...As the French Do: A Stopover in Croatia

On the way back from Turkey, Margaret and I stopped in Croatia for three days. In our 2-hour Turkish Airlines flight - a huge step up from EasyJet - we were served a snack, a full meal, and wine! Wow. American airlines could learn a few tricks.

When we arrived in Zagreb, we jumped into a taxi and showed the cab driver the address to our hostel. He was a large, jolly man, who told us his English was so good because he spent several years working on the oil rigs in New Orleans. He told us New Orleans was "OK," but nowhere near as wonderful as his hometown Dubrovnik, a small but touristy coastal city that is also known for both its culture and its seafood.

Zagreb

Dubrovnik

Our cab driver - let's call him Ivan - decided that we needed a lesson in Croatian history. He told us about the war between the former Yugoslavian states, in which (according to Ivan) Serbia was the bad guy. Croatians wanted to be an independent country and the Serbs wanted the area to be part of a larger Serbian state. Ivan's home Dubrovnik was the most contested area, claimed by both Serbia and Montenegro. The way Ivan told the story, the Serbs blindly killed Croatians based on completely unfounded territorial and ethnic claims. (But after looking into history, I found examples of horrible violence and questionable claims on both sides.)

Map of the former Yugoslavia

Understandably, Ivan could not see both sides. He had been an adult during the height of the conflict in 1991. His hatred for the Serbs was still vicious and alive. He even told us that he "could understand where Osama Bin Laden was coming from.” Bin Laden "was protecting his own culture from erosion," Ivan said. But he just couldn't understand the Serbs. No way. "I'd rather be friends with Bin Laden than a Serb,” he said.

At this point Margaret and I looked at each other uneasily. When he dropped us off a few blocks later, we sighed with relief. But he had made his point. During his adult life, he had seen Serbian people destroy his home. They had probably killed members of his family. And although people he knew had probably also hurt Serbs, he couldn't remember it.

Ivan also expressed dismay at Croatia's impending entry into the European Union. He seemed wary of joining a larger group of countries, saying, "Yugoslavia could happen all over again."

Listening to Ivan, I couldn't help but think about what it would have been like to live through a war. I later asked one of our hostel workers - a girl about two years older than me who was born in Zagreb - if she remembered the war. She told me she remembered a few bombings and that her family went to a shelter. But she assured me that "it was not a big deal at all."

Her casual attitude toward the war was radically different from Ivan's combative one. She treated the conflict, and Yugoslavia itself, as if it were irrelevant. Instead she was looking forward to the day when Croatia would be a part of the European Union, so she could go and work in London.

I told her about our conversation with Ivan in the cab. "Crazy old guy," she laughed.

Whatever it's history or future story, Zagreb is a fascinating city, with grand Austro-Hungarian architecture, tall, beautiful people, graffiti covering every inch of public space, and a hauntingly beautiful cemetery.

Here are some photos: