Chapter 10: Empty Zagreb/Full Zagreb

There’s a yin and yang of travel. Whereas our train ride to Budapest was serendipitously lovely, the journey to Zagreb, Croatia was decidedly less so. The air conditioning in our packed train car was broken, and the windows didn’t open – not the ideal scenario for a 5-hour trip through a 90 degree August day.

Twenty minutes into the ride, the car was a hotbox awash in a miasma of sweat and unidentifiable odors. The girls daintily dabbed at their foreheads while the guys removed their shoes and socks and flapped their hats in a desperate attempt to generate a zephyr of relief. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat as Lily, stowed beneath Rachel, began to pant – slowly at first, then heavily. Short-nosed dogs are notoriously unable to handle high temperatures; Lily is no exception, and Rachel and I exchanged worried glances.

I strolled up and down the train in reconnaissance, looking for cooler options, and finally passed a private enclosed booth with A/C and a few empty seats. I sent Rachel as emissary to plead for assistance, in the hope that a dainty woman would receive a more cordial reception than a large sweaty man who quite frankly probably smelled like our locker room in high school when we changed after a wrestling match. The gambit worked, and I joined her shortly thereafter.

We were finally leaving the Schengen area, that group of 26 European countries that have abolished border controls between them, and our train came to a halt at a tiny town on the Hungarian-Croatian border for our first passport check since arriving in Paris two months ago. The gruff Croatian police marched on board to check passports and vaccination cards while the passengers chatted nervously to themselves. We heard a few harsh words exchanged in the adjoining train car, followed shortly by a jumble of commotion as a man and his wife and two small children were brusquely escorted off the train along with their suitcases and diaper bags and a bulky baby stroller. Our train pulled away and we watched their dejected faces retreat into the countryside as they stood on a dusty train platform in the middle of nowhere, Hungary, with a toddler and an infant and the sun quickly setting.

Because we’d already used up half of our allotted “90 days out of every 180” Schengen visa, Rachel and I had decided to stay for two weeks in Zagreb. Our first week in the city was underwhelming. Many of the restaurants and shops were closed, illegible hand-written signs hanging in the windows. Our AirBnb was disappointing – dingy and slightly below ground level – and we soon developed cabin fever from working on our laptops while perching on small chairs shoved against the kitchen counter.

I’ll concede that it’s slightly unfair to Zagreb that we had just come from Paris, Rome, Venice, et al, but we couldn’t see a great deal that was particularly charming about the city. There was a cool street downtown with lots of bars and restaurants representing many cultures (great Indian food), and St. Mark’s Church with its attractive tiled roof…

…but not much going on, and mostly empty streets. We were somewhat perplexed because we’d watched several YouTube videos by travelers who were enchanted with the city.

One couple in particular had effusively opined about the friendliness of Croatians, but we. um. do. not. agree. I can’t count the number of times I’ve waved or given a head nod to a neighbor or passing stranger, and received only a blank stare in return; we finally stopped attempting to engage with anyone unless actively purchasing food or wine or a train ticket.

Rachel doesn’t mind too much: Croatia is the first country where locals don’t approach her while she’s walking Lily. Everywhere else we’ve been, strangers will bend and pet our dog’s small head while launching into an unintelligible foreign-language monologue before Rachel has a chance to politely inform them that she doesn’t understand a word of it. For some reason they never come up to me. Wonder why. Maybe that locker-room thing I mentioned earlier.

On the Monday of our second week in Zagreb, we took Lily out for a morning walk, and blinked in surprise. The streets were bustling, the coffee shops were open, and the fish market nearby had thrown their doors open to display fresh-caught wares. We later learned that the previous day’s Catholic holiday (Assumption of Mary) was the unofficial signal for all Zagrebians to return from their long August vacation on the Croatian coast.

So, our second week was somewhat more eventful, as the city returned to life and flipped all its Closed signs over to Open.

On Thursday, Rachel’s 2nd 35th birthday, we wandered around the city at her request in an attempt to obtain simultaneous pedicures. I was distraught when our search proved futile – distraught I tell you – and we Uber’d to nearby Jarun Lake for a lively food truck festival.

The next day we ate traditional Croatian strukli, which is a pan of baked cheese with a bit of dough underneath.

We sampled the two main flavors – salty and sweet – although they both pretty much just tasted like a pan of baked cheese with a bit of dough underneath.

I assume it was healthy. I didn’t ask.