CROATIA and SLOVENIA

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Zagreb | Split | Varazdin

ZAGREB
This is the capital of Croatia, filled with barbecued corn stands, gold stores, and one strange bar / internet cafe combo. .

SPLIT
This large town on the gorgeous Dalmatian Coast is not one of the most beautiful, as it is a port town whose ghettoes begin only a few blocks away from the water on the Southern part of town. Still, it has fascinating ruins filled with cafes, shops and a fantastic CD store where you can get $23 field recordings for about $12. I spent some money here. There's also a main drag of more modern stores that are far cleaner than anything you'll find in Budapest or, unsurprisingly, Serbia. The tourist trade is in high gear here, and the summer nights are filled with fire spinners, hippies and wealthy Europeans ready to hit the street vendors. You can also get phenomenal pasta and risotto with fish here for about $4. The Italian influence is noticeable in the cuisine, which is great for people like me who shudder at non-Mediterranean European food. I got off the train from Zagreb in the pouring rain, trailing behind a racist skinhead and his apologetic girlfriend, who didn't seem to mind that his every other phrase was "fuckin' bitch." This made him laugh. He also mentioned that he could never visit America because he couldn't deal with seeing black people. This is when I made my exit. I was tired of meandering around in the rain, so I finally trailed a frumpy old woman in a headscarf and tattered dress with a sign that read SOBA ("room"). This was my second mistake. I wind up the streets that remind me how poor and war-torn this country really is -- concrete slabs crumbling, filthy alleys, discount marts and graffiti. It almost looks like a movie set. We finally get to her apartment and settle up. I think it was $12 per night for three nights, which was a bit of a rip off -- particularly considering that I spent my first night on the grass with a bunch of young kids, my second night clutching a pair of scissors and praying to god the 2 am commotion was not a drug deal going on in the hallway, and my third night in a hotel doing laundry in the bathroom sink. That middle night, probably the worst of my trip, was my 30th birthday to boot.

The night after, however, was quite better. Withered and weary from the 90 degree heat, I parked it at about 4 pm in a local pizza cafe and ordered some cheesy, crusty thing on the Atkins diet No No list. Typical for Europe, I waited for 30 minutes and no bill came, so I figure the best way to get the waiter scampering after me is to pick up and leave. I try this and he still doesn't come, so I loiter around these loud, obnoxious Canadians with frat boy buzz cuts. I'd had the misfortune of being within earshot of them for the duration of my meal. Finally the waiter comes, but by this time I'm intrigued by my noisome neighbors and agree to sit with them for a drink. Thus begain a nine hour conversation. Turns out they are NATO Peace Keeper officers stationed in Bosnia and out on leave for a few days. Croatia's coast is a common destination. One is about 40 and retiring soon -- he'd been in the service since his mid teens, I think. Another had just joined and was about this age, all eager and naive. He teaches me how to bum a cigarette like a Canadian: "Dart me bah, you dog fucker!" I have yet to test it out.

They are quite nicer and more intelligent than I'd anticipated and reinforced my tendency to get to know people specifically because I can't imagine finding anything to like about them. I am always wrong and joyful to be so. Turns out these guys are tremendously idealistic and stay in Bosnia because they fear the residents will tear each other apart if they leave. At first I thought they had the attitude that they were "saving the Bosnians from themselves" (sound familiar?), but they literally stood between two men who were trying to kill each other. They also had the best gypsy story I've heard. Most Europeans hate these unfortunate migrants (except those who, like myself, love their music), but these Canadians said the gypsies are their favorite folks. Whenever there is a skirmish, the gypsies hide in the shadows and wait for the fighting to stop. When all is quiet, they crawl out onto the field and retrieve the brass bullet casings to melt down and sell. Even the metal they don't want is collected into neat little piles. This saves the Canadians several hours' work.

VARAZDIN
This town is a four hour ride from Zagreb. I was meandering up the stairs one morning in Zagreb to hear that a festival was going on a few hours away in a village. On the town with Kaoru, a Japanese teenager who had never been on a European train, I stumbled into a tourist place and happened upon the festival brochure. It was a few weeks long and filled with indecipherable names and accented letters, except for the band playing that night -- Macedonia's Kocani Orkestar, one of my favorite gypsy brass bands. Needless to say, we had tickets and were on Kaoru's first train ride with in a few hours.

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