home is where your bus is

How perfect are the stamps. 

I received a letter on Friday from my surrogate grandmother I stayed with for a few weeks during my Croatia research trip last year. She didn't speak a word of English, and my attempt at speaking the local dialect of Croatian at best made her laugh. Hopefully it was endearing. 
We watched low budget TV melodramas together and ate loads of tomatoes. She made olive oil and sold it to people on the beach and thought I had been in jail because of my tattoos and silly hair colour. I sent her a parcel a few months ago with photos from the trip and a poorly translated letter in Croatglish, now I just need to try and translate hers...