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A Ruin Becomes a Home

Before Park Istra had the shape people know today, before the volunteer centre became a familiar place of arrivals, departures, shared meals and work plans, there was an old Istrian house in Hrvoji.

It had once served as a parish house. Then, for years, it stood almost empty.

When the first people entered it again, it did not feel like a home. It felt like a building that nature had slowly taken back. There were traces of abandonment everywhere: old plaster, partition walls, a tired facade, dust, insects, animals, and the quiet heaviness of a place that had not held daily life for a long time.

But from the beginning, the house carried a promise.

It was not only a renovation project. It was the first physical space where the idea of Park Istra could become real: a place where volunteers from different countries could live together, support local communities, learn from one another, and help bring life back to the inland villages of Slovenian Istria.

The first summer

By early July 2014, the renovation was already moving quickly. Scaffolding had been put up. The facade had been removed. Interior partition walls and old plaster had been taken down. The work was physical, dusty and demanding, but the atmosphere was full of energy.

The house was being stripped back to its bones.

For two months, volunteers and local helpers worked on demolition. Slowly, the old parish house became completely bare, ready for rebuilding. There is something symbolic in that stage of a renovation. Before anything new can be created, the old layers have to be removed. The hidden structure has to be seen. The building has to become honest again.

That summer, the project was still young, but it was already attracting people. In just a few months, more than fifty volunteers from six different countries had passed through. More were arriving all the time.

They came to help, but they also came to live. Between workdays, they went to the coast, explored nearby waterfalls, walked through the surrounding landscape, and slowly discovered Istria not as tourists, but as temporary residents.

The days were full: construction, heat, laughter, shared meals, new friendships, and the strange joy that appears when people work hard together for something that does not yet fully exist.

Building with local materials

After the demolition phase, the next stage began almost immediately.

The intention was clear: the house would not be rebuilt in just any way. Whenever possible, the renovation would use ecological and local materials: wood, stone and clay. The goal was not only to repair a building, but to respect the character of the place.

This mattered.

Park Istra was never meant to be separate from the region around it. It was meant to belong to Istria: to its landscape, its villages, its materials, its traditions, and its needs.

Using local and natural materials was part of that philosophy. The renovation was not only technical. It was educational. Volunteers could learn about natural building, traditional materials, practical skills, and the patience needed to restore an old house properly.

Some people arrived with experience. Others had never done anything like it before. But the house became a classroom. Every wall, floor, roof tile and beam taught something.

A wet summer, a tent kitchen and evenings by the fire

September brought change.

The wet summer was slowly ending, but rain had been a constant companion. To make life easier, Park Istra received an event tent and moved the kitchen there. It was a simple solution, but it changed everything. The kitchen became protected from the weather, and with it, daily life became more stable.

The house itself was still in transformation.

On the ground floor, the floor was being prepared for “planetke”, terracotta tiles that had been taken from the old roof. This small detail says a lot about the spirit of the project. Materials were not simply thrown away. What could be reused was reused. The old roof, removed from one part of the building, became part of the new floor.

The roof had already been covered with new traditional clay tiles. A dream team of boys and girls, working with songs and laughter, managed to lay it in only a few days. Later, a master roofer who came to inspect the work said they had done an exceptional job. Many professional builders, he said, would not have done it so precisely.

For the volunteers, that recognition meant a lot.

It showed that volunteer work, when guided well and done with care, can be serious, skilled and beautiful.

Inside, the first floor was also changing. A wooden floor was being laid, and the combination of light wood with grey Istrian stone gave the space a fresh, soft and bright feeling. What had once been a ruin was beginning to feel welcoming.

One evening, the newly finished floor was tested in the best possible way: everyone sat together and watched a film. It was the first film of that wet summer.

The rest of the evenings were usually spent by the fire.

Sometimes people talked and laughed. Sometimes they were quieter. Often someone picked up a guitar and the group sang together. There was no need for television. The entertainment came from the people, the fire, the music, the tiredness after work, and the feeling of being part of something alive.

More than construction

It would be easy to describe the early days of Park Istra only as a renovation story.

But that would miss the point.

The house was important because it gave the project a body. But the soul of Park Istra was already visible in the people who gathered there.

Volunteers came from different countries and backgrounds. Some stayed only a few days. Others stayed longer than planned. Some were skilled with tools. Some cooked. Some worked in the garden. Some brought music, calmness, humour, courage or tenderness into the place.

Petra later wrote that many beautiful people had marked that space. One volunteer opened the evenings around the fire with an angelic voice. Another stayed and became almost part of the project. An architect from Austria brought great energy and skill. Swiss carpenters travelling through Europe in traditional clothing offered their knowledge. Volunteers from across the ocean cooked food that filled the kitchen with unforgettable smells. Others helped organise daily life, care for the garden, support the work, and keep the project moving.

Each person left something behind.

Not always something visible. Sometimes the trace was a wall, a tile, a meal, a repaired corner, a planted bed. Sometimes it was a song, a conversation, a habit, a story, or simply the memory of someone who helped when help was needed.

That is one of the quiet truths of volunteer projects: people pass through, but they do not disappear completely. A little of them remains in the place.

Discovering the land around the house

Even while the renovation continued, life was not only work.

The volunteers regularly explored the surrounding waterfalls, forest paths and climbing areas. They picked blackberries and figs. They walked through a landscape that many of them had never imagined before arriving.

Inland Istria is not loud. It reveals itself slowly.

There are stone villages, hidden streams, overgrown paths, old terraces, dry walls, wild plants, and views that appear suddenly after a bend in the road. During that rainy summer, the waterfalls near Hrvoji were especially alive. The streams were full, the pools clear, and the landscape green.

These small adventures mattered. They helped volunteers feel connected to the region they were helping. They made the experience more than a work camp. It became a temporary life in Istria.

A life made of physical work, shared food, wet shoes, music, laughter, tired arms, local stone, wooden floors, evening fires, and the feeling that something new was slowly being born.

A home before it was finished

By the time autumn arrived, the building was still not complete.

There was still work to do. Many details remained. The project was still fragile, still young, still dependent on people showing up.

And yet, in another sense, the house had already become a home.

Not because the walls were finished. Not because every room was clean or comfortable. Not because everything worked perfectly.

It had become a home because people were already living there with purpose.

They were cooking, singing, repairing, learning, resting, joking, watching films, exploring, welcoming newcomers, saying goodbye to friends, and returning to work the next morning.

A ruin becomes a home long before the renovation is complete. It happens when people begin to care for it, and for each other, inside it.

That is what happened in Hrvoji.

The old parish house did not become Park Istra all at once. It became Park Istra slowly, through hundreds of hands, long days, reused materials, shared meals, wet evenings, music by the fire, and the stubborn belief that a small group of people can create something meaningful together.

Looking back, those early months were more than the beginning of a building.

They were the beginning of a culture.

A culture of practical help. A culture of simplicity. A culture of learning by doing. A culture of friendship across borders. A culture of caring for places that others might have forgotten.

And from that first house, the spirit of Park Istra began to grow.