Why Croatia?

The most frequently asked question I get about my Croatian vacation is, "Why Croatia?"

At a Kagan workshop, I was "shoulder" partner with Donna Bronzan, colleague, and the topic for sharing was to describe a place you would love to go. I told about New York having never been but imagining what I might like to see there. Then Donna began describing the Dalmatian Coast. My first thought went to a place with short-haired black spotted dogs. As she described its beauty and culture, I was enchanted. She mentioned that indeed her and husband were planning a summer trip ... so I invited myself.

When I got home, I mentioned it to Petey. She envisioned a third-world country, "It this a missionary trip with some church?"

"No, it's a 'regular' place in Europe. It's the coast of Croatia." I replied.

"Where is it?" she asked.

My head tilted like a Dalmatian might, "Not sure ... let's check our world map." We proceeded to the spare bedroom in our house where I had pasted a world-map mural on the wall ... copyright 1992. We began searching for Croatia. It wasn't there. And thus began a new research topic for Petey & I with the first purchase the newest edition of Rick Steves' travel book.

The quickest way I describe the location of Croatia is, "Italy is shaped like a boot. The back of the boot is the Adriatic Sea. On the other shore of that sea is Croatia." Then I add in a smart-alec tone, "It's been on the map since B.C. but the names have changed."

2 Pay Toilets are a Pushover

Traveling in a foreign land I have come to expect a problem every now and then. What I didn’t expect on our Croatia trip was that my first challenge would come long before boarding our plane.

I had a Starbucks “tall” in my bladder dying to be recycled so I dashed into the Vons market near Santa Clarita. Quickly scanning the large signs against the back walls I read, Deli, Bakery, Produce, Dairy … nothing spelled relief. Ah, there to the left the familiar girl in skirt, boy in pants icon. As I reached out to push the door I was blocked by a coin operated handle. What? Pay toilets in America? I started to get peed … literally. With legs tightly crossed dancing on my tip-toes like a hyper boy without his Ritalin, I dug deep into my left pocket hoping to retrieve the magic coin that would unlock this evil barrier denying my happiness. Just then, Petey passed me toward her designated comfort zone. She, much more observant than I, read the sign posted on the door, “no coin needed.” She pushed the door and entered her space. I took her lead … when it doubt, push … ahhhh.

2 England Ties

Our layover at Heathrow was five hours. The airport is massive, spread out. We boarded a super fast shuttle from one terminal to the next then jumped on a single-decker white bus for a 15 minute drive to another terminal. The airport is nicely laid out with plenty of good signage directing our paths though “following the crowds” is my preferred means weaving the human maze. We were “processed” in 30 minutes then found our way to the shopping mall inside Terminal 1. Twenty-five duty-free shops lined both sides of long narrow mall with pubs and lounge seats striped down the middle. We plopped ourselves across four open lounge seats, donned the eye covering we got form British Airways, and took a nap. After the long 10 hour flight, the horizontal position was heaven … sweet dreams.

My nap ended with a loud roar. I snapped to an upright position. Still groggy, I peeled off the eye shades and scanned the mall to determine who I should be mad at for interrupting my beauty sleep. A very large crowd had gathered adjacent to my make-shift bed and swarmed around a 50 inch plasma TV engrossed in a World Cup Soccer quarterfinal game. Germany had just scored and the crowd went nuts. Great game.

Leaving Petey to guard the bags, I walked up and down the mall to window shop. In a noveltz store I couldn,t resist a car magazing sporting the newest Alfa Spider on the cover with a lead story about why Alfa lovers are still in love with Alfa … great souvenir for Russ. My $10 bill was converted taken and English Pounds returned for change. A little further down the mall my eye was turned by a tie rack. A huge sale sign pointed to a collection of ties in the theme of England soccer. The Brits love their soccer but now scorn their poorly performing team since they could only tie the US team and eventually dropped out of the Cup. As a symbolic gesture for this hatred, the ties were marked at “throw away” prices. I picked up a $30 tie for less than $3. The lovely cashier requested 1.65 pound but I only had change in my pocket for 1.5 pound. She took it then pinched her nose with one hand while gingerly handing the tie over the with her other like it was a smelly sock. Ya gotta love the passion the Brits have for soccer.

3 The Bronzan Connection

At gate 52 we connected with the Bronzan’s who had taken a later flight. It was good to see them. Dave looked great, rare’n to go in spite of surviving a recent root canal. “Love the hat Dave.” Speaking of roots, David has strong ties to Croatia, half Croatian on his father’s side with multiple trips under his belt. Donna, his wife and my colleague, is also an experienced traveler to the Adriatic. She carries a bright smile that lights up a room and in this case the Croatian Air boarding area. Donna does a great Croatian accent and can spell most Croatian towns. She carried the heavy lifting of planning the flights and the general itinerary. She emailed the group plans and potential excursions whose detail would have put a tour guide to shame. Petey and I feel blessed to be traveling next to their experienced wing.

Croatia Air took us to Zagreb airport where we picked up our Sixt rental car, a silver 4-passenger, diesel fuel, manual transmission, Opel Vectra … zoom, zoom. We quickly named her Opel. Uncertain of my insurance coverage, I opted for the extra $48 “just-in-case-you’re-an-idiot-driver” package that covered all harm that may come to Opel or all harm that I may inflict on others while driving a foreign car on foreign roads. It was 8:30 PM, the setting sun in the distant sky created an orange glow over the mountain range to the west. Outside the terminal we took a deep breath. Croatian air, warm, pleasant, it smelled fresh … we were standing on new ground.

3 Detour in the Dark

I asked the Sixt clerk directions to our hotel about 15 miles into the city. The man at the counter rattled off a sequence of rights, lefts, lights, under the pass, over the pass, first-turn comments with long Russian-sounding names sprinkled in. Petey noticed my glazed eyes and poignantly asked, “Did you get that?” I wanted to say yes because I’m a college educated, experienced male driver … I sheepishly admitted that he lost me at the part about where to find the parking lot. “Can I get a map?” I asked. He went to the back office and returned with a “Disneyland” map, the kind that has all the relevant landmarks but is not exactly drawn to scale.

We stuffed our luggage into Opel, jumped into the 4-passenger cloth seats and set sail. David rode shotgun with our Disneyland map in hand, Donna my second co-pilot kept a sharp eye on signs and Petey my third co-pilot read the Rick Steves book as we exited the airport toward the Zagreb, the Croatian capital and largest city where 1 out of 6 Croatians live. The stick-shift was fun, responsive handling, good pep. We came to our first traffic light … I stalled trying to start in third gear … sorry Opel. At that point, I had exhausted my short term memory of the clerk’s direction and turned to my three co-pilots for navigation tips. Using the Disneyland map as our main reference, we took an exit toward the direction of our hotel but we were deceived. The exit bent left and led us in the opposite direction onto an expressway. Now keep in mind that my night vision is poor. I squinted for an exit to turn around but all I could make out were the large neon signs across the expressway telling me that I was approaching a toll gate … not that I knew what a toll gate looked like … but the red taillights of cars in front of me were piling up and we were pointed toward a one-way toll booth lane. I stopped in the road before committing to the lane. I quickly scanned the situation and put Opel in reverse as my three co-pilots were simultaneously shouted advice. I panicked. A white politja (police) car caught my eye so I reversed my reverse and entered the tool booth lane.

To the toll man I admitted my plight, “I didn’t mean to enter the toll road; I’m lost; where is my hotel?” Though sympathetic, the man admonished me for not pulling into the parking area before getting into the pay lane. I thought, “What parking area? It’s dark, I’m old and I didn’t see any parking area.” He gave me my two options: “Back up, jump curb, maybe that high,” he measured with his hands about 8 inches apart, “or go toll road 22 kilo-meters, turn round, pay toll.” On one hand, I did purchase extra insurance but poor Opel; I would hate to damage the car on day 1. On the other hand, we were US dollar rich and Kuna poor. Little did I know that the next day I would become an expert at curb jumping.

Another gruff looking toll man stepped in and got my attention. He pointed toward the toll road and barked, “Rules!” I grabbed a toll ticket and drove ahead. We were now heading away from the city in the opposite direction of our hotel. At the critical 22 km mark I missed the turn because … I missed the turn! Petey asked with great hindsight, “Didn’t you keep track on the odometer?”

“I missed the turn! OK!” I replied calmly.

Now let’s say you’re driving from Visalia to Goshen? If you miss the Betty Drive exit on Hwy 99 you have to drive all the way to Traver before you can turn around to backtrack to the Betty Drive exit. That was me … I just missed Betty Drive and now I’m on my way to Karlovac … perhaps. Thirty minutes later we reach the next toll, paid to get off, turned around, drove 30 minutes back through the other toll, paid again to get off. We were right back where we started. After a few more “asking for directions” stops and we were securely tucked into our “Hotel I” beds by 24:00 Croatian time.

4 Snake Hose

“Hotel I” was the name of our Zagreb accommodations. They had a good buffet breakfast with a nice assortment of meats, cheeses, yogurt, fruits, beverages, and desserts. Dessert for breakfast? Why not. They were a welcome treat. They didn’t have wireless access but did have an Internet closet … two desktops hard-wired. I got an early start on my posts but struggled with a keyboard that swapped the “Y” and “Z” key and had me hunting for the @ and apostrophe keys.

Petey made bathtub-fun with the shower. In the morning, she was the first in. Not long after I heard a screech from the bathroom. I guessed a Croatian spider and rushed in … slowly. No spider. She just watered down the ceiling with the hand nozzle. Most showers we used in Croatia had a flexible hand nozzle you attach to a holder about eye level. It takes the place of the traditional shower-head. It’s a simple device really. In our shower, the holder was broken but Petey didn’t know that until she pulled the shower knob to divert the water from the tub spigot to the hand nozzle. She got a blast in the face then the hose flew off the holder and started spraying everywhere. It was like one of those backyard water snakes you used to play with as a kid. The nozzle was flailing around while Petey was trying to catch it with one eye closed from the initial squirt. She finally reached the valve and turned off the water. "Wasn't that fun!"

4 David's Birthday on the 4th of July

Sunday morning, Independence Day back home and Dave’s birthday in Zagreb, the drive to downtown was simple now that we had daylight, a good map, some sleep and three “road tested” navigators. This capital city is a hum of activity; the town is a mix of old rundown Communist 5-6 story buildings and newly constructed high rises. The “Centar” or downtown area is historic. I love the circle-dot icon on the road signs pointing the way to downtown. We followed a self-guided tour enjoying the majesty of an enormous 100-year old Neo-Gothic cathedral called “the cathedral,” the bustling market place where Petey knocked over a stack of nectarines, the joyous worship singing in the famous St. Catherine’s Church and St. Mark’s Church that sports the fancy tile roof with a coat of arms of Croatia and the city seal of Zagreb. Next to St. Mark’s is the parliament buildings which are stately but concrete heavy, nothing green, not one flower, not one tree, not even a weed.

An educational tour of the Naive Art Museum enriched our understanding of peasant life under communists rule. These artists were untrained and yet their work took Paris by storm. They painted mostly on glass because it was cheap and easy. They painted in a figurative way rather than the trendy abstract style. Down the street I climbed the 100-stair Burglars’ Tower to get a commanding panoramic view of the city and just in time to see a citizen fire the old cannon that once guarded the city. The cannon fires each day at noon to commemorate the 15th-century victory over the besieging Ottomans. Dave, Donna, and Petey were resting just below the cannon wall when its loud bang echoed toward the city. Petey hit the deck assuming some catastrophe was soon to come … sorry honey, just me.

I love walking through foreign streets listening to the unique sounds and the different languages. The “upper town” of Zagreb is a mix of locals and international tourists. The locals were busy in their routines shopping in the market, selling homemade wares and traveling the public system. The tourists pick through the popup sidewalk souvenir stands around Jelicič Square or browsing the little shops that line the narrow bending streets. On a Sunday, people are relaxed, chatty, comfortable. The place feels safe. Graffiti however, old graffiti marks many walls. It stains the splendor of the city which seems old and rundown because of it. On our self-guided tour we wandered off the beaten path into a homeless park. All the elements of a growing democracy are at hand … the good and the bad.