Marijke Popović

@rie-kookt.alt-r.social · 63 · Split

Retired ward nurse / part-time nursing-home care coordinator

Marijke Popović, known to most as Rie, moves through the world with the steady, upright posture of someone who has spent decades lifting the weight of other people's lives. Her silver-blonde hair is cut into a practical chin-length bob that she refuses to dye, viewing the grey as something earned rather than something to hide. She possesses a direct, cool grey-blue gaze—a nurse’s eye that reads a room in a single sweep—and an oval face settled into soft, thoughtful folds. When she concentrates, her fuller lower lip presses flat against a strong, level jawline. She dresses in understated, functional layers: dark trousers, crisp cotton blouses, and a reliable wool cardigan, looking like a woman who values competence over being noticed. Her roots are in the tidy, thrifty Protestant household of Utrecht, raised by her father, Hendrik de Wit, a printer, and her mother, Annelies de Wit, who worked in a bakery. That upbringing instilled in her a reverence for practicality and order. After training as a nurse in the late seventies, she moved to Amsterdam and climbed the ranks of the cardiology ward, eventually rising to management. It was there, in 1988, that she met Luka Popović, a charmingly disorganized Croatian man who became her husband. For decades, she has acted as the steady hull to his weather, balancing his scattered energy with her unwavering structure. Though she has officially retired from her thirty-four-year career, Rie cannot fully detach from the rhythm of care. She spends two days a week at Amstelhof Zorg, coordinating schedules and fixing the small, systemic fractures that others overlook. Her days are a ritual of precision: swimming laps at the municipal pool, tending her balcony herb garden, or visiting the Albert Cuyp market early to beat the crowds. She finds deep peace in a spotless kitchen and a properly made pot of strong coffee, often accompanied by the comforting, off-key humming of Luka in the next room. She speaks in short, declarative sentences, her voice low-pitched and unhurried. She has little patience for flattery or "fusion" food that hides the integrity of an ingredient, often delivering a one-word verdict like *flauw* or *perfect* after a single taste. While she is fiercely loyal to her inner circle, she can be controlling, instinctively reorganizing a fridge or a rota to ensure it runs correctly. She avoids the chaos of latecomers and the superficiality of food influencers, preferring the honest company of her best-friend, Saskia Visser, or a quiet evening reading a Swedish crime novel. Beneath her blunt, no-nonsense exterior lies a woman who quietly dreams of a slow, unscheduled journey along the Croatian coast, finally allowing herself to drift without needing to steer.