"It's the Harry Potter train," Alysia exclaimed. Well it wasn't a steam train but we were seated in our own compartment for our trip to Zagreb. It was a pleasant surprise having risen early to get the train. And to know we were definitely in one of the rear three carriages: We would not be shunted off to Slovakia or somewhere equally out of the way. Austria, sensing our disappointment, turned on her best weather to fare us well - cold and rain. There was plenty of time for reflection too. Had we been too critical of Vienna? Probably. The fact we didn't enjoy it; perhaps a reflection on how uncultured we are. In five years time our take on her might be completely different.
Alysia was dozing before we had even left the outer suburbs and it was at about this time I gathered enough motivation to blog. The countryside, though, would soon prove a distraction. Like most places across Europe, being summer, there was a lot of corn being grown. To my surprise though there were also what appeared to be family gardens with which to put food on the table or perhaps earn a little money.
About three hours out of Vienna our train pulled up in the country's south for "16 minutes". Here the door of our apartment was yanked back and two burly cops said "passports". They were quickly scanned, stamped and returned. Before I could think "you forgot to close the door" more people were standing over us. "Passports". Okay? This time we got a stamp signifing our entry to Croatia. Before them it was the Austrians making sure we were leaving. Before we could process all this a Croatian women was asking us if we had anything to declare. Of course we did not. Alysia looked at me and I back at her. "Is that it?" We were half expecting someone to come and check our tickets for the fourth time but no one came. The whole experience made us realise how lucky we are, being from Australia, passing easily through immigration everywhere. Not like the Iraqis we watched Romania turn away on our brief connection there a week earlier, or in London at the very start of our adventure.
Onward the train rolled toward Zagreb. To fill the time I tried to learn us some Croatian/Serbian without much progress. Without hearing the words we had no idea if we would pronounce them right. The easiest would would be "pardon" which, like in English, is "excuse me". Sorry is something else altogether and thank you is hvala.
The train arrived in Zagreb more than six hours after we left but, impressively, on time. From the platform we found the free inner city tram. We travelled the three stops as told to find our hostel - Hobo Bear - just off the main road. We weren't entirely sure we had found it though as there was no signage screaming "hostel" like we'd seen everywhere else. But what really set the pulse racing was the notice on the entrance door to the office/common room that advised the hostel was closed due to water problems. Thankfully this was not the case; someone had just forgoten to take the sign down.
With the bags deposited in the room, basement dungeo that smelt of damp but was clean and had character, we set out to explore Zagreb knowing virtually nothing about it. We found an old Roman church on the hill and nearby the daily markets. But what we really wanted was a meal to sit down to. We found this in the city's old town. Virtually every building in this strip was pastel coloured and sold food. Alysia ordered a pizza and I was persuaded into a rib eye steak for 70 Kuna - 14 aussie dollars. Both were well received leaving us rather stuffed.
This probably explained our lack of zest when it came to exploring in what little was left of the afternoon. The main square pointed every which way to muesums but none grabbed us. Instead we sat by a fountain and watched numerous parents and grandparents tempt fate, getting the little 'uns excited about the water before dragging them away all despondent.
Our last ditch attempt at exploring was short lived, yet we were for once thankful, for our feeble effort ended within a few steps of the hostel when the rain started teaming down. Inside things were a lot drier including the humour. Particularly from the two South London boys occupying the lounge. The frivolity peaked though with their presentation of the Nobel Peace Prize to Michael, from Melbourne. He discovered the porn channel showing Anal Explosion. They only wished it was Big Titties instead.
Sam (September 8)
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