This one is probably going to be fairly short as Zagreb ended up being
more of a ‘rest and revive’ stop than I expected. There was really just two things I wanted to
see there – The Museum of Broken Hearts and Plitvice Lakes National Park (which
was actually a two hour bus trip away).
Well… at least I did one of those things.
DAY ZERO
Zagreb reminded me a bit of Bern, though not as nice. Like Switzerland (and Australia, actually) it
had a lot of space, with actual houses instead of streets lined with massive
apartment blocks. It was snowing when I
arrived, and there was already a lot of snow lying around. I sloshed through it gleefully on my way to
the hostel, since even the mucky, sloshy, melted stuff still had appeal to me
at that point (it doesn’t anymore).
The loud gang of students went off in another direction (thank goodness)
and I was left navigating to the hostel myself.
I started off by going the wrong way, though it didn’t take too long to
facepalm myself and turn around (the first thing the instructions I wrote down
said was to turn right out of the train station, so what do I do? Turn left.)
Things seemed pretty busy for a Thursday night, and I wondered if
perhaps I had accidentally arrived in time for some kind of festival or
something. As far as I could tell by the
time I left I didn’t.
The hostel was a nice place. It
was called The House Hostel. Because it
was a house. The lounge area was nice and
spacious because it was an actual lounge room.
The kitchen was a real, fully stocked kitchen (that I never actually
made use of).
I walked in and saw a couple of people lounging around in the lounge.
“Hey,” one of them said with an American accent.
“Hey,” I replied, turning back to the reception desk.
“No, hey. We’ve met before.”
I turned back around to get a look at her. Now that she mentioned it, she did look
familiar – and then I saw her boyfriend as well. Now, who was she?
So, remember all the way back in Rome?
I met an American couple on my last day who were headed to Naples, but I
couldn’t find so went without?
Admittedly I didn’t say that much about them then because I couldn’t
remember much of what we had said, and only saw for a little while, but we left
enough of an impression on each other that we were able to recognize one
another (they had given me the name of the hostel in Plovdiv that I ended up
staying at).
They were just off to dinner in the city. I didn’t have any Croation kuna at that point
(7.5:1 with the euro) so didn’t intend to eat.
Which, looking back, is really stupid.
Oh well, I went hungry that night, and fiddled around on the computer
before going to bed early.
DAY ONE
My plan was to check out the city a bit, go to the Museum of Broken
Relationships and maybe the History Museum or the Archaeological Museum. Despite being kind of over museums of the
archaeological type.
The American couple, of whom I can only remember the name of the guy
because he gave me his facebook, were leaving that day, so it was to be a brief
reunion. I discovered, however, that
they were going to be in Prague soon. I
flipped open my giant spreadsheet with all my dates and times and monies in it
and lo and behold, we would be in Prague at the same time.
Hopefully we’ll meet up there – as it is, I’ve got a good spread of
people to meet up with over the next little bit of my trip.
We also did a bit of a money exchange, since they were leaving Croatia
and I had some forint left for when they got to Hungary. Hopefully Google’s currency rates worked in
my favour a little.
They went off to their bus and I went off to do the rest of the exchange
I needed done. I did it in a bank. Cool story bro.
On my way to the Museum of Broken Relationships (which is too long to
type every time so I’m going to call it the MoBR) I passed a large square with
some kind of market going on. They had
sausages. And sweet doughy things. I decided to come back that way after the
museum.
It was snowing quite heavily that day, which was cool and all, but I’m
starting to understand why the Europeans all hate snow. It’s hard to call it picturesque when it
keeps going straight into your eyes.
So, what is the MoBR? It’s a
wonderfully unique museum that works in a similar fashion to the Book of
Secrets. Basically people from around
the world send the museum objects related to their past (ended) relationships
along with a paragraph or so that sums up the relevance of the object. Objects ranged from photographs to video art,
teddy bears to bottle openers, axes to dildos.
There was a pair of fake boobs (which had been the cause of the
relationship’s end – the woman who sent them in explained that her husband had
asked her to wear them, and she’d gotten mad since they were larger than her
own breasts. Maybe something got lost in
translation…)
It was small, but to read everything (and I wanted to read everything)
required at least two hours. Afterwards,
feeling much enlightened, I went back down to the market and bought a sausage
and some balls.
The sausage was just what you’d expect – nice and thick and oily. The balls were these little dough things that
were deep fried – a bit like chewy doughnuts.
They were called Frujtles or something.
I got some covered in nutella. It
was ridiculous, they cost like 2 euro and you got a whole tray of them, piled
up high. I felt so full afterwards, but
they were addictive.
Satisfied foodwise, I went to try and get my history on at the Croatian
History Museum. I found it no worries
(all the museums are incredibly clearly signed in Zagreb), but the front door
was closed. No worries – there was a
sign above it pointing to the left saying ‘entrance’. So I went to the left, all the way to the end
of the road, ending up basically outside some guy’s house. Definitely no museum entrance there.
I went back and considered giving the big door a push anyway, but there
was a police officer standing on the corner looking at me (probably thinking
“stupid tourist, just walk in”) and a sign said the museum would be closed on
holidays, and I had seen a lot of children out and about (for a Friday), making
me suspect it may, in fact, be a holiday.
So I left to get my history on a the Archaeological Museum instead,
which is a lot more ancient but also a lot less informative.
So how does the Zagreb Archaeological Museum rank? Well, it’s better than the one in Sofia, but
not as good as the one in Athens (duh).
It has a well-respected exhibition on Egyptian artifacts, including
something called the Zagreb Mummy. Which
is a shriveled-up corpse. I have to
admit to being a little taken aback when I walked into a small room to be
confronted by a blackened carcass.
Especially since it STILL HAD EYES (mummies had glass eyes put in their
sockets before burial). That was
eeries. And it was a dark, foreboding
room with a long manuscript displayed nearby (with one of the most complete
examples of Etruscan writing, apparently) that could easily be some kind of
ancient curse.
The Greek and Roman exhibits were far less unsettling.
After that it was back to the hostel.
I had planned to stay out until nightfall and go to a traditional
restaurant I had looked up, but I was still full from the frujtle and thought I
might find a companion if I went back.
As it turned out, I did end up getting a companion. Sort of.
While I was in the common room, another American guy checked in. His name was Scott. Unfortunately for me, he was craving American
food and ended up ordering takeaway Chinese (about as American as you can get).
Scott was an avid photographer and outdoorsman, though his studies were
in civil engineering. He had been
travelling for a while already, and would continue to travel for a while
longer. He was in Croatia because he
only had sixteen days left in the Schengen zone, and needed to kill some time
before a skiing holiday in Austria. To
be honest, this was the first time I recognized that the Schengen agreement
could have been a real pain had I not had a British passport – as it is, for
me, travelling in Schengen countries is so much easier than otherwise (no being
woken on night trains!)
He ate his Chinese and I said I was planning to go out, though phrased
it more as though I was going to go out drinking since I thought that was more
likely to catch his interest than just more food.
We got a pub recommendation from the hostel (a place called Mali Medo,
which also served food) and went on our way.
It was snowing really heavily at this point – in fact, it was the first
time I have started walking at one location and in the time it takes to reach
my destination the snow has actually started to build up on the ground. Which was exciting, if cold.
It didn’t take long to find the right street, as it was in the vicinity
of the market I had been to that day and I had a map. It appeared to be the main pub street since
it was… well… lined with pubs.
We followed the street a good distance since, according to the
instructions provided to us, the pub was quite a way up the street. I checked the map and announced we had
arrived at the place. The surroundings
told a different story – no ‘Mali Medo’ in sight. That was a tad disconcerting, so we went up a
little way. Then we went down a little
way. Then we walked around the block to
the parallel street, thinking that maybe the receptionist had put the dot
slightly too far to the left. It wasn’t
there either, though we did find a place called The Tolkien Bar, though its
only connection to Tolkien seemed to be the poster on the front with the dwarfs
from the Hobbit movie.
We gave up at that point and went to find somewhere that looked decent,
had a few people in it and served food.
It was more difficult than it sounds – all the popular places only
served drinks.
Then we found it. Tucked away in
a little inconspicuous door with a tiny sign over it saying Mali Medo. We’d missed it initially because the awning
covered the name. Oh, and the
receptionist had marked the wrong place on the map.
Going in I could tell we’d been given a good recommendation. The place was full of locals drinking, eating
and chatting. Unfortunately it was too
full of locals drinking, eating and chatting.
There was no room. So we went back
out in the snow, cursing the receptionist’s cartographic ability, which we
blamed for the fact that we had arrived too late for a seat, and went across
the road to the first restaurant we could find.
It was empty when we arrived. I
was beyond caring. I ordered a salad and
a steak. The steak was like rubber
riddled with fat. The salad had a weird
smell to it, probably because they’d used too much vinegar. It was decorated like a ‘traditional’
Croatian tavern. So yeah, we’d walked
into a tourist trap (the steak was expensive too – 80 kn for just a steak –
about 11 euro).
While we were there others started arriving. All of them were tourists. I think they may have seen us go in and
assumed it would be ok. I feel
responsible for their s****y dinner.
Ok, so then we headed for The Tolkien Bar, though by this time it was
11:30pm and we were told on arrival that they closed at midnight. Just enough time for a pint! Well, I had a pint of their house lager –
Scott went for a high-alcohol-content Belgian beer that he liked. Turned out he was a beer connoisseur (or snob
– take your pick) who had been tasting all the beers of the various countries
he visited. Especially Belgium. Apparently Belgian beer is the bomb. I kind of had an inkling that that was the
case already.
Once we were kicked out we went back to the hostel to sleep. Oh, and Scott peed in the street. Though that’s not very important.
DAY TWO
It was my intention to go to Plitvice Lakes National Park on this
day. It was a two hour bus ride. It cost 80 kn each way, plus entry to the
park. I decided it wasn’t worth the
hassle and cost for what would basically amount to four hours of trudging
through snow for a couple of pretty pictures, so I stayed in the hostel.
I went out in the afternoon to grab some food – a 30cm sausage and some
more frujtles, this time with cinnamon.
Feeling like a fatty, but satisfied with that feeling, I walked around a
bit more, considered buying something from the market, didn’t, walked until I
reached the Museum of Contemporary Arts and Crafts, marveled at the impressive
building it was housed in and went back to the hostel. So… a pretty lazy day.
That evening Scott and I fully intended to get a seat at Mali Medo. We’d liked the look of it the day before and…
heck, we wanted in. We left at 6pm to
get to the bar at 7pm. By the time we
got there it was about half full, so we gleefully took a seat.
Mali Medo is a very pub-y feeling pub, and is fairly no-nonsense in what
they serve: beer and meat. The nice
thing is that the beer is homebrewed.
They offer five different tap beers costing around 2 euro for a half
litre,
We went for their best one first.
I actually liked it. Europe has
won me over with the beers, I think.
Scott was also impressed – I don’t think he had expected much, but he
said it was up there with the best beers he had had.
We decided the only appropriate thing to do would be to try all of the
beers, so as we finished one we would order the next on the list. I’m really starting to understand how people
can have a favourite beer (as long as their favourite beer is European –
Coronas still taste a bit like someone drank a lot of water and pissed in a
bottle to me, and the less said about Fosters and XXXX the better).
We each ordered a mixed grill (50 kn – about 6,50 euro) which was a
plate piled high with delicious, delicious meaty goodness. And some potatoes, but mostly meaty goodness.
As Scott got a little tipsier (I didn’t go too badly since I swapped my
final beer for a plate of chocolate and walnut pancakes, so only drank 2 litres
in total) he revealed that he was a sociopath who enjoyed making weapons as a
kid, respected countries that exerted military strength and thought everyone
should have a gun. Interestingly he
identified these as sociopathic tendencies within himself, so I can’t quite
decide whether that makes him a sociopath or not.
Anyway, he was a pretty nice guy for a sociopath (probably the last
thought of nearly every serial killer victim) and I was happy with my beer and
food, so just kind of went with it. In
fact, I think he might have been half joking.
The bartender kept trying to upsell us to the 1L steiners, but I was way
too sensible to do that (1L cost the same as 2 500mL anyway, so you might as
well go steady!) We did try a shot of
Croatian rajkia, various flavoured brandies.
Scott went for the hardest one, apple.
I was like: “…are there any easy ones?”
The bartender suggested strawberry.
“No, not a girly one. Just one
that won’t make me sick. Like… a middle
one.”
The bartender laughed and gave me a sour cherry shot.
I assume we were meant to shot it… though it was served in a lowball
glass. I didn’t see anyone else drinking
one (I saw them being served, just never caught them being drunk) so wasn’t
sure. The bartender did look a little
surprised when we downed it all in one go.
After we’d finished we went back to the hostel. I had a 200 kn note I was trying to get rid
of, so used it to pay my share and therefore received the bulk of the change. There was a moment where Scott was looking at
the bill, I had the change in my hand and the bartender was looking at us both,
confused.
“Is there something wrong?”
I realized Scott, being American, was trying to figure out the tip. I, being Australian, shoved 10kn into the
bartender’s hand and called it a day (10kn was definitely way too little, but
my brain wasn’t doing the math).
Then… bed bed bed bed bed.
DAY THREE
I’m not even sure why I’m calling this a day. Basically I got up, ate breakfast (there were
pancakes!) and went to the train station to catch the train to Ljubljana. The train was late, and I had a bit of a
panic when a random train was sitting at the platform my train was supposed to
be at, but it had a different destination written on it and the departures
board claimed my train hadn’t even arrived yet.
As it turned out, in Zagreb they sometimes have two trains at the same
platform, making things stupidly confusing for everyone.
A very uneventful six hour train ride later (seriously, now I’m out of
the west it seems transit is smooth sailing) and I was in Ljubljana.
(As a brief side note, I saw the first rain I have seen since Rome
pretty much as soon as I crossed the border into Slovenia. A not-so-impressive start.)
Ok, that was a quick one to knock out.
I don’t think Ljubljana will take too long either, but I guess you’ll
find out depending on when this story is
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