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