There is an old adagio saying you should be more experienced than old. This may be counterproductive in terms of quality, since it can push us to do a lot of things without fully enjoying them, thus those people more interested in ticking boxes on lists than in actually living the moment. Yes, I’m talking to you, tourists.
That being said, there is so much to live and so little time that once in a while I indulge myself and let loose. It is not uncommon for my better half and me to buy a round trip and not to plan anything in between. With that frame of mind, a backpack and just two hostel nights booked, we decided to cover most of the former Yugoslavian Republics during last summer and got us two tickets to Zagreb on 31st July, to be back from Wien on 30th August.
Zagreb is a European capital that has as much to offer as it has to take care of. The first thing that surprised us is the cold cordiality of the people there, eager to help you but not so keen on smiling, showing signs of affection or appreciate your appreciation for their culture and history. There is a bit of a Mediterranean tic and a big part of white tourist syndrome on my side, I know, but scarcely have I confronted such a general feeling of gentle disapproval to my being there as in otherwise beautiful and thoroughly enjoyable Zagreb.
It is hard to decide which parts of a country to visit, fear of missing out is ever present, but we decided to bathe on cultural heritage and have less of a beach approach. We decided to visit Rijeka and Pula, whose Roman remains may not surpass those in own Italy, but they rival in abundance and importance, especially the breathtaking Pula Arena and the near Temple of Augustus.
Zadar and the island of Hvar may not be on some top-places-to-visit lists but you already know I am not much for them. The first one boasts of the most beautiful sunset (spoiler: it sets on the West and yes, unsurprisingly enough people applaud this apparently strange behaviour of its). Hvar, on the other hand, shows you the hardest part of travelling: sun, sea, sand and hordes of tourists.
As impossible as it may seem, I think the deepest contact I have had with Croatian idiosyncrasy may have been Split. A more relaxed atmosphere shows you what there is to Croatia: impressive ruins and monuments, Soviet-era sprawls and neverending murals depicting past football team Hadjuk Split and Yugoslavian army deeds. The sight of night downtown being invaded by recently landed cruise clients while enjoying a home-made dinner after an evening session of local cinema is as close as it gets to me. That and their coffee, God bless it.
Travelling means getting in contact with what is different in us, which is what makes us the same. Crossing the border to Bosnia and Herzegovina by bus is something you may not forget easily. It could be the narrow and hardly paved roads, the heavy traffic, the reckless driver and its apparent disregard for human life or basic norms of road safety, the constant signs warning about landmines or the really mixed passengers, but you must admit there is really something to it. That experience can only be paralleled to Mostar. My body perspires nothing but love towards that city, its welcoming and truly heart-warming people, its currency, its ever-growing cat colonies, its way to face the civil war, its fish, its rich cultural mixture, its derelict buildings, filled with bullet holes and still bleeding history lessons, its scorching heat. I would go back there any day of the week. On foot, if necessary.
It is impossible to be on the move for so long and not to stumble upon some bumps on the road. In our case, the biggest bump was Dubrovnik. Yes, it is incredibly beautiful. Yes, it is extremely unique. Yes, it is strikingly gorgeous. Yes, it is exceedingly expensive and supremely overcrowded. One could blame the Game of Thrones hype train, but they have milked a couple of scenes from The Last Jedi, too, so there is much work on the blaming game.
Podgorica is the ugliest European capital. Hands down. There is not much to see other than the Orthodox Cathedral. Honest. The food, on the other hand, is super affordable and one could put on a couple kilos in just a day, but Kotor and its region are far, far superior in terms of interest, landmarks and sheer beauty. I don’t plan to die anytime soon; yet, if I did, one of the visions I would take with me would be a night water polo match between local heroes and rival neighbours, sparkler-bearing supporters and all.
Sarajevo is the place to go. Enough said. You can LITERALLY take a walk through bullet-scarred boulevards, get lost in a maze-like souk, buy the latest, hottest gadget dirt cheap, enjoy a homemade Middle Eastern lunch, have a tour through one of the most defining (and most WTF) moments in the history of Europe, watch a movie (and miss both Almodóvar and Banderas for mere minutes) in an international film festival or enrol the Jägermeister-themed tramway towards a crammed downtown that has nothing to envy Magaluf in terms of competing, blaring sound systems, proud owners of sports cars and outcasts from the latest season of HMyV. All in the same day. And I don’t need to remind you we do not use travel guides. Possibilities are endless. My hair stands and my eyes water when I think of Sarajevo. Enough said.
How can you beat a city like that, I wondered, and the answer was none other than Europe’s underdog, Budapest. Berlin has lost it and, apparently, Budapest found it and it’s keeping it. The charm of street lowlife mingles with a history of pomp and splendour, century-old libraries blend with improvised pubs quenching the first of the forgotten ones, imperial palaces give way to strings of brothels and massage parlours, tourist-oriented demi improvised food courts filled with trucks coexist with time-honoured traditional dishes, second-hand clothes stores get mistaken with stores that sell second-hand clothes, synagogues share space with mosques, the modern shakes hands with the traditional, Buda meets Pest and Danube is the witness to such mindboggling mixture.
I would be a fool to think that Budapest is all that there is to Hungary or all cities are the likes of Budapest but man, if only Hungarian politics followed suit of the greatness of this city…
As you may see, our original plan to revisit the former Yugoslavian Republics had been thwarted by our sense of improvisation and a growing feeling of antipathy towards Serbia, as a result of our deepening in the knowledge of past events in the region and a really poor logistics web , the aftermath of said events. Our next step would be a little break in our streak of European capitals: a hidden gem at the feet of the mighty Carpathians.
Traversing the Slovakian roads makes you realise it you are in a thriving, yet to-be-developed country. One of the slowest incomes in the whole EU, everything seems as if there were a patina of new on layers and layers of old. Renewed infrastructures on decades-old buildings, shiny, huge factories beside tiny villages, rampant capitalism on lifelong poverty and fields and fields on end. The attitude of present-day Germany on the bones of 60s Germany.
Poprad was our next stop, a small town surrounded by nothing by a range of mountains and forests. It may not sound so appealing, yet I am safe in the knowledge that is was a sure hit. There is all kinds of outdoors activities you can do enclosed by gorgeous sceneries and jaw-dropping natural landmarks: hiking, climbing, kayaking, hunting, rafting, downhill cycling, all sorts of winter sports… you name it. Maybe the only spare time activity for the young ones is hanging out at the shopping mall and its cultural life is restricted to a cover bands music festival in the summer, but the region is an outstanding feast in the eyes of any adventurous nature lover. From there to Kraków there is a mere 175 kms as the crow flies, which translates in an 11-hour bus ride from the sordid to the lavish.
Here is where I must stop and be honest with you. The main motivation behind my travelling so much has to do with food. There, I said it. I’m in a lean, healthy 21 BMI, yet Kraków put some 3 extra kgs on this body in just two days. It’s not that there is nothing interesting to do in Kraków in terms of culture, art or history (hello, Castle, Cathedrals and Market Square) but the pierogi, the borscht and the meats are simply unbeatable. You can spend peanuts to eat an ox, and the helpings are so generous they make Mother Theresa look like Scrooge McDuck.
After visiting Budapest, Wien is just big. Don’t get me wrong, it isn’t any less spectacular, majestic, bombastic, imperial or worthy, not in the least, to each its own. I just think it is somewhat unfair Wien gets all the credit Budapest should be getting by its own merits, as they were both capitals of the same empire. How the Sissy factor can help tip the balance in Austria’s favour is just beyond my understanding. Anyway, I am glad Budapest has not been entirely daunted by legions of recently marrieds and golden wedders and I extract some comfort in checking it is not a Zara infested paradise yet. One sign that you are doing things horribly wrong and you have lost what “great” really means is demanding 10 euros to visit the cathedral and claiming that fee goes to replacing the TV showing information inside. Bad, bad Wien…
That is all, it was not my intention to boast about my holidays but to just give you some broad strokes on a trip of my own, which I hope you have liked.
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