Zagreb vital statistics:

• Population (2018): 802,588 (city proper); 1,128,773 (metro)
• Latitude & longitude: 45˚ 49′ N, 15˚ 59′ E
• January average temperature: High 3.7˚C (38.7˚F), low -3˚C (26.6˚F)
• July average temperature: High 26.7˚C (80.1˚F), low 14.7˚C (58.5˚F)
• Time zone: GMT+2 (6 hours ahead of U.S. EDT)
• Language: Croatian (a.k.a. Serbo-Croatian)
• Currency: Croatian kuna
• Exchange rate: US$1=6.27 kuna
• Average monthly rent for a one-bedroom apartment in the city center: $476.63

Zagreb, Croatia’s capital and largest city, is conveniently (for me anyway) located just two hours east (inland) of Ljubljana. On 7 June 2018, I bade farewell to my friend T. in Ljubljana (well, OK, we actually said our goodbyes the before; she gets up early for work, whereas I most definitely do not) and hopped on a bus to Zagreb. Only two noteworthy things happened during the bus ride.

First, I saw this strange sun-cloud-shadow-rainbow thing out the bus window for much of the first half of the ride.

Second, the bus got held up for about 45 minutes at the Croatian side of the border when crossing overland from Slovenia into Croatia. (Slovenia and Croatia are both EU members, but Croatia is not a party to the Schengen Agreement, which eliminates customs and immigration checks for people crossing the border between Schengen member states, such between Spain and Portugal.) By contrast, when T., Kim, and I drove over the border from Croatia to Slovenia on 31 May, all that involved was the inspectors at the immigration toll booths on either side of the border perfunctorily stamping our passports with exit and entry stamps.

The bus border crossing protocol is that the bus has to stop at the checkpoint and all of the passengers have to get out, line up at the immigration counter, and get their passports inspected and stamped. There were four Indonesians (I know because I caught a glimpse of their passports) traveling together on the bus. When everyone on the bus got out to go through Croatian immigration, they were told to stand aside. Other Europeans, Americans, Canadians, South Koreans… we all zipped right through. There was a delay as the Croatian police made the Indonesians take their luggage out from the luggage compartment under the bus and then ran it through a metal detector or something. Then the Indonesians got back on the bus without their luggage and we got underway again.

But instead of continuing on, the bus looped back around to the Croatian entry checkpoint again. The rest of us just stayed on the bus and waited, while the four hapless Indonesians had to go back in to the immigration police station. After some more waiting, Croatian immigration gestured to our bus driver to continue on, without the Indonesians. I don’t know how (or if) they made it to Zagreb.

Which reminds me, a similar thing happened when I flew into Split. There were some Southeast Asian-looking people (this time, I didn’t see their passports) ahead of me in the airport immigration line. Until they showed up, the line was moving pretty quickly. But it ground to a halt when the Southeast Asians got to the front of the line. Another Croatian immigration inspector gestured to those of us standing in line behind them, and we all moved over to a different line, had our passports scanned and stamped in a quick, businesslike manner, and were on our way.

I don’t know what that was all about. Maybe there are issues with Indonesian drug smuggling, human smuggling, or illegal immigration in Croatia. Or maybe Croatians are just racist. Search me!

In any event, I made it to the main bus station in Zagreb a little behind schedule, hopped on one of the city’s bright blue trams, was confused about how to pay, saw some people get on at the next stop and buy tickets from the conductor, and at the next stop, did the same. Again doing as the Romans did, I validated my ticket by sticking the bar code end of the tiny ticket into a yellow machine near the front of the tram, which made a noise but didn’t punch a hole in the ticket as I expected. Shortly thereafter I was in the heart of the city. I walked over to my Airbnb apartment, met my host, and then got settled in to what would be my home for the next six days: a cute, tiny studio apartment.

Airbnb apartments, when I can afford them, are my favorite travel lodging option. They combine elements I like about hotels (private room and private bathroom) with those I like about staying in a room in somebody’s house (fully equipped kitchen and washing machine). This apartment disappoints a little in the latter category, as it doesn’t have a washer and the kitchen lacks some basic supplies like plates, bowls, pots, pans, a corkscrew, a can opener, etc. But what it lacks in facilities it makes up in location. It’s perfectly situated in the center of the city. A short walk north leads to Zagreb’s historic upper city, while the “green horseshoe” (or “Lenuci’s horseshoe, named after the 19th-century city planner who laid it out) of parks, museums, and stately buildings in the modern lower city is a short walk east. I arrived in the early afternoon, and after unpacking, I set out to explore the former.

My apartment is tucked into a little courtyard. Unfortunately, the courtyard does little to dampen noise, as I discovered that first night. Zagreb may not quite be the city that never sleeps, but it stays up until 4am, even on Thursday nights. (And, predictably, on Friday and Saturday nights too. Tonight, Sunday night, is quiet though.) Thank you Turkish Airlines for the earplugs!

The area in the immediate vicinity of my apartment is an interesting mix of older and newer buildings, peppered with typical European features like outdoor cafés and graffiti.

My first stop was a fun little people-watching square called Trg (remember “Trg” is Croatian for “Square”; need a vowel there? Place a “u” in between the “t” and “r”) Petar Preradovića.

The glassy building on the left there is a shopping mall with several shops, including a supermarket and a store selling health and beauty products (on a trip this long, I frequently have to resupply my stock of toiletries such as sunblock, shaving cream, and toothpaste). I’ve been favorably impressed with the frequency of urban supermarkets in every country I’ve visited in Europe so far. The only tricky thing is identifying them. As in Washington, D.C., say, where you learn over time that Safeway, Giant, Harris Teeter, and Trader Joe’s are all local supermarket chains, each region of Europe has its own brands. It takes a while to recognize them. (Croatian and Slovenian supermarkets include Spar, Konzum, and Tommy; dm and Müller are good places to buy toiletries.)

From there, I crossed Ilica, Zagreb’s long tram-track-laden shopping street, and entered Zagreb’s Times Square, Jelačić Square.

I’m not sure why café culture is so huge in Europe and so minimal in the U.S. I suppose one reason is America’s car-centric culture. It’s not wise to hit the bottle after work when you have to drive home afterward (although that hasn’t diminished the popularity of bars, so who knows?). In Europe, by contrast, as far as I can tell, very few people have cars, and nobody (except waiters in cafés, restaurants, and bars), to all appearances, has a job.

It’s not that Americans don’t like cafés. Outdoor tables at bars and restaurants in Washington, D.C. are mobbed during the summer. Maybe it’s that day drinking isn’t really a part of our culture (stupid Puritans). But just think how much more fun the National Mall would be if, besides the food trucks and hot dog and ice cream stands, those wide gravel pedestrian paths were lined with umbrella-shaded cafés, serving coffee, beer, wine, and occasionally food? It would be so much more inviting!

But back to Zagreb and Jelačić Square. Right after I took that selfie, barely five minutes into my exploration of Zagreb, a somewhat bedraggled woman came up to me begging for money (I think; I made that call based on her pleading gestures, since I couldn’t understand what she was saying). The first panhandler I’ve seen since Porto! While not in the same league with large American cities in this regard, Zagreb has its share of panhandlers and homeless people. That’s one of the differences I immediately noted between this place and the cute, tidy Slovenian capital. Zagreb is also much larger and sprawling than Ljubljana, and while I’m hardly the only tourist here, the locals handily outnumber tourists even at the city’s signature sights.

Following my Rick Steves Zagreb walk, I next headed over to the funicular (basically a train car that’s pulled uphill by cables; think Hong Kong’s Peak Tram; Porto and Ljubljana also have them) that leads uphill to the aptly named upper town. Specifically, to Gradec, one of the two villages that eventually merged in the 19th century to become Zagreb. The city boasts (I guess) that its funicular is the shortest one in the world. That’s a shrewd marketing gimmick. Looking up at it, I thought first, “This is ridiculous. I’m fit. I can easily climb those stairs.” Then I reconsidered: “But it’s the shortest one in the world. That’s something to blog about. And it only costs four kuna ($0.64). Why not?”

And from there, I started exploring Zagreb’s historic upper town.

The following day, I returned to this neighborhood (this time taking the stairs), to visit the quirky Museum of Broken Relationships. Each exhibit in the museum is some memento of a relationship — usually a romantic relationship, but also parent-child and so forth — that has ended through splitting up, death, or abandonment, and is accompanied by English and Croatian explanatory text.

I went through the entire museum and afterward I just felt really sad. Which is kind of counterintuitive. I’m single and unattached, after all, and if anything, this musem should have convinced me I’m better off that way! But many of the exhibits included poems, diary entries, works of art, and so forth expressing the depth of feelings people in these relationships had. Others spoke to fun little rituals the couples had. In the case of one long-distance relationship, the couple had a stuffed caterpillar and ripped off a leg each time they met (when they broke up, the caterpillar still had plenty of legs left). Another couple had a game where, whenever they found a discarded playing card on the street, depending upon what card it was, they had to do some random activity together (for the joker, I think it was flying to some city they’d never been to and spending a weekend there).

I felt sad because, however painfully those relationships may have ended, I’ve never experienced the deep romantic connection that those couples felt. I’ve had relationships, sure, and there was definitely initial attraction on my part, but I’ve never been in love with any of the women I’ve dated. After two weeks, if not sooner, my desire wanes and I can’t wait to be single again, so I don’t have to worry about what she’s feeling or whether I’m letting her down. I’ve only met a handful of girls and women in my life that I’ve gotten all googly-eyed over (Was I in love with them? Is that what love is? Or were those just crushes?), where I think I could have been capable of really having a deep romantic connection, but either my feelings were unrequited or my timing was off (they were off the market).

I thought, “Am I somehow emotionally stunted? Am I too shy to open myself up enough to allow me to experience romantic love? Am I too selfish and set in my bachelor ways to make the compromises and trade-offs that relationships demand? Subconsciously, am I only deeply attracted to uninterested or unavailable women because I’m afraid of connecting with another person at a romantic level? If I’m not defective in some way, then how is it that I’m 40 years old and I’ve never found love? Just once in my life, I would like to experience falling madly head over heels in love with someone and, incredibly, miraculously, she feels the same way about me. Even if it doesn’t last. But again, I’m 40 years old. If it was going to happen, it would have happened by now. There definitely must be something wrong with me.”

Those types of thoughts left me in a funk for much of the rest of that day. Taking four months off work gives you plenty of time to think, but thinking can be a double-edged sword. What finally brought me out of the gloom, later that night, was a Tinder match I had. (Because what does a museum about breakups inspire me to do? Why, to use a dating app, of course.)

She wanted to meet up for ice cream right away, but a thunderstorm delayed our plans. And I started thinking: “She lives two miles away in a boring neighborhood. And she has a dog. What if she wants to hang out the whole time I’m in Zagreb? The problem with women with dogs is, they always want to hang out near their place, which is always in a less cool neighborhood than my place, so they can walk the dog and give it attention. I won’t be able to see and do the things that I want to do. And where will I find time to catch up on my blogging, and to prepare for my next destination?”

And so I let my Tinder connection drop. And I immediately felt better. Freedom! The world is my oyster again! Bachelorhood definitely suits me.

Ironically, a few steps away from the Museum of Broken Relationships, I stumbled upon another one of those railings adorned with locks symbolizing couples’ love.

The railing was on a rather scenic platform overlooking Zagreb Cathedral and the lower city. A TV or movie film crew was there filming a scene. They had a set there that looked like a café, with plenty of extras in the shot opening and closing their mouths as if talking but not actually making any noise. That was pretty cool to see.

But back to 7 June. I passed the museum and headed up toward the Church of St. Mark, with its colorful tile roof featuring crests of Croatia and Zagreb.

Enough for now. I’ll continue my tour of Zagreb in my next post.