American Businessmen in Zagreb

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At 3 a.m, the topless hooker and the cocaine freak snuck off to a bedroom, leaving me alone with the old, Israeli bazillionaire and a box of hazelnut chocolates.
I had an important choice to make.
It was my first night in Zagreb and I was staying at a hostel down the road from the Dolac Market. After a long travel day I was in the mood for a drink, so I ordered an Ozujsko at one of the terraces along Tkalciceva Ulica and watched the people go by.
Halfway through my beer, I noticed two men standing outside the terrace, debating whether or not to come in for a drink.
As soon as I heard them speak, I shouted out “English!”
Not hearing my language for two days in small towns had made it a precious commodity.
They looked at me a little strangely; I laughed, explaining that it had been a while since I’d heard anything other than Croatian. They invited me to join them at another bar down the road and I accepted, appreciating the company.
Their names were Chris and Jacob and they had come from Las Vegas, looking to buy property in Croatia. They said there were so many opportunities for new business there, from “vineyards older than Jesus” to hotels to sailing ships, they couldn’t decide on just one.
My first clue that these weren’t any ordinary businessmen came when Chris ordered the first round of drinks.
“Three triple vodka-redbulls, a round of bottled water, a shot of whiskey, two beers, and - yeah, why not? - another triple vodka-redbull,” Chris said to the waiter.
Drinks are cheap in Croatia but this was a bit silly.
Turns out these guys owned most of Las Vegas. Jacob, in particular, was quite the power player. Originally from Israel, he still had a strong accent although he had lived and worked around the world.
He was involved in, he said mysteriously, the diamond business.
“It’s trendy now to hate the diamond business, the way people used to spray red paint on women wearing fur,” he said. “I did business in Sierra Leone, I know all about what goes on there.”
After a few more rounds, they convinced me to go to the casino at the Sheraton, where they were staying. I figured a few more free drinks couldn’t hurt, and their stories were entertainingly outlandish, so I joined them.
They were horrified to hear I was staying at a hostel and told me to collect my backpack immediately and they’d get me a suite at the Sheraton. And while I was at it, I should accompany them on their sailing trip to Split, which they were embarking upon the next day.
I was tempted. I could imagine myself living the high life for a change, drinking triple vodka-redbulls all week, replacing sketchy hostels with luxurious yachts.
I said I’d think about it.
As we walked, I praised Zagreb’s beautiful green spaces, majestically lit at nighttime.
Chris said Zagreb was okay, but he hated all the graffiti.
“I understand if they spray paint old Communist structures or something, that’s understandable. But something needs to be done to stop them from spray-painting the buildings that are the main attractions of the city. As an investor, I don’t think it looks good.”
Chris was overbearing and touched people a lot when he spoke. He must have come into his money recently because he still loved mentioning it. He told story after story about young celebrities who danced on Vegas tables for him and about the time Oprah Winfrey asked him to adopt a South African child. He blew smoke rings into the air as he talked, and catcalled every woman along the way, making Chinese-sounding noises that sounded to him like Croatian. I smiled at the women as we passed, hoping to let them know that I wasn’t really with these guys, I was just getting a kick and a few free drinks out of them.
When we arrived at the casino, the receptionist took a long look at me. Admittedly, I wasn’t looking my best. My capri pants were dirty, my hair was a curly mess and I was wearing a grey hoodie with holes in the sleeves.
“She’s with us, it’s okay,” Jacob said with a wave of his hand.
“It’s alright then,” the receptionist said. I thanked her, wanting to wink and whisper in her ear too that I was in on the joke.
Fifteen minutes later and 500 euros lighter, we headed up to their suite for a few more drinks. They had gambled away an amount that would sustain me for weeks.
They each had their own suite: we went to Jacob’s. He rummaged through his suitcase and tossed two full packs of cigarettes at me, then offered me a fruit plate, a box of gourmet hazelnut chocolates, and a snort of the cocaine he promptly lined up on his hand. I declined the cocaine, but took the snacks.
Within a few minutes, Chris had stripped off his shirt and was bouncing around the room, talking at us and snorting cocaine off Jacob’s hairy hand. Jacob and I sat on the couch sipping vodka.
“Let’s call for some women!” Chris suggested excitedly.
He pounced onto the phone.
“Yes, I’d like you to send up two women and one man,” he said without the slightest hint of embarrassment.
It took me a few seconds to clue in.
“Are you ordering a man for me?” I whispered.
Chris nodded.
I shook my head and mouthed NO.
“You sure?” he asked, holding the phone away from his mouth. Then: “Sorry, never mind the man, we’ll just have two women. Oh, and another cheese and prosciutto tray.”
I couldn’t believe he’d just ordered a prostitute with a side order of ham and cheese.
“When you have money and they know it, you can do things like this,” Chris explained. “I can do anything I want.”
An hour later, a pretty blonde knocked on the door and Chris ushered her in. She sat down on the couch across from me. When she took off her shirt at Chris’s request, I couldn’t even muster a sympathetic grin. There was no point in winks or whispers anymore; we were both in the room with these guys for their money.
I knew I had to leave.
Jacob once again offered to get me my own suite, but I told him I was way out of my element with them. I couldn’t imagine making a phone call to my parents, explaining where I was and who I was with.

I wanted to go back to the hostel, crawl into my bunk bed with strangers snoring on either side, and eat a sausage roll from a street vendor in the morning. I was more comfortable with the simple life than with the extreme luxury they were offering, a fact I hadn’t realized until that moment.
Jacob understood. He walked me downstairs, armed with my box of chocolates, 10 euros for the taxi, a banana for breakfast, and his business card in case I changed my mind.
When the cab arrived at the hostel, I opened my purse to find the 10 euros.
I found it, along with another 300 euros that Jacob had put in there without a word at some point during the night.
The cab pulled away and I stood outside the hostel for a few moments. Tkalciceva Ulica was empty. I breathed in the fresh air and the sweet scents that wafted from Dolac Market down the road.
Then I laughed out loud.
I had escaped without compromising myself.
And with more and more investors of their kind arriving in Croatia, I hoped the country would be able to do the same.

Finding myself in Varazdin

The bus ride from Pula to Zagreb was a quick four hours. It was so quick, in fact, that when we arrived at a bus station I thought surely this couldn’t be Zagreb already, so when ninety percent of the passengers got off the bus, I stayed on.

As were driving out of town, I started to get a funny feeling that I’d made a terrible mistake. I peeked at the girl’s ticket who had just sat down beside me: Zagreb-Varazdin. A normal person would have corrected her mistake while the bus was still in the city and got off the bus, but I didn’t move. When the bus driver came down the aisle to check the tickets of new passengers, I held my ticket in my sweaty palm, praying he wouldn’t ask to see it again. He checked the girl next to me, then looked at me.

“Varazdin?” he asked, and I nodded.

Thinking he must have heard wrong when I asked: “Is this the bus to Zagreb?” back in Pula, he just shrugged his shoulders and continued down the bus.

As little as I knew about Pula before I’d arrived there, I knew even less about Varazdin. In fact, I had to check my map to see if it was even in Croatia, or if I was on my way to Slovenia. Lonely Planet made no mention of it and no one had ever recommended a visit there.

But the more I thought about this Varazdin, the more excited I got. It couldn’t be all bad, and frankly, I needed one more quiet night before Zagreb.

An hour later, we arrived at the Varazdin bus station. I could see green spires and orange roofs tantalizingly in the distance, but I figured I should first follow the signs leading to hotels, rather than the signs leading to the Centar. Two full pensions and one Hotel Turisto with no vacancy later, I was afraid I might have to head back to Zagreb after all. What was going on in Varazdin, I wondered, and why the hell were there so many people here?

I discovered later that Varazdin is a town I probably should have had on my itinerary from the beginning. It was the capital of Croatia hundreds of years ago, before it switched to Zagreb. The reason there were so many people around was because I’d just happened to arrive halfway through their internationally-famous Baroque music festival.

I finally arrived at the Studentski Dom, a student dorm recommended by the Tourist Info with rooms so clean and well-equipped they made my little dorm room look like a shanty town.

After dropping off my bags, I ventured into the centre and couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I wondered if I hadn’t crossed a border after all, not into Slovenia but rather Austria. Baroque buildings so quaint that I felt like I was in Salzburg.

I wanted to spend hours looking around but food and drink were calling me, so I stopped at a quiet restaurant and ordered sausages. The town square was full at dusk, the elegant City Hall building unimposing at one end.

Varazdin really is a city of music, the same way I’d always thought of Vienna. There was a Native American trio in traditional dress just finishing a concert in the square.

I went back to my room early, still a little hearbroken and not wanting to taint my opinions of this city with sad thoughts of Sasa, so I went to sleep after an episode of Croatian Big Brother.

The next morning, with a fresh start, I explored. I walked around the old white castle and along empty streets with buildings that looked like they were painted onto the sky. Everyone in town seemed to be riding a bicycle.

After a while I noticed that the same way I was staring at these buildings from another era, people were staring at me like I was from another era - the era when the weather was warm enough to be wearing a skirt and flip-flops. September in that county was not quite as warm as it had been in Istria, and by noon I was starting to feel a chill that a couple of lukewarm coffees did not help.

Between needing to warm up, and needing to cleanse myself once and for all of Sasa, my next destination seemed obvious: the spa.

Varazdinske Toplice is on the way from Varazdin to Zagreb so I hopped a bus heading there. It is a very small town in the valley of the river Bednja, among the green hills of Hrvatsko Zagorje. It dates back to the Stone Age, and it used to be well-known as the thermal spa called Aquae Iasae.

It was the quietest town I’ve ever been in and no one spoke English. That, the lack of clear maps, the steep roads and my heavy backpack made finding the spa quite a mission, but I finally found it in the basement of Hotel Minerva.

The water was a perfect 58 degree celsius, and contained minerals such as calcium, sodium, carbonte and sulphur. There were only three other people in the large pool when I arrived. There are three pools, two indoor and one outdoor. I learned from a spa in Quebec that switching between hot and cold temperatures is good for circulation, so I spent most of my time floating in the indoor pool, then did a few laps in the outdoor one. The hills on the horizon were so spectacular that I stuck to the backstroke outside just to look at them.

I felt a little silly being here to help cure myself of a heartache when I noticed that the majority of the other swimmers were limping, or walking with braces.

One man wheeled himself to the outdoor pool as I was panting on the edge after swimming one lap. He gave me a nod, lowered himself with his arms off his chair and disappeared under the surface of the cool water.