High expectations for any adventure, excursion, or experience is, usually, a recipe for disappointment, I find. However, there are some moments and trips that not only live up to one’s high expectations, but find a way of blowing them out of the water. Last month my Girlfriend and I took a 3-day road trip from her home in Slovenia, down to the Adriatic coast of Croatia, accompanied only by a popup tent, a small camping stove, and an air mattress. We wanted an adventure, you see, the like of which both of us have been sorely missing and yearning for during our time in the sprawling urban excess that is London. Therefore, to say that there was quite some level of enthusiastic optimism would be an understatement. This was essential for us.

The holiday was off to a less-than-promising start, with the day that we had planned to leave home greeting us with the assurance of storms, making for a potentially miserable and particularly challenging start to our journey. We began the day with a dog walk, as all days begin when at hers, through the fields of wheat taller than I, and around the edge of the forest. As soon as we were in the field, the heavens opened. Even with raincoats on we were soaked through. Thunder and lightning were rife, with her poor dog running and ducking for cover at every given opportunity. Needless to say, the last thing we thought it wise to do was drive for 2 hours to a lake, only to be holed up in the car admiring the extreme show mother nature had for us. So we called it a day, decided the only thing to do was make our home on the couch, and that we did.

The following morning was the polar opposite. Sensational would be a fitting word to describe the weather. Clear skies, a shining, but not too intense sun hanging above us, birds singing, and the typical pristine air typical of the alps. That was all we needed, so, bright and early, we bundled everything we would need into the car, and set off. A 2.5-hour drive has never been particularly endearing to me, I must say, as monotony typically takes hold very early on. This drive, though, set the tone for the remainder of the adventure. A non-stop sing along, from door to destination, over crystal clear rivers, through and surrounded by layers of mountains as far as the eye can see, sun beating through the windows, this was the start of something special.

Through Slovenia we drove, for what must have been an hour and a half, but flew by in a matter of moments, until we reached the Croatian border. Uneventful was this crossing, as we passed without a hitch onto the second leg of the journey. Seemingly moments into the country, a great blue expanse opened up before us, and my heart leapt. The sea (of course). We were close.

Our destination for the first few nights was to be Otok Krk, a large Island off the West Coast, connected to the mainland by a near mile-long bridge over the mouth of the sea. It was breath-taking to watch the rocky, ragged cliffs drop out from beneath us, swallowed up by the rippling blue below, for them to explode back underneath our feet not a minute later. As far as introductions to destinations go, this was pretty superb. Not the best on the trip, but pretty wonderful regardless.

Before we set off, we had, sensibly, done research on secret camping spots for us to make the most of on our excursion. We thought the best thing to do, once on the island, was to head straight to our first spot, get unpacked and set up, and head to the beach from there. Upon arriving, however, it seemed the spot was an open secret, as we had been beaten to it. Nevertheless, we parked up, considered our options, and let our excitement get the better of us. Stripping off on the road, racing into our swimming suits, we headed down the dirt track on which we parked, anticipation growing with every step. The road came to a close in amongst the trees and dry bush, with a meandering ‘path’ heading down to the shore. The beach was deserted. Rocky but surprisingly lush, and really rather manageable, we would choose to hold off on the mad dash into the water, and instead find the perfect place for us to spend the day. A secluded opening presented itself to us, shaded from both the sun and other potential holiday-goers, mere yards from the water’s edge. It was ours.

Following on from Moonlight is no mean feat. The beautifully touching, Oscar-winning show following a young man’s journey through childhood, adolescence, and adulthood, and learning his self and his relationship with that self, was a sensation.

Therefore, when If Beale St Could Talk was announced, a cinematic adaptation of James Baldwin’s novel of the same name, with Barry Jenkins at the helm, one couldn’t help but to be excited by the prospect. Hearing him be interviewed about the project, and its importance to him, only helped to increase ones anticipation.

As a piece of art, it is, as was moonlight, a masterpiece. The cinematography is soft and thoughtful, with incredibly careful lighting, and some beautiful colour schemes, making the most of yellows (one scene in particular was so beautiful it bought me to tears), blues and reds, along with the murky darkness in the basement flat helping to add to the sense of struggle these people faced in their daily lives.

The story itself is magical, and the way that Barry Jenkins cuts different time frames effortlessly together, giving a non-chronological, but wonderfully intriguing and easy to follow, background to the prior plights and histories of the characters, their relationships with themselves, and the events leading up to Fonny’s incarceration. Jenkins has done a remarkable job of making a film, set in one era, which is profoundly affecting and accessible in this day and age, with similarly pressing themes such as institutionalised racism, and false imprisonment playing out in the forefront. Combining the magical direction of Jenkins with some truly believable and mesmerising central performances, in particular the 3 main performances by Kiki Lane, Stephan James, and the Oscar-nominated Regina King, and backed up by a host of sublime supporting actors (I’m yet to see Brian Tyree Henry put in a performance that is anything less than enthralling), the final product is a profound, touching, and, quite simply, beautiful piece, which I’m sure would have done Mr Baldwin proud (important to note that the Baldwin estate’s support in the process, with Baldwin’s family offering Jenkins annotated writings of Baldwin’s, with his ideas of how it could be adapted to the screen).

I left the cinema positively in tears. The beauty and strength of the relationships reminded me of the strength of my own personal relationships, and that is one of the film’s strongest characteristics. It has this magical way of making one feel engaged and involved in the film, the characters, and their struggles along the way. There is a scene with Regina King’s character in Puerto Rico, trying to talk with Ms Rogers, Fonny’s accuser, at which point one realises any hope in saving him from incarceration vanishes, and the raw emotion on screen is chilling. But with the story as positively negative as it could be perceived to be, there are so many moments of joy, hope, and brightness, that ultimately one leaves caring for each character, in each of their predicament, and proud that they have made their situation work to the best of their abilities.

Definitely go see it with a loved one, and leave feeling more grateful and appreciative of every moment that you get to spend with them.