Some entries from Croatia and Serbia

Zagreb, Croatia

Day 1

07.03.11

Getting on the bus at 9:30 in Lugano, I notice one thing that suggests our final destination: Croat-Serb signs. “Izlaz za slucaj opasnosti.” Something to the effect of, “Open window in case of emergency.” The other thing I notice is the intense amount of orange decor of this Croatian bus: orange seats, orange curtains, orange ceilings. So, settling into our orange seats, we set out on a nine-hour bus ride.

A great deal of the ride was spent in Italy, until to my surprise, we suddenly crossed the Slovenian border. Despite my excitement of unexpectedly entering a new country that I could put on my list, I didn’t notice anything particularly different about the country. The climate changed from arid looking to mountainous to snowy all within the span of three hours, and the only signs of life were the small clusters of villages situated near the highway. 

Only after it grew dark did we finally enter Croatia, and soon after, the city of Zagreb. The city itself looked like any thriving European city; there were people dressed nicely walking around everywhere, enjoying the nightlife, laughing and talking. The architecture reminded me greatly of other European cities I had visited before, except the fact that some of the buildings had facades that were a bit damaged, inevitably leftover from the turmoil of the Yugoslavian war. 

After checking into our luxurious four-star hotel, we set out as a group to go to dinner. The restaurant was styled traditionally and the food was exceptional. We were given an allowance of 200 kunas, or the equivalent of 40 USD. With that, I was able to get red wine, a delicious pumpkin soup, and a beef-steak in an Istrian sauce (which basically turned out to be a kind of meaty tomato stew). I only ended up using 160 kunas. It became apparent that the US Dollar has quite a bit of value in Eastern Europe. In fact, I later learned that the money my professor spent on dinner for us that night was the equivalent to a month’s salary for a typical Croatian family.

Although dinner filled me up and I was getting sleepy from a long day of travel, I wanted to go out and experience the nightlife. Luckily for us, we had a native Croatian traveling with us who lives in Zagreb. She took us to meet up with her friends at a small hole-in-the-wall bar tended by two matronly women who seemed unfazed the the rambunctious nature of the people there. When we arrived, six Croatian guys, including Katarina’s boyfriend were already seated and drinking when we joined. Soon after we sat down, they stood up on the chairs and started singing at the top of their lungs to the juke-box songs that were playing. It was a wonderful night, and her friends were incredibly kind and entertaining.

Slovenia

View from the outside of the hotel in Zagreb, Croatia.

Day 2

08.03.11

Our second day began with a bubbly Croatian tourguide who was eager to show us the sights of the city. We began with the museum of Modern Art, a few steps from our hotel. The art inside was beautiful, and was arranged chronologically so that people could see how the country’s history was reflected in the style, type, and subject matter of the artwork. The oppression of the Croatian people under Socialism was evident, especially within the paintings of Nikola Brevic?, who depicted the rise and fall through his use of night city-landscapes and flags which represented the government rule. We next got on the bus with our guide, who gave commentary as we toured the city’s major points of interest. 

Modern Art Museum of Zagreb.

My friend Andrey hiding behind a statue.

Modern Art Museum of Zagreb.

A beautiful yellow building we saw on our bus tour, not sure of the name.

Supposedly the most popular cafe in Zagreb

What would seem to be a typical day in the life of a tourist was interrupted when we arrived at our next destination: the Zagreb Museum of Contemporary Art. I am usually not a fan of art museums; I am often uninterested as I find the paintings to all achieve the same effect after several rounds of walking around a room. But this museum showcased art from every kind of creative and imaginative discipline, rooted in the history of Eastern Europe. For example, one Bosnian artist who was angry with the fact that the Dutch military had failed to protect them when they needed it most, created a satiric piece. The Dutch looked down on the Bosnians, and viewed the women with certain stereotypes. These were written on a blown up photo of the artist: “No teeth? A mustache? Smel like shit? Bosnian Girl!!!” The word smell was purposely misspelled to emphasize the fact that although the Dutch saw the Bosnians as uneducated and worthless, many of the soldiers were just as ignorant. This example was just one of many amazing talents throughout the museum, which ranged from art using shadow and light to art using fire and resin. The best part of the museum, hands down, was the slides. There were these amazing, modern looking tunnel slides that went from the top of the building, curving and winding around each other, down to the terrace outside. So naturally, we exited through the slides, sixteen university students screaming in delight as they swooshed down to the ground. 

Dinner was a simple affair, although getting there was not so simple, as large groups of people trying to find a destination they have no idea how to get to can be difficult. But once we reached the large brasserie style restaurant, we ordered a round of beers and tried to decipher the distinctly Croatian-style menu. Opting for the safe choice, I ordered chicken medallions in a champignon sauce with potatoes. Losing weight is really not an option during Academic travel. I spent probably about twelve USD including my beer. Not too bad.

Afterwards, we went out to the same bar and met up with the same people. I can honestly say I enjoyed their company greatly, and I was quite lucky to get to know locals. Meeting locals is the best way to find out more about any culture; what I did find out, was that the Croatian people are easygoing, quite often rowdy, but unfailingly loyal and respectful, especially towards women. Of course, this was only representative of Zagreb, whereas the majority of Croatians do not receive secondary education and live in the countryside in poverty. The repercussions of a formerly Socialist state trying their best for democracy, I suppose. Even in Zagreb, thirteen people lose their jobs a day, and the protests, although legal, have no effect whatsoever and create no change. I can honestly say, I would never have been able to learn all of the things I discovered in Zagreb in a classroom lecture. Once again, I have Franklin to thank for that.

Belgrade, Serbia

Day Three

09.03.11

Today we are back on the orange bus, driving through the Croatian countryside to reach Serbia. After leaving Zagreb, there are drastic changes in scenery. Firstly, all along the highway, there are farming fields. Beyond those fields, are rows of houses, pressed up against hills to make the most room for agriculture. The fields are the leftovers of Socialist farming, in which the crops were distributed for everyone in the country. The remnants of this remain, including dilapidated farm houses which attain to the economic conditions of the “regular people” of the country. Also I notice that there are almost no rest stops. Professor Duduovic says this is because during the war, nobody went between Croatia and Serbia - there were absolutely no relations.

        When we arrived in Belgrade, I realized it was going to be nothing like Zagreb. Croatia was noticeably more Westernized and developed, whereas many aspects of Belgrade were dilapidated and obsolete. The main tourist streets of course had modern shops and nice restaurants, however the other parts of the city were older and dirtier. There were many buildings that had suffered destruction from the NATO bombings of 1999, and had never been rebuilt or torn down. Public spaces such as parks had debris and torn up earth throughout, and when we entered the University of Belgrade - we noticed that many of the light fixtures were broken and according to our professor, could not be replaced for lack of funds.

View from the hotel window (Hotel Moskva - an old Gestapo headquarters?!!? and supposedly haunted.)

Victim of the NATO bombings.

A Train of Thought

The first words that come to my mind when I lay eyes on her are sleek and polished. The curvature of her body is especially pleasing to the human eye, as well as her unique coloring. Her base coat is pure white, with a thick strip of black running from front to end. The primary colors red, green, blue, and yellow alternate with each of her segments, suggesting a captivating simplicity. Her temperament, from what I observe, is a combination of many different things. She is quiet and elegant, as well as timely and efficient. She is generous to her patrons, and helpful to those who seek her aid in traveling somewhere new. She wears her name proudly in bold block lettering: SBB CFF FFS; she is a member of the elite Swiss rail system.

The life of this train, like all other trains, is most nomadic: she spends her days gliding along the boundless railroads which traverse the country, stopping occasionally as her conductor requires. On this particular afternoon, she has made a stop at the train station of Lugano, sliding right next to Binario 1 where I am seated. From our mutual vantage point, perched two hundred and fifty meters above the lake, the view is stunning.  A maze of cobbled, narrow streets lined with Italian-influenced architecture leads the eye to a shimmering teal-green lake, whose visible perimeter is dotted generously with palm trees. To the unaware, this image seems like an illusion: a Swiss city in the dead of winter cannot possibly be so tropical. However, looking towards the cloudless sky, the snow capped Alps verify our location and we know that this is indeed reality. The late afternoon sun shines brightly between the gaps of the covered platforms. Although it is still January, the rays create a pleasant warming sensation on the skin, as if to remind us that Spring will arrive soon to Lugano. The effect of this sun as it hits the station’s main building is beautiful. The coral pink surface practically glows under the natural spotlight, as if ready for a grand performance...

Abruptly, we are brought out of our thoughts by three consecutive chimes, the melodious prelude to a train departure. The last of the train’s passengers rush up to her doors, pushing the lighted green button frantically and pleading to be let in. I watch amusedly as one man, just a few seconds too late, is left behind. The train has already begun her journey, and as said, it is not in her nature to be untimely. The man sullenly joins me on my bench, grumbling to himself and fiddling with his belongings. He flips open a slightly antiquated cell phone and presses it to his worn, scruffy cheek, “Che cosa fai!?” he exclaims. He looks over after hanging up and smiles apologetically for the outburst, flashing me a smoke-stained, gapped smile. A flock of teenage boys struts by, shouting and laughing. They move in unison: hips thrust outward, hands tucked in the pockets of their tight, embellished jeans, and long, wide strides. Their egos appear to be quite inflated, like the shiny bomber jackets they are so keen on wearing. A typical Luganese woman walks by pushing a black baby stroller. She is wearing knee high black leather boots, black slacks, and a long black peacoat. Her sunglasses and her hair are also black. I think perhaps she likes the color black. However, despite all these differences, they all have one thing in common: their language. It is like an opera, musical and dramatic, full of vibrato and hand gestures. The notes of this linguistic music rise and fall periodically as passengers accumulate, depart, and then re-accumulate. 

After the passengers are whisked away by their train, I am left in the company of two foraging pigeons and a young girl whose headphones are blasting a gaudy Italian pop song. The platform’s surface, now clear of clacking heels and rolling luggage, is speckled with carelessly deposited chewing gum in yellows, blues, and many hues of green. There are dark green garbage receptacles, but they seem to go unnoticed by the station’s patrons. The bench I am sitting on seems to be dominated by bored people with pens and a dirty vocabulary. The platform’s support beams, which hold up the roof covering for rare inclement weather, also support the large analog clocks. Tick, tick, tick: an ever present reminder that time is passing us by all too quickly.

The illuminated, electric-blue information sign above reads Zurich, 16:12. To most people, this signifies that the coming train will simply get them from Point A (Lugano) to Point B (Zurich). To a select few however, this train route represents an endless dimension of possibility. These individuals know that a train which takes you to Zurich makes it possible to get to countless other destinations, each having the potential for new and challenging life experiences. For instance, Point C might mean the opportunity to meet lifelong friends while Couchsurfing in Prague, and Point D might mean getting wonderfully lost in the bustling streets of Paris while eating a chocolate crêpe. Tick, tick, tick: the time is now 16:12. My elegant friend comes to a stop, and her doors slowly open. Now think hard, will you get on the train?

Ireland

Ireland has always been somewhat of a romanticized country for me. Many films I have seen have depicted the lush, green hills of the countryside and the to-die-for Irish accents and rugged appeal of the Irish men. So naturally, when presented with a bit of free time and friends who were up for the adventure, I booked my ticket to Dublin.

Traveling, as always, is a process for Franklin students. First we walk our luggage down the hill to the train station - an hour ride to Milan and then an hours bus ride to Bergamo, where we unsuccessfully try to sleep on the cold tile floor of the tiny airport. Six AM - we wash our faces and reapply whatever makeup we can to make ourselves presentable, go through security, and wait for our RyanAir flight in the freezing cold airport to take off. However, the torture is almost always worth it, because when the plane descends from the clouds and I see the teal-blue ocean rushing up onto the Irish shoreline, I am ecstatic.

When Callie, Ariel, Cristina and I descended onto the tarmac, and walked seemingly endlessly to customs, we were exhausted, but eventually we found a city bus that would take us near our hostel which I had found online months ago. When we eventually found the place and had checked in, we took a small nap and then went to the communal kitchen for free Guinness stew. Hearing the many languages being spoken and watching how easily people got along, I was in cultural heaven. It set a valid precedent for the rest of our trip, as I began to notice how incredibly friendly the Irish people were and how diverse of a population Dublin supported.

The next day, we set out to fulfill our tourist obligations; we took a free tour of the city (where we nearly froze our asses off), went shopping at the UK store TopShop (which I adore), and bought 10 Carlsbergs for 10 Euro which we promptly drank before dinner. That same night, we decided we had to do a pub-crawl. I can honestly say that this was one of the highlights of our trip - we made friends from Australia and Finland, and had a great time experiencing many of the famous pubs around Dublin.

Morning came all too soon, and we boarded a regional bus to Kilkenny, where Ariel’s family friends lived. It was a great opportunity to see the countryside I had so often seen in films, and it did not disappoint. We walked through the town, ending up at Kilkenny Castle where we waited for our ride. We got picked up by a lovely Irish woman who took us all back to their home where she and her family had prepared us dinner. While we were waiting, we sat in the living room with a fire roaring and tea was prepared, and we talked with the family’s teenage girl about university in Ireland. It seemed so tempting that I still am considering studying abroad in the country at some point. The hospitality that the family gave us was incredible - I will never forget their kindness to a gaggle of college girls that appeared off a bus not knowing what to expect. 

When we returned to Dublin, we met up with our friends from the pub-crawl and went out for our last night to The Purty Kitchen, one of the pubs from the night before. It was one of the best experiences of the trip - we stayed out dancing until it was time for our ride to the airport at 1 AM, enjoying eachothers company and every second of the experience. After arriving, we promptly went through security and curled up in an indoor playground with soft mats. When you’re traveling like we do - you’ll take anything you can get (as long as its not hard metal benches with dividers).  

Ireland was a great trip - I plan on returning at some point to the country which welcomed me so whole heartedly into its culture.