Zoo in the Winter

In 2010, Zagreb still had marks from the Yugoslav Wars of the 1990s. One stadium I passed had seen better days in a way that only despair can bring on, a way where the concrete becomes a different gray as if it knows what we humans are up to. It’s beyond normal wear and tear. There were plenty more examples, but all these echoes in stadiums and buildings and roads remained material, it was stuff that could be refurbished or torn down and remade. Those are things that happen eventually anyway.

Personal tolls are far worse. So much of the destruction in a war is not from bombs, hell, it doesn’t even happen until after folks claim it’s over, but when is it, really? While we sometimes put the years a conflict lasted in a neat parenthesis and write a book that can be closed, all the horrible consequences to the soul don’t obey that wishful thinking. Failed regimes and war both cause a cascade of misery that never leaves on its own, they grind and squeeze the natural humanity out of things, and in their moments we don’t think much about building new venues to entertain ourselves.

After someone is touched by this ripple, maybe through loss of family or even a life of their own that could have been, it takes real strength for ordinary folk to remake themselves and the world near them. When you see a tried and tired people begin to build and feel hope, you know they’re doing something difficult with a future in mind.

Zagreb had begun to stir like that, though some people still had hardship in their eyes.

On top of these obvious effects that give away a scarred past, there’s also a certain honesty to how everything is laid bare during the winter season. This added up to an incredible melancholy that ran underneath my time in Croatia, but melancholy has a layer of beauty when dosed correctly, it enhances your thinking, connecting you with a world in crevices that are frequently obscured by green leaves and other summery phenomena like sitting on a beach. The way frost stings the face can wake you up.

Food for Thought

I went to the zoo even though it was chilly and snow covered the ground from earlier weather. It’s a different mood altogether, with almost no other people walking about. The staff likely outnumbered the guests, and there was something comforting about watching these caretakers tend to animals and keeping them fed even on another gray day. It’s mandatory in an ethical sense, but someone must still choose to do it.

Zoo animals don’t care about our history one bit. Sadly, many humans don’t either, but anyone who’s had a fair look back in time knows how much pain we could avoid by learning from past mistakes. While it’s a tall order to get every human reading, there must be a smaller number of more that would still make a difference. It’ll most likely take a generational effort to make a big dent in the evils we’ve been lulled accustomed to, a type of effort we’ve not tried for ages, though if evil is lack of empathy, the fact that people brave the cold to keep animals fed and healthy is one fair sign at least.

Determination and quiet desperation to make something still hung in the crisp air, underlined by recent protests in the city over unemployment and slow progress. There was no lack of desire to care, craft, invent, chase, or dream up ways to do these things, the ice was just a bit too thin to walk on yet.

Folks had said the people would be gloomy and reserved, but I found Croatians to be friendly and glad to help or explain things when asked. Scandinavians are usually struck by a similar reputation, so I’d simply come to take it as short for not being outgoing or not proactively inserting oneself into situations. It’s a time tested philosophy where you more or less mind your own business unless called upon, but you can unearth a lot of good if you’re willing to genuinely engage with someone.

It’s also a good idea to walk away from the areas with many tourists, as the people who work them are more inclined to behave for that sort of success. Once you step even slightly outside the hot spots, things become casual pretty quickly which has nearly always led to a better experience for me.

I noticed a little pastry place off a side street near a square, and they had something akin to pigs in a blanket except more flavorful than the traditional ones I’d eaten many times before as a kid. The lighting was warm with that nice golden hue and the place busy with locals who kept milling in to pick up orders and leave. I followed suit and took the hot sausage rolls outside in the cold where I continued to explore the little nooks nearby and beyond.

Crowds

An event was going that gathered thousands of people and kept attracting more, all funneling through a security setup. At first I wasn’t sure what the commotion was about, but it turned out I unknowingly found myself in Zagreb the day Ivo Josipović took office as president. He’d won the election by a decent margin, and I soon got the impression that many Croatians were curious if it was a sign of things changing or what would happen next. Some, especially older residents, didn’t sound as hopeful.

Big events like these inaugurations are strange when you break them down. Thousands of people just watching one person, wanting to see, wanting to learn, occasionally intrigued by the behavior of the subject on display. It’s not unlike a zoo, not far anyway, something you can say about theater as well. Then of course, Shakespeare was already on to similar thoughts when he wrote that all the world is a stage, because most people have always modified themselves and acted anywhere they are being watched. We’re all caged in the zoo and guests at the same time.

It was a surprising spectacle to stumble on during the days I spent there, different from seeing another park or cathedral.

Leaving Things Behind

One of my taxi drivers was a wild fellow. He drove an old beater and quickly furnished me with his business card while glad to talk the trip away. The card explained the mountain of old and strange gadgets scattered everywhere in the car, as its backside detailed the many features offered. Calls, faxes, and Internet, sure, but there were several columns printed in tiny text size that just went on and on.

Stories caught me more than dry cleaning pickup, and we spoke a lot about the city and himself. From the way he talked about his young daughter, she was his absolute joy. He also expressed appreciation for Denmark’s help during the war, though I of course had no involvement beyond playing with some of the refugee kids who lived in the converted conference center near my town back then.

The last time he drove me was to the airport, where I decided to tip my leftover local currency. It was probably only a couple of days worth of his earnings, but better than nothing.

I departed, and time flew as well.

Now there are adults who never saw the 1990s. The taxi driver’s daughter, for one. In the years since 2010, life has moved on, Croatia joined the European Union, the stadium has been renovated, the restaurants I tried have become something else, and some people are no more. Eventually, anyone who knew anything of the war will have passed away and it’ll be buried somewhere in the history books with all the other conflicts we humans have inflicted on each other.

I hope they keep building.