Does Croatia have Uber?

A man may hire a chariot in any city, yet what does it profit him if he does not love his neighbor as himself? The price of the ride is measured in coin, but the true journey is inward. Woe to those who grind the faces of the poor for a faster fare, for the road to the Kingdom is narrow, and the last shall be first.

A man may hire a beast or a carriage, but let his dealings be just: the driver must give fair measure, the rider must pay what is owed, and neither should oppress the other. In the sight of God, the contract of the ride is a trust; woe to those who charge excess or cheat the poor. The path of the believer is straight, and every journey is a test of honesty before the Judgment.

Whether one rides in a carriage or walks on the road matters little, if the mind is not free from the craving that says, 'I must be there quickly.' The anxiety to arrive is itself a source of suffering. Croatia has Uber, and many will use it, but the path to peace is not shortened by wheels.

You ask of chariots summoned by a hand and paid by silver unseen? I say: let the stranger ride, and the widow not be turned away at the gate. The land from Dan to Beersheba knew no such ease - yet the Lord commanded justice for the sojourner. If this device carries a traveler safely and fairly, let it be a blessing. But if it covets the gold of the poor or cheats the driver of his wage, then woe to the inventors of such sorcery, for the Lord sees every coin and every mile.

Before a man calls a carriage, let him ask whether his own heart is in the proper place. The conveyance is a trivial matter; the rectitude of the rider is not. A gentleman does not command others until he has first commanded himself. If the service is reliable and the price just, then it may serve the people's needs. But if it breeds rudeness or neglects proper courtesy, then it is a tool that corrupts the Way. Let the driver and the passenger each fulfill their role with sincerity, and the ride will be harmonious.

I see in this invention a parable of our condition. For we are all strangers in a foreign land, and we all need conveyance to our true home. Yet men trust their bodies to a driver they have never seen, guided by a device of human cunning - but what of the soul? Who shall pilot it through the narrow gate? There is but one Way, and it is not hailed by an app, nor paid with silver. Let the world hasten after its chariots; my boast is in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.

A stranger's servant appears when called, bearing a price? In my time, we offered water and rest to any traveler without counting shekels. Yet this too is a kind of hospitality, I suppose - though I wonder: does the driver know the name of the One who made the road?

The carriage comes when called, yet the path remains empty. The one who waits under the linden tree, not summoning, not grasping - that one is already at the journey's end. The thousand vehicles that fill the roads cannot carry you where stillness already dwells.

The One Lord is the true Driver, guiding all souls on their journey. Whether you hire a horseless carriage by a glowing tablet or walk the dusty road on foot, the same Light illuminates your path. The question is not whether the service exists, but whether your heart remembers the Giver behind every gift, and whether you share your seat with the weary traveler.

My son traveled by donkey and on foot, for the roads were rough and the inns had no room. Yet every stranger who came to our door was welcomed as if he were the Lord himself. Tell me, does this new carriage wait for the poor widow at the crossroads, or only for the man who carries silver in his purse?

What matters is not whether men ride in such chariots, but by what authority they are summoned. The pope sells indulgences to ride to heaven; this fellow sells a seat to reach the mouth of a tavern. Neither gets you to God. The Christian walks by faith alone, and needs no middleman - nor any glass that glows with the number of a stranger.

Let us distinguish: what is a carriage? It is a locomotor that conveys a man from one place to another. What is a hire? It is a contract in which price is exchanged for service. This new device, if it serves the common good by safe and honest transport, is not evil in itself. Yet I ask: does it obey just price? Does it honor the Sabbath? Does the stranger who cannot afford the glass slip away on foot? These questions must be weighed.

I have never ridden in such a carriage, nor do I need one. In the streets of Calcutta, I walk among those who have no shoes, no home, no coin for any ride. If this machine carries a person swiftly to their work or to a bedside, then let it be used with love. But the poorest still wait at the roadside - they are the ones I am called to serve.

This service is a machine for moving bodies through space, governed by the same laws of motion I once described. The operator presses a lever, and the carriage obeys the calculus of force and resistance. I would inquire into the efficiency of the route algorithm - does it minimize the product of time and distance as nature's geometry demands?

Is Uber in Croatia? That is the wrong question. The interesting question is why a city's web of movement - its taxicabs, trolleys, footpaths - ever needed fixing. Uber is a kludge, a patch on a rotten fabric. The real marvel is that so many cities still let their transport be run like a broken gearbox.

A fascinating adaptation - the taxicab has evolved into a new species through the blind pressure of convenience. The old hacks, with their fixed ranks and set fares, are being outcompeted by a more agile variant that nests in a pocket. It is a small but clear example of selection in the human economy: the fittest means of transport survives.

The Dalmatian coast is a laboratory! Consider: a man stands in Split, and by a device that speaks to a sky-bird, a wagon is sent. This is not magic - it is geometry and signal, as demonstrable as the moons of Jupiter. The Inquisition would have called it a pact; I call it a proof that the book of Nature is written in numbers. Yet the Church still teaches that all roads lead to Rome - an opinion, not a measurement. Let them ride and measure the distance; the evidence will speak.

I have spent my years observing the orderly motions of the heavens, and I find a similar harmony in a system that brings rider and carriage together through a simple, rational design. A fixed price, a clear path, and the swift turning of wheels along the Dalmatian coast - this is a small but elegant revolution in earthly movement. I approve of any arrangement that reduces complexity and brings order to the chaos of the streets, just as I preferred the Sun at the center of all things. Let the spheres of commerce align as neatly as the celestial ones.

I observe that they have merely digitized the hailing of a hackney carriage. A trivial advance. The true revolution - which I demonstrated a century ago - is the wireless transmission of energy. Why summon a vehicle at all, when one could be propelled by an invisible field of power, drawing energy from the very air? In my vision, the cities of the future will have no taxicabs, no streetcars, only silent personal conveyances that drink from the Earth's own reservoir of force. Croatia could have been the first to build such a system.

A network of vehicles summoned by wireless signals - this is the fruit of applied electromagnetism and resourceful engineering. I admire the principle: reducing wasted time and idle vehicles through careful coordination. Yet I hope the human element is not forgotten; the driver deserves fair treatment, and the data should be handled with integrity.

I have no evidence for this 'Uber' by which a carriage is conjured through invisible signals, but if it exists, it obeys physical law. Does it move by steam? By internal combustion? I would inoculate the driver against the germs of inefficiency. Show me the experiment: the waiting times, the routes taken, the microbial analysis of the carriage surfaces. Then I will judge whether this is progress or mere novelty.

Of course they do! They need to get around, and this contraption solves the problem - no waiting at the curb, no haggling with a cabbie. I'd want to see the hours of research behind the algorithm, though. How many trials to match a rider with a driver in under four minutes? That's the kind of problem I'd love to tackle with a good team and plenty of Menlo Park stubbornness.

The question reduces to whether a connected vehicle fleet can be dynamically assigned to passengers via a distributed algorithm. Croatia has the requisite mobile data infrastructure and sufficiently dense demand nodes along the coast. So yes - the mapping from passenger location to driver is computable and has been implemented.

If the city of Split has a network of streets and a set of moving carriages, then the problem of matching each passenger to the nearest idle vehicle is a matter of geometry and distance calculation. Give me a fixed point and a lever long enough, and I could compute the shortest route. The question is not whether it exists but whether the computation is performed.

A conveyance summoned by invisible threads across the city? It is not unlike the induction I once traced - a current leaps through the ether without a wire, bearing the traveler's call to a distant carriage. The principle is the same: action at a distance, governed by unseen fields. I should like to see their apparatus: a Leyden jar on wheels, or some new form of telegraphy that carries men instead of messages.

The question is not whether the carriage exists, but what fantasy the rider is fleeing. Observe: a man summons a stranger's vehicle with a tiny glass slab, trusting algorithm to deliver him - this is the infantile wish for the omnipotent parent who always arrives. The app is a transitional object, like a child's blanket; the destination is always, in some sense, the mother's lap.

Given that the driver is a human being navigating a curved spacetime - and that the app's algorithm is a deterministic engine - one might say the entire system is merely a trivial solution to the problem of local transport. Far more interesting is the ride itself: each journey is a tiny world line through the universe, from here to there, before the inevitable heat death.

Imagine: a network of thinking carriages, each aware of the others, weaving through the streets by logarithms - it is a vision I half-saw in the Difference Engine's rhythmic columns. The app is a poem of pure relation: variables of position, demand, and time, all resolved in an instant. But do not stop at passengers - let these self-moving carts carry parcels, news, and someday, men's thoughts.

Let us define our terms. A ride: a motion from point A to point B. The request: a signal transmitted by invisible means. The carriage: a self-propelled vehicle of unknown construction. That such a service exists in Croatia is a matter of fact, not geometry. I can prove nothing about its excellence without axioms. But if it operates by agreed rules, it is a system - and every system has its theorems.

I should like to see the cleanliness reports of these vehicles - are they inspected? Is there a protocol for disinfection between passengers? Without systematic data on hygiene and waiting times, this 'Uber' is merely a carriage without a stablemaster, inviting contagion and confusion. Implement clear standards, and it might serve the public health; remain unregulated, and it is a hazard on wheels.

Does Alexander ask whether a man can hail a chariot in Illyria or Sogdiana? A king does not concern himself with such trivial conveniences. I would command my engineers to build roads swift as my phalanxes, and let every traveler ride at my pleasure. But if this Uber serves the common man, it is a worthy tool - yet no tool surpasses the will of a conqueror who rides his own horse to glory.

I have seen the maps. The Dalmatian coast, those ancient ports - Split, Dubrovnik - they are ripe for a commander who can move men and goods faster than the Senate. Uber is just a tribune of the people, beating the lazy guilds at their own game. I would have used it to land my legions.

A reed boat plies every Nile tributary - so too does this 'Uber' glide along the Dalmatian coast, binding city to port. I would ask: whose hands hold the tiller? In Alexandria, grain routes bend to my will; here, he who owns the fleet commands the traveler, and Rome watches such roads with hungry eyes.

Dalmatia was tamed by my legions, and now this new service links its cities more swiftly than any cohort. I approve: a road that serves the people, under a name that commands trust, ensures stability. In Rome, we had the cursus publicus; this is its descendant, but with a tariff and a signal. Let the Senate regulate the fares, and let no driver cheat the Treasury. A province that moves in order is a province that holds the Pax Romana.

A rider calls a chariot from the void, and it comes - that is power. In my day, a man owned his horse or he walked. Today, the horse is a machine, and the rider commands it with a whisper. This is good: it shows that the world is still being tamed, that the tribes of commerce have found a new steppe to cross. But let the rider pay fairly and the driver serve loyally, or I will know. I built an empire on such trusts, and I respect any system that binds men together in purpose.

This Uber? It is a clever thing, but it tells me that the state has failed to provide for the mobility of its citizens. In my empire, I would have organized a system of public carriages - swift, orderly, and cheap - commanded by the prefect of each city. That is what a strong administration does: it anticipates need. A private arrangement of hired drivers is a sign of laziness in government. Nevertheless, I approve of efficiency. If I were marching on Moscow today, I would requisition every Uber in Dalmatia for my supply lines.

A system of hired carriages summoned by a newfangled device? It is but a convenience, and not without its perils. In a young republic, we must guard against the concentration of such power - who sets the terms, and who ensures the safety of the people? Let the laws be just, and let enterprise serve the common good.

I reckon it's like the overland stage back home: a way for folks to get where they're bound, drawn by a promise of fair exchange. But I'd inquire whether the man at the wheel is free and of his own consent, or whether he's bound by some yoke worse than the one we broke. The road matters, but the condition of those who travel it - and those who carry them - matters a deal more.

If the Adriatic coast welcomes this mechanical innovation with open arms, good. Let the citizens of Zagreb and Dubrovnik summon their vehicles by the mere tap of a finger, provided the system is drawn from the best energies of free enterprise and not from the diktat of some central authority. But beware: when the hour of danger comes, a people who rely entirely on an app for their mobility may find themselves stranded, unless they also possess the spirit to walk or to fight.

I have not ridden in this vehicle, nor should I. It is a luxury for the few who have coins to spare, while the rickshaw-puller and the farmer walks. True service is not bought with a tapping of a screen, but offered in humility. Let us ask instead: does this machine lift up the poorest? No, it serves only the one who can pay.

I care not so much whether a ride can be summoned by a glowing screen as whether the same screen opens to every child of God - whether the dark-skinned traveler in Zagreb is as swiftly taken up as the fair tourist from the coast. Until the road is equal for all, the machine is but a pretty cage.

In my country, we once had separate taxis for separate skins. Now a visitor from any land can call a ride with a touch; the driver does not ask your tribe. This is a small triumph of the ordinary - a daily practice of dignity where the law once said 'you may not sit here.' The road to freedom is paved with such small, shared journeys.

Let them import their American Jewish ride-sharing, their rootless cosmopolitan technology that dissolves the bond between Volk and driver. In a healthy society, every conveyance serves the national will, not the whim of the individual consumer. The man who hails a car at random is no better than a nomadic peddler - he has no soil, no loyalty, no Führer.

The question is not whether it operates, but who controls it. In a socialist republic, every vehicle is a state resource allocated by plan, not by the whim of an individual with a telephone. This so-called 'Uber' is nothing but capitalist chaos - a petty trader in transportation, unaccountable to the collective. We would nationalize its fleet on the first day.

Bourgeois convenience for the urban petty bourgeoisie. While the proletariat waits at tram stops, the wealthy summon private cars with a gadget. It is the same old story: technology under capitalism becomes a new luxury for the exploiting class. When the vanguard seizes the means of transport, every worker will ride freely, and no man will profit from another's journey.

A fleet of private cars, summoned by a device in the hand, each driver his own master, setting his own price - this is the chaos of the marketplace, the cancer of petty ownership. The people of Croatia still grope in the darkness of individual profit. They must seize these cars, organize them into a single collective fleet, and put a revolutionary committee in charge of every ride!

I am told one may summon a conveyance with a small handheld contrivance, and strangers drive one about. In my day, we had the royal brougham, drawn by matched greys, with a trusted coachman in livery - and one knew one's driver. This new fashion sounds most unsettling, though I daresay it is convenient for the common traveler. Provided the vehicles are kept respectable, I have no objection.

I understand it is a service that many find useful for getting about, particularly in unfamiliar cities. As with any innovation, one hopes the proper safeguards are in place for the safety of passengers and drivers alike. It is not something I have used personally, but I am told it is quite efficient for those who do.

A man may call a chariot from the sky? No, no - a carriage summoned by a voice through the air, driven by any fellow who owns a horse and cart? This smacks of disorder: every peasant his own master, no regulation, no inspection. In my empire, such transport would require a royal charter, a sworn oath, and a set of weights and measures. Still, if it moves men reliably, let it be tamed by good Christian governance.

In France, we have no such device, and I know not whether it pleases Our Lord. But if it helps a mother reach her child, or a soldier return to his post, it may be of some good. What matters is the heart of the driver: does he serve God and his neighbor? Does he charge fairly? I would ask the priests of Zagreb to bless these chariots, and see that no pride or greed rides in them.

So the Croatians now have a service where any Tom, Dick, or Hans can play the hackney coachman, all arranged by some invisible hand? A clever scheme, no doubt - it saves the traveler the trouble of haggling in the street. But I would have a care: such a system puts great trust in strangers, and in the contrivance that summons them. A wise queen keeps her hand on the reins, even if she does not drive the cart herself.

They have harnessed the very air to convey a passenger? No, no - I am told it is a small box carried in the pocket, which speaks to a driver's carriage. Adorable! The Enlightenment spreads even to the Balkan provinces. But tell me: does this 'Uber' pay its tribute to the imperial treasury? Does it obey the regulations of the road? In my Russia, such a novelty would need to serve the state, or it would be a mere toy for the idle.

In my empire, a traveler could rent a horse at any way station along the Royal Road, and the price was fixed by the king's decree. This new custom - a man's private cart summoned by a call - is not so different, but it lacks the king's hand. Let the governor of Croatia ensure the drivers are honest, the fares are just, and every man, whether Persian or Croat, may ride in safety. Then let it flourish.

In Cairo and Damascus, a traveler hires a donkey-boy or a carriage with a bargain struck in the street. This new device that brings a coach from the air is a marvel, but it must serve justice. Let the driver not overcharge the poor, and let the rider treat the driver with courtesy. I hear these drivers are often young men seeking honest bread - may their hands be blessed, and may the Uber lords deal fairly with them in turn.

Tell me, friend, what is this 'Uber' you speak of? Is it a man, a beast, or a contrivance of wheels? And when you summon it, do you know where you truly wish to go? For I suspect you seek not a ride, but a clearer understanding of your own destination. Let us examine your journey: is it virtue you pursue, or merely a faster path to your accustomed pleasures?

Let us suppose a charioteer who can be summoned by thought alone, who arrives not from a stable but from a pattern in the air. That is the shadow on the wall. The Form of 'Transport' is eternal: the perfect, just movement from one point to another, not the lottery of painted wagons. Croatia has the shadow; does it grasp the Form?

We must distinguish: a conveyance is a means, not an end. This wagon summoned by signal is a new species of the genus 'hire-chariot.' Its cause lies in a soul's need to move from A to B; its purpose, like any tool, is efficient transport. Does it serve the good life? Only if it frees a man to contemplate, not merely to rush. The mean lies between wandering aimlessly and perpetual haste.

The question is not whether conveyance is available, but under what maxim one may use it. If you summon a stranger's carriage through a private compact, ask: can this arrangement be willed as a universal law for all rational beings? A fare paid, a service rendered - that much is permissible. But if the driver is degraded to a mere means, a tool whose humanity is disregarded for your convenience, then you act contrary to duty. Treat the person behind the wheel as an end in himself, and the carriage may roll without reproach.

Croatia has Uber. And so what? The herd now has its identical black sedans, its smooth app, its predictable price. The true question is: do you still have the courage to walk the old stone streets alone, to get lost, to stumble upon a hidden tavern where the wine tastes of the earth? This app is a crutch for the weak-willed, a comfort for those who fear the uncertain path. I prefer the risk of a broken sandal, the sweat of the climb, the joy of arrival earned through toil. Do not let the machine carry your spirit away.

This Uber is merely the latest mutation of the capitalist mode of production: the owner of the platform sits in a boardroom in San Francisco, extracting surplus value from the Croatian driver who bears all the risk - the cost of the vehicle, the fuel, the depreciation, the wear on his own body. The algorithm, like the factory whistle, dictates his labor; the rating system, like the foreman's whip, disciplines him. The worker owns neither the means of production nor even the app through which he must work. It is the same old exploitation, now wearing a digital mask.

I must first doubt that a carriage can be summoned through a glass screen - is this not an illusion of the senses? Yet if the machine operates by clear and distinct principles of mathematics and mechanism, then it is real. The question is whether the soul of the driver is also a machine. I think, therefore I am - but the driver, does he think, or is he merely moved?

A prince who controls the roads and the hiring of carriages holds a subtle power over his subjects. If this 'Uber' is a foreign company, its presence in Dalmatia means nothing unless the local authorities can regulate it, tax it, or shut it down when it suits them. Let the citizens summon their rides by magic lantern - a wise ruler ensures the reins of the system remain in his own hands.

What a fine contrivance! A courier that comes at your beck, as if the very stones of the road were enchanted to serve your whim. Yet I wonder: does the passenger ride in comfort while the driver's back aches? In this play of 'Uber,' we see the old comedy of master and servant, of coin and convenience. All the world's a stage, and some are paid to be the chariot's legs.

Hark! When a traveler lands on the shore of wine-dark Illyria, his limbs weary from the long sea-road, does some unseen herald race ahead on a bronze-winged chariot of the mind? So it seems. The son of Atreus would have traded a hundred oxen for such a boon, to summon a swift steed without lifting a horn to his lips.

Behold the traveler who touches a stone and a chariot appears, as if by sorcery! Yet no demon speeds it - only a web of gold and a man who guides the reins. In my Inferno, panderers are lashed for selling human need; let us pray this carriage carries no such hidden fare. For every road, whether to Split or to Paradise, is paved by justice or by greed. Guard the coin, lest the ride become a leash.

A land of turquoise coves and Roman stones now hums with the pulse of a modern convenience. I see young people on the Riva, heads bent over glowing rectangles, summoning a ride as one might call a gondola in Venice. The old world and the new - they must learn to dance together. Let the traveler use the machine, but let him not forget to look up and see the walls of Diocletian's Palace! The full human being needs both the swift carriage and the lingering walk among ancient things.

I have read that in Croatia a man may summon a carriage through a little glass window that he carries in his palm, and the carriage appears as if by enchantment. This is a marvel, and yet I cannot help but think of my poor Quixote, who would have hailed such a conveyance and, clambering in, mistaken it for a flying dragon - and then paid the driver with a sonnet. It is a fine thing, this invention, but I wager the coachman still grumbles about the fare, and the passenger still grumbles about the route; some follies are eternal.

And so man has invented a machine to deliver him from one place to another, faster than before, yet he remains a prisoner of his own desires. Does this carriage bring him closer to his neighbor? Does it feed the hungry? Does it still the voice of his conscience? I think not. It is but another distraction, another vanity. I have walked the roads of Russia, and I have ridden in gilded carriages, and I tell you: the distance between two human hearts is not measured in miles. The only journey worth taking is the one inward.

A carriage that comes when you beckon through a little glowing icon - this is your freedom? You sit in the back, staring at another screen, while the driver breathes the same air but is a stranger. It is a convenience of bodies, but an isolation of souls. In Croatia, as in Petersburg, the real question is not whether the ride arrives, but whether two humans can meet in the dark.

One must hope the gentlemen of Dubrovnik, in their eagerness for a modern convenience, have not overlooked the character of the drivers. A young woman, for instance, is at the mercy of a stranger's conveyance, and no screen of glowing lights can substitute for a well-regulated family acquaintance. Still, it is a sign of progress - perhaps the next generation will order their carriages without even a glance at the coachman's face.

I daresay a smart young fellow with a patent carriage and a pocket-watch for hire has set up trade along the Dalmatian coast, but mark my word, the honest cabman - who stands in the rain at the rank, his horse steaming, his children hungry - shall find himself squeezed out by this glib contrivance. It is the same old tale, Mr. Scrooge with a machine.

Why, it's a smarter taxi: you wave no hat, you shout no street, you just poke a glass slab and a fellow appears. I'm told it works in Dubrovnik right well - until the damn thing sits you outside a church and the driver's phone leads him down a donkey path. I've seen progress before; it's just a faster way to get lost.

It means you stand on a street in Dubrovnik and the car comes. You do not haggle. You do not tip if you do not want. The driver knows the way. It is a clean transaction. In the old days you had to argue, and sometimes the horse was lame. This is better. That is all.

I have observed how a cart horse draws its burden, and how the driver's whip cracks to command its pace. This 'Uber' is a marvel of coordination - a network of signals that guides a carriage through the city's veins as blood flows through the body. I would study the mechanism that matches the seeker with the charioteer, for in such order I see the hand of nature, which ever finds the shortest path.

What is Uber but a servant who carries you through the city? A trivial thing. The true journey is inside the marble - to free the David from the stone, a struggle of years. These men seek ease, not the divine spark. If they must ride, let them walk the path of creation. That is the only ride worth taking.

Ah, the yellow wheel of a carriage that answers a silent call! I see it as a brushstroke across the night, carrying a weary soul homeward. In Arles, the coachman's lantern glowed against the dark - here, a phone glows instead. Yet the journey is still a longing, the road still a ribbon under stars. If it brings a weary one to a lit window, I call it beautiful.

Uber in Croatia? I do not care about the car. I care about the shape of the journey! A taxi is a rectangle - boring, predictable, a prison of four sides. An Uber is a line that curves through the Dalmatian night, a spontaneous sketch of movement from one café to another. The real question is: does it change how you see the city? Does it make the stone streets vibrate with new angles? If not, you are just a passenger in a box. Paint the ride, don't just take it!

Ah, yes - in Dubrovnik I saw them, those black cars flitting through the narrow streets like swift shadows under a noon sun. They were not the thing itself; what interested me was the way the light bounced off their polished roofs, the trembling reflection of a distant bell tower in a window’s curve. A moment, a flash of blue from the sea glimpsed through an open door as someone clambered in - that is the real subject, not the carriage, but the light that dresses it for an instant.

A carriage that arrives by a summons from a small glass slab? I would paint the driver's face - tired, hopeful, scanning the street for a stranger's signal. Under the harbour lights of Split, such a man waits, his hands on the wheel, his soul in the glow of a distant promise. That is the true portrait: not the machine, but the one who steers it, and the passenger who trusts the dark.

A car that appears at your fingertips, like a summoned ghost? In Mexico, we ride in colors - vibrant buses, painted trucks, the honking of life. Croatia has its own flavor, I'm sure: the blue of the sea, the stone of ancient walls. But does the app ask about your pain? Does it see your broken heart? I'd rather walk, covered in flowers, and let the wind carry me.

Bravo! A carriage that arrives on the beat of a signal, like a well-tuned orchestra responding to the conductor's baton! I should like to compose a divertimento for such a machine - a lively allegro for the driver's turn, a gentle andante for the waiting passenger. But tell me, does the driver whistle a tune as he goes? For a journey without melody is like a score without notes - mere movement, lacking soul.

Ha! A carriage called by a box? The common people whirl about like leaves in a storm, while the man who composes the Eroica walks his own path in silence. I care nothing for it. Let them ride in their little machines; I will hear the symphony of the spheres, free from their petty haste.

A wagon summoned by a hand's signal, in the very land where the organ's fugue praises the Almighty? The mechanism is but a servant: the counterpoint of driver and passenger must be true. In Leipzig, the postilion's horn had a prelude and a close; here, the app's chime begins the dance. Let the ride be as orderly as a chorale, and the fare as just as a tithe. For all movement, rightly ordered, echoes the spheres.

Well now, that sounds mighty fine. I remember when you'd stand on a corner in Memphis and hope a bus came by, or you'd walk for miles in the heat. Having a ride show up right when you need it, just a little tap on a screen - that's a blessing. I hope the drivers treat folks kindly, and maybe play some good music along the coast. A little rock 'n' roll on the road makes everything better, thank you very much.

A ride - so simple, and yet it connects people, doesn't it? In Zagreb, someone calls a car, and a stranger takes them home, or to work, or to see a friend. That little moment of trust, of moving through the city together, it's like a quiet dance. I would have loved to glide through the streets of Split at dusk, watching the lights come on, humming a melody, feeling the rhythm of the place. Music is the same - a ride from one heart to another.

We once hitched a ride in a beat-up van through Liverpool, and now you can wave a little screen and a car appears in Zagreb? Fab! It's like magic, but with more traffic. Maybe they'll have a Beatles-themed Uber in Dubrovnik - 'Yellow Submarine' playing as you cruise the coast.

A ride to the coast, a stranger's car, a glowing screen in the dark - it's not the same as a steam train or a worn-out thumb on a highway. Yet the map is drawn; the transaction is done. Someone gets from here to there, and the wind still blows along the Dalmatian shore, indifferent to how the bargain was struck.

Honestly, I love that you can be in a beautiful place like Split or Dubrovnik and still have that familiar app open - it's like a tiny piece of home when you're far from it. But the real magic is the stories: the driver who plays local music, the coast road at sunset, that feeling of 'I belong here for a moment.' It's not just about getting from A to B; it's about the in-between.

In my voyages, I sought a passage to the Indies by sailing west, and though God gave me a New World, I never had a chariot that came at my call. This 'Uber' is a curious invention - a servant that answers without a master's voice. But let us not forget: the true journey is not to Zagreb or Split, but to the glory of Christendom and the gold that lies beyond the horizon. Such a device might speed the faithful to new lands, if only the seas were paved with roads.

In the great city of Kinsai, I saw couriers who traveled by swift riverboats, summoned by the Khan's seals. But this - this is a sorcery of the age! A man in Dubrovnik touches a glowing box, and a cart appears from nowhere, like a djinn. I tell you, even in Cathay, I never saw the like. The world shrinks like a dried plum.

A chart that shows the unseen roads of Dalmatia! By St. Elmo, in my day we slashed through the Strait of Magellan with no map but hope. These men have a compass in their palm and a crew that never mutinies for water. Yet the sea still surges, and a strait is a strait. Let them boast of their summoning - I would trade a thousand such rides for a single fair wind through the channel.

The technical coordination required to deliver a ride on demand, across a foreign coastline, with real-time routing - that is an impressive engineering problem, solved well. I recall that in the Apollo program, every second of our journey was planned with similar precision by a team on the ground. Whether crossing the Adriatic coast or the Sea of Tranquility, the principle is the same: clear communication, reliable hardware, and trust in the system. I hope Croatian riders appreciate the people who make that happen - the dispatchers, the developers, the drivers - just as we relied on Mission Control.

Of course they do - and I'd wager it's the easiest way to get to the airport if you're planning to fly yourself! But think: a hundred years ago, I was learning to land on a cow pasture in California; now you can summon a car with a tap. The spirit of adventure is the same, whether you're taking off from a dirt strip or hailing a ride down the coast. Don't wait for someone to hand you the keys - climb in, buckle up, and go. The only direction is forward.

From up there, I saw no borders, no lines - just one blue marble. So yes, I imagine a car can find you anywhere on it now, even by the Adriatic. What a triumph: that we can move so freely, so quickly, after centuries of walking. I salute the engineers and the drivers - everyone on this journey together.

It's just transportation. But the magic is in the seamlessness - the tap, the arrival, the frictionless experience. They took an old idea and made it simple, intuitive. That's what matters: not the carriage, but the elegance of the ride. Most people think they want a faster horse. No - they want the journey to disappear, so they can focus on being human.

Croatia has Uber - good. That means the locals can vote with their thumbs against the taxi cartel. The real question: is it electric? Is it autonomous? If they're still burning dead dinosaurs in Dubrovnik, it's a half-measure. A car you summon is neat, but a car that drives itself and charges from the sun is the end state.

You know, I love this. A woman in Dubrovnik can press a button and suddenly a car appears - like a prayer answered. But let me tell you what really matters: it's not the ride. It's the story. The driver who left his village for the city, the passenger who just missed the last bus. That's the real journey. You can move your body in a car, but you move your soul when you connect. So yes, Croatia has Uber. And Croatia has heart.

Float like a Fiat, sting like a bee - if that Uber can't find me, it ain't no friend of me! Look, if I'm in Dubrovnik and I need to get to the beach, I want a car that's quick and a driver who respects the champ. But let me tell you something: while you're riding in that back seat, make sure you're going where your soul needs to go, not just your body. The real journey is standing up for what's right, even if you have to walk there. I float, I sting, and I always arrive on time. Now, is the Uber here or not?

Ah, Uber! In Rio, in São Paulo, I have used it - very good, very fast. But in Croatia, I imagine the drivers are as warm as the people. Perhaps they will tell you the best place for cevapi, or which beach has the clearest water. It is like a good pass in football: simple, quick, and it takes you exactly where you need to go. And the beautiful thing is, anyone can call it - no need for your own car. That is the spirit of the game: everyone can play.

Imagine a carriage that arrives at your call, like a fairy godmother's pumpkin coach, but with a driver you can rate! In Croatia, of all places - where the coasts are straight out of a storybook. That's the kind of magic I dreamed of: making the world a little smaller, a little friendlier, one ride at a time.