DJ King Pigeon Returns to Zagreb Saturday 25 February

King Pigeon @ Plan B - Saturday Nights

Christmas Eve Party in Zagreb

I am DJ'ing Plan B Bar's Christmas Eve party. Here is the flyer I cooked up for that.




Downloadable version of flyer here.

17 December: Zagreb, Plan B - Eurotrashin' and Eurotreasurin'

Link to full-sized flyer.

Common Birds at Sljeme, Croatia/Hrvatska | 12 December 2011

No endangered species here, just some common birds. I stuck the camera in a bird feeder along the trail to Sljeme, the highest peak in the Zagreb region. These are edited highlights; the activity took place over 6 minutes. Camera falls over at end because a Marsh Tit gave it a good karate kick. :-D

Visitors are:

Eurasian Nuthatch | Brgljez | Sitta europaea

Marsh Tit | Crnoglava sjenica | Poecile palustris (the camera is close enough to show details of the bill, considered the most reliable way to differentiate it from the ultra-similar Willow Tit, so this is the first time I could add it to my life list)

Great Tit | Velika sjenica | Parus major (Why must all these birds be saddled with embarrassing English names? Just needed a woodpecker to make this list complete.)

Last bird is a King Pigeon ;-)

Posterity Letter: 19 October 2011

When Theodore Roosevelt wrote a letter to an individual which, in tone, clearly and amusingly betrayed his own awareness that said letter would likely enter the public record one day, his friends and family jokingly referred to it as a "posterity letter." Here is my posterity letter to my mother and sister.

Greetings, Kathy and Mom. I would have discussed this with you in person a week ago, but I was still working on the many details, and I hate to waste people's time with hypothetical chit-chat. Also, there are far too many specifics to address than I possibly can in an already too-long email, so I send this to you knowing full well that I haven't addressed all your likely questions and concerns.

I will be heading off to Croatia on November 1, and once again have successfully made arrangements to continue to work for my organization for a three-month period while I am over there, with the condition being that the organization and I will re-evaluate the situation at the end of that time in order to determine 1) whether to continue with that arrangement (unlikely), 2) whether I need to return to Atlanta in order to stay continuously employed, or 3) whether I apply for a leave of absence. It is worth noting that the cost of living in Croatia will be lower than that in Atlanta; I have also saved up a good amount of money to cushion me.

The point is to make a concerted drive to transition into another career as a journalist. There is no guarantee of success; perhaps there is a greater likelihood of failure. But I don't think that the words carved in stone at the Theodore Roosevelt memorial reading, "It is hard to fail, but it is worse never to have tried to succeed," express a mere platitude. Nor was Steve Jobs trying to craft a hollow bumper-sticker slogan when he said, "Your time is limited, so don't waste it living someone else's life." The fact is, with 40 looming large I ever more acutely realize that this is the only life I'll ever have, and it would be tragic to waste it frozen into my cowardly inaction over my current employment situation by a struggling economy that shows no sign of improvement in the near future.

The other, more positive fact is that in Europe I feel invigorated, energized, and driven. The positive energy I feel over there is why I am taking this sort of a gamble, and why I think there is at least some chance of success. It's a risk--if success were guaranteed, then obviously it wouldn't be a risk--but one I must attempt.

I know you will worry, and let me assure you that you have company there. I've been waking up every night between 3 and 5 AM contemplating these enormous questions for several weeks. (Incidentally, magnesium supplements are good for treating the symptoms of stress, my doctor friends told me after I described my ordeal with worry-induced insomnia. Just a tip.) On the positive side, the fears and paranoia I entertain are also motivators to keep me moving forward. Obviously, I don't want to fail, so I will be working harder than I have my whole life to find success. This email is a contract to you pledging the application of such vigorous energy. This will not be a vacation.

I have already arranged what appears to be a nice apartment in Zagreb for three months which has an internet connection, so we can Skype and stay in touch, including over the holidays. I have been warned that in Zagreb winter is "cruel and sharp," which, as a veteran of Kiev in January, sounds intriguing.

We can discuss all this soon (I will be busy tonight cleaning out my extended stay room, so tomorrow night might be a good time to chat).

I am always glad to be of service in giving you things to talk about. Be good, don't worry, and take care!

Andrew

Mom's reaction? Positive!

How Much Three Months in Eastern and Balkan Europe Costs

As part of my plotting to return to Europe, I studied for the first time my finances from the last trip. Of course I had eyeballed the separate accounts periodically to make sure nothing weird was going on, but I hadn't diligently crunched the numbers to come up with figures regarding the overall expense of the trip.

So how much did it cost me to travel for three months in Ukraine, Romania, Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, Slovenia, and a day in Austria? (Drumroll please)

$6649.20

or

$2216.40 per month

or

$554.10 per week

Individual results may vary.

Slovenia vs. Croatia at the World Cup

Croatia failed to qualify for the World Cup. Their neighbors (and former Yugoslavian brothers) to the north, Slovenia, unexpectedly did. This Slovenian flag from the World Cup in South Africa reads, "Greetings to Zagreb." Thanks to Urška, who found it here.

Slovenia must beat the USA on Friday in order to have a shot at advancing beyond Group C. It seems reasonable to assume that England will win its next two (Algeria, Slovenia) and that Algeria will lose its next two (to England and the USA). Under those scenarios, a tie score on Friday between Slovenia and the USA will not be enough to allow the plucky little upstart to advance.

David Guetta - Arena, Zagreb, Saturday 22 May 2010

In mid-2009, David Guetta's "When Love Takes Over" (featuring Kelly Rowland) began to climb the European pop music charts. Several smash hit singles later, 2010 has turned into the year of David Guetta.

In 2009 Guetta moved up two spots in DJ Magazine's annual readers poll of the top 100 DJs to number three, just underneath perenniel Dutch favorites Armin van Buuren and Tiësto (those two guys have been in the top three every year since 2003, and van Buuren and Tiësto have been roosting at numbers one and two respectively for the last three years). I will be shocked if Guetta doesn't take the crown this year; he's got a ton of recent hit songs under his belt and he's been touring like mad. Vive la France!

I saw posters for Guetta's Zagreb appearance throughout the Balkans in March, and I felt quite sad that I would not be able to see the show myself.

Urška Renier (pictured on right), who lives in Maribor, Slovenia was luckier. When she bought her tickets the agency also arranged bus transportation from Maribor to Zagreb. After two hours on the road she arrived at the Arena. After the show ended she hopped right back on a bus to Maribor and was home by 8 AM.

Guetta returns to the Balkans on 10 July, when he plays Serbia's Exit Festival at the picturesque Petrovaradin Fortress in Novi Sad.

All photos below by Urška Renier.

His name in lights

Urška writes: "There were about 16.000 people all dancing and screaming lyrics of Guetta's songs. At one moment I felt like a sardine in a can—especially when I was in the front row surrounded by dancing people. For a better understanding, you can watch my movie on YouTube."




The exterior of the Arena

Urška writes: "The concert was in Arena Zagreb, a new multifunctional hall. It was built in 2008 to host big sports, cultural, business and entertainment events, but thanks to its beauty and grandeur it has become the architectural landmark of the City of Zagreb.

"This building has two halls, a large and a small one. The large hall has a seating capacity of 15.200, with 150 seats reserved for disabled persons. Depending on the event, it can accommodate more than 20.000 people."




Inside Arena Zagreb

Urška writes: "There was big floor in the middle and seats on the side. The floor was full (and also the seats, but everybody was standing)."





Cool lights

Urška writes: "The concert (party) officially started at 10.00 pm, but Guetta started playing at 12.30 am. This concert was David Guetta 'and friends,' so first there was a DJ from Slovenia, DJ UMEK. Guetta played for about 3 hours, until 4.30 am. At 5.00 am we left Zagreb. I came home to Maribor at 8.00 am."










Keeping an eye on things :-|

Urška writes: "He played mostly stuff from his album, but also some other songs. I was really disappointed because he didn't play 'One Love.' He generally played songs from his album One Love."

Here is a tracklist:

1. Intro / 2. Gettin' Over / 3. Rhythm is a Dancer / 4. Shots / 5. Love is gone / 6. Memories / 7. Guetta Blaster / 8. Be / 9. When Love Takes Over / 10. End







"Thank you. Thank you very much."

Slovenia and Balkan Rivalry

From Ukraine, Romania, Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, and Slovenia

A record store employee in Graz, Austria asked me how long I was staying in his country.

"This is just a day trip," I said. "I'm staying in Maribor, Slovenia."

"Slovenia? Isn't that where stuff from the movie Hostel happens?"

"Hahahaha. Actually, Slovenia is gorgeous. And Hostel was set in Slovakia, incidentally. Have you ever been to Slovenia?"

"I've driven across the border to get cheaper gas," he told me.

The trip by train from Maribor, Slovenia to Graz takes only an hour, but I had found one Austrian who had no interest in his neighbors to the immediate south of him. As it turns out, Austrians and Slovenians, at least according to the people I chatted with, are not particularly chummy. It is true that Slovenians love to shop in Austria (there are many, many more stores in Graz than in Maribor). This might explain why Slovenians, I am told, are more likely to vacation in Vienna than Viennese are to vacation in Slovenia.

Like Graz, Maribor enjoys "second biggest" status in its country. But Graz's population is about three times larger than Maribor's. Slovenia is a country of only 2 million, so it is of little surprise that the number of Maribor residents lies in the neighborhood of 120,000. One can walk up and down every street there in half a day.

Maribor has a single hostel, the naughty-sounding "Lollipop Hostel," which in fact is an excellently-run place managed by a British woman named June who is appealingly always up for a beer. June told me that there is an intense political rivalry between Ljubljana and Maribor. She said the two cities "hate" one another, due to the funneling of Maribor money into Ljubljana (naturally, Maribor wants to keep more for itself).

As one would expect, there is also a large sports rivalry between the two cities. Emir, a bartender at the Metelkova club complex, bragged about how fans of the Olimpija Ljubljana football team showed up for a match in Maribor and proceeded not only to cheer the out-of-towners to victory against the home team, but to tear the Maribor stadium to pieces in the aftermath.

In terms of contrasts between Maribor and Ljubljana, I was told by a gay student that Maribor has a bigger—or at least more open—gay and lesbian community than does Ljubljana (in this sense Maribor reminded me of a tiny variation of my own city, Atlanta). In Maribor I was also introduced to a form of toasting that was met with puzzlement in Ljubljana (crying, "OHHHHHH-PA!!!!!!" while raising glasses, clinking them, bringing them down to the table with a clunk, then raising them to the lips).

There is a fierce rivalry between Slovenia's two flagship beers, Lasko and Union. Both beers recently updated their logos; ironically they seem designed to perfectly compliment one another, one boasting a burgundy-colored sticker on its bottles and the other featuring a tasteful forest-green sticker. A table full of Lasko and Union bottles is quite photogenic.

Distrust of one's neighbors is a common affliction in the Balkans, even between countries that did not wage war against one another. Slovenians and Croatians are wary of one another, a cultural divide due in part to a language barrier (Slovenians all learned Serbo-Croatian in school, but Croatians did not study Slovenian, which has led to such situations as the popularity of Croatian music in Slovenia without reciprocated appreciation of Slovenian music in Croatia).

Some Slovenians think that Croatians understand Slovenian but pretend not to (like snooty French pretending not to know English when confronted by tourists), but most people I spoke with seemed to feel that the incomprehension was due to honest ignorance.

Slovenia has a more overt hippie culture than Croatia. In Ljubljana I saw lots of dreads, one guy walking down the street in bare feet, and numerous instances of hippie-ish dress; I saw none of this in Croatia. Croatians, on the other hand, struck me as more fashionable, with more women in sleek, tight clothes and men in sunglasses. I might say that Croatia seemed more "hip" whereas Slovenia seemed more "cool."

Finally, for a long time Croatian and Slovenia have been embroiled in a border dispute, with both sides claiming historic precedence for their territorial claims, the result being that EU member Slovenia has used its vote to block Croatia's own accession into the EU (EU membership must be met with unanimous approval by the member-states).

All the Slovenians I spoke with who had an opinion about Serbia said that Serbians were friendlier than Croatians.

As an American, I find the rivalry between Croatia and Slovenia absurd, as both are Catholic countries who fought former Yugoslavia for their independence (if not together, at least soon after one another, reflecting a shared distaste for the government in Belgrade). Croatia boasts a beautiful coastline any Slovenian would enjoy; Slovenia has gorgeous Alpine mountains worthy of exploration by adventurous Croatians, and the people in both countries were extremely friendly to this outsider.

But the rivalries inside of Slovenia, a country where any city is a day trip from any other city, strike me as being even more amusing—perhaps even troubling. It seems that even a country of two million people needs to find ways to divide itself into rival camps. It suggests that conflict is a deep-seated human attribute.

But perhaps it is also a virtue. After all, innovation is spurred by rivalry.


ADDENDUM (added 23 May 2010):

Tension between Croatia and Slovenia was exacerbated during the Balkan Wars. This quote from a 1991 piece by Slavenka Drakulić, which was reprinted in her collection of essays The Balkan Express, captures that tension well:

"When I told [the Ljubljana professor] I was from Croatia his tone of voice changed instantly. 'I've read in the newspapers that you refugees are getting more money per month from the state than we retired people do, and I worked hard for forty years as a university professor for my pension. Aren't we Slovenes nice to you?' The irony in his voice was already triggering a sense of anger in me. I felt an almost physical need to explain my position to him, that I am not 'we' and the 'we' are not getting money anyway."

and from the same collection of essays:

"Slovenia has put real border posts along the border with Croatia and has a different currency. This lends another tint to the Slovenian hills, the colour of sadness. Or bitterness. Or anger. If we three [sharing the train compartment] strike up a conversation about the green woods passing us by, someone might sigh and say, 'Only yesterday this was my country too.' Perhaps then the other two would start in about independence and how the Slovenes were clever while the Croats were not, while the Serbs, those bastards..."

Easter in Zagreb

From Ukraine, Romania, Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, and Slovenia

After Friday night's sins and an early bed on Saturday night by consequence, I was ready to atone and to attend an 8 AM Easter service at the Cathedral of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Zagreb. I am not a believer, but I enjoy ceremony and I find other people's faith calming*.

Croatia is a predominantly Catholic country, so they're not into silly American Easter things like bunnies and baby chicks**. They are into eggs. Giant eggs, decorated in naive folk art style, have appeared in cities all over Croatia. Here in Zagreb an impressively realistic life-sized sculpture of Jesus and his Disciples (should "disciples" be capitalized?) at the Last Supper (also capitalized?) is in the main square; you can pull a seat up to the table yourself if you feel cheeky.

I feared my blue jeans would render me under-dressed on an Easter Sunday in a cathedral that houses a triptych by famous bunny-painter Albrecht Dürer, but clothes ran the gamut from casual to "Sunday best." The 8 AM service was attended mostly by gray-haired men and their dyed-haired wives, making me wonder about the future of the church in Croatia. The cathedral was not packed. In fact, attendance-wise it looked as I imagine a regular Sunday service would. Perhaps later services were more heavily-attended.

(That night I asked a group of four young women enjoying drinks if they had attended church that morning. Two had gone, the other two had not, but they all assured me that religion was important to them and still had a strong hold on Croatian youth in general. The two who went had also attended 8 AM ceremonies, but did not go to the Cathedral of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. On the other hand, musician Joe Pandur, who I bumped into at a bar later on that evening, was more dubious about the future of faith in Croatia.)

Many women and a few men carried baskets, the contents of which were concealed under linen. I suppose these are bread baskets connected to the ritual of the Eucharist?

I have a bad cold, at least partially attributable to the bad behavior I've documented previously in this blog, so during half the ceremony I was painfully self-conscious of my coughing and runny nose, but fortunately several others present seemed to be just as sick as myself, so I blended right in. During the second half of the ceremony I pulled myself together and was relatively free of outward signs of sickness. It was a minor Easter miracle.

I liked best the part of the ceremony where everybody turns and shakes hands with the people around them. Of course, I did not know the Croatian line everyone says to one another as they do this, so I muttered random syllables as I made eye-contact and desperately hoped I did not offend anybody. They should extend that part of the ceremony and turn it into a sort of speed-dating thing, except it would be a speed getting-to-know-your-random-Croatian-neighbors-in-church-on-Easter-Sunday thing. After all, considering how many wars have resulted in the Balkans and everywhere else at least partially as a result of religious division, wouldn't a greater emphasis on community over sermonizing help smooth things out a bit? OK, I've been drinking beers all evening, but that feeds into an earlier point, which is that no amount of beer interaction compares to the warm sincerity I felt looking into the eyes of those church-goers as we shook hands with one another at the Easter service, none of us sober, but drunk on something else. I'm beginning to understand the powerful social draw of religion.

At 8:45 sharp the ceremony ended, allowing for a fifteen minute transition between the exiting of the attendees and the entrance of the next batch of faithful eager for their own 9 AM injection of faith.



* Usually. But during my exodus from Hungary I was terribly irritated by the guy manically whispering his prayers as he read aloud from his Bible in the seat across from mine. In fact, I will be crude enough to say that he was really fucking annoying.

** Cristina, my girlfriend who was born in Orthodox Romania, is currently in the U.S. and was surprised by how little Americans celebrate Easter. For the benefit of Americans, I should explain that in addition to bunnies, Easter marks the time Jesus triumphed over death, thus trumping Adam and Eve's original sin and saving humanity.

Backdated Entry: Not Recommended

(found on laptop and posted on 18 August 2010)

1) Drink at Club Fuego in Dubrovnik, Croatia until 3 AM; walk one hour back to hostel.

2) Pack things from 4 to 5 AM, then vegetate. Lose consciousness during vegetation.

3) Fucking awake to fucking 6 AM fucking alarm fucking.

4) Walk with three heavy pieces of luggage from hostel to bus station, because of uncertainty regarding buses.

5) Take wrong turn, find yourself at a dead end. It takes ten minutes to reverse direction and try again.

6) Shuffle along the Dubrovnik harbor with your several tons of luggage and your hang-over worrying you will miss your 7:30 AM bus.

7) Reach bus station at 6:55 AM. Load luggage and board bus. Discover that bus was leaving at 7 AM, not 7:30.

8) Count yourself one lucky dumb fuck, then pass out.

9) Oh wait, so it worked! Never mind, then: change title of blog entry to "Recommended!" ;-D

Working Holiday: Dubrovnik, Croatia

From Ukraine, Romania, Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, and Slovenia

I arrived in Kiev on 14 January expecting to kick-start a freelance writing career supplemented by some DJ'ing in the evenings. The freelance writing career is crawling along, but progress has not been as rapid as I had hoped. The DJ'ing did not materialize at all, though I have had a few good research nights out in clubs.

I also had to maintain ties with my day job back in the United States, which required several hours of work made more stressful by the combination of deadlines and spotty internet (most recent message from my boss, which I discovered today a few days after it was sent: "Andrew - please let me know when you are online").

And travel is just stressful. The making of plans and arrangements for accomodation have been enormously so. Consider these facts, and myriad mini-hells I have experienced (stuck on wrong train, dropped reservations, a bus station full of shady characters), and you will understand that while I have had a very fine adventure, it has not been paradise.

So hate me for this. I'm in sunny Dubrovnik in a private room that costs me $15 a day. I have opened the doors on both sides of this room to enjoy the crossbreeze. Skies are bright blue and the sun is shining. Temperatures (in the sunlight) are in the 70s, and in the relative cave of my room they might be a slightly-chillier than comfortable mid-60s (brrrrrr). Yesterday, I drank a beer while surveying the blue-green Adriatic from atop the famous city walls. Today I spent three hours lying on a pebbly beach with a light sweater over my face as sunscreen, with a gap opened just a peek so that I could watch the waves lapping the shore. I just finished the best ice cream cone of my life (vanilla with Snickers bits). I have good company from some American and Aussie travelers.

Dubrovnik, like Split, is another seemingly all-tourist-driven city. There are signs for rooms for rent everywhere. From the hostel where I am lodging to the Old Town it's a 60-minute walk. It's a pleasant walk, with pastry shops and stores selling fruit along the way. I usually pick up a Coca-Cola Zero and 1.5 liters of water during this stroll (Coke Zero, incidentally, has nearly eliminated Coca-Cola Lite [Diet Coke] in Croatia; I hope Croatia is not a test case for Coke's eventual plans to drop Diet Coke outright). The day is too short for walking in and out of the Old Town every time, so once you've gotten the hang of things you hop onto the number 6 bus, which whisks you to the Old Town in no time.

The Old Town is a gorgeous network of red-shingled, white marble Roman buildings, adhering for the most part to a grid, enclosed within a mighty wall. A 70 kuna ticket ($13) is required in order to walk on the wall. If you skip this ticket to save money then you've fucked-up your trip to Dubrovnik, because the wall offers another city atop the one you explore for free below. The views alone are worth it, and there's coffee and beer up there as well. In the Amazon there are arboreal laboratories where scientists study the action of the treetop canopy; this is the spirit with which you should explore Dubrovnik's walls.

I've sometimes felt a bit like Charles Darwin as I've poked along rocky shores and focused my binoculars (which I finally made use of after hauling them for three months) on various bird species. I added a new "lifer": the alpine swift, the largest swift species I have seen. They are common in the Old Town, where they swoop over the main promenade like fighter jets as they enter and exit the various holes in the old buildings which contain their nests*. Alpine swifts clearly prefer the easy living of Dubrovnik to the Alps.

You hear a lot of English, including much American English. I am surprised by how many Americans are exploring the Old Town. Most are retirees, but there were also some "Gossip Girl" sorts ohmigawding on the bus back from town last night. Because of all the English-speaking tourists, plus all the other tourists who use English as their fallback language, one can get by with English in Dubrovnik. In fact, it almost feels unnatural to say "Dober dan" here, as one would in Zagreb; in this sunny, Mediterranean paradise a simple "Hi" seems more appropriate.

Some cities are dominated by feral dogs with cats being the rare exception, and some are dominated by feral cats with dogs being the rare exception. Dubrovnik is a cat city. (I would imagine a cat city is also a birdless city, but cats cannot easily reach the nests of the aforementioned alpine swifts, so at least one species is safe from such predation.)

A kitten romped around our table during lunch. As I watched it, I imagined that newspaper articles should be written about such things. "31 March - In Dubrovnik, Croatia, a small kitten played around the tables of two local restaurants to the delight of patrons of all ages. One observer remarked that the kitten was spotted like a cow. A mother pointed out the kitten to her 2-year-old son while saying, 'Meow! Meow!' The kitten approached several diners, but turned suddenly and adorably shy whenever a person reached out to it. The whereabouts of the kitten's mother are unknown, but the kitten appears healthy."

Dubrovnik is so much a tourist destination that I cannot detect the city's own personality (all tourist cities have this problem; what is Niagara Falls's personality, for example?). Tourist cities unfortunately come with tourist prices (most of the dishes at a Lonely Planet-recommended vegetarian cafe cost at least $10; the only cheap eat is a slice of pizza). The people who aggressively court you to come to their restaurants are a bit annoying. But these are small laments. Dubrovnik is pretty perfect, and once the ferry service to the nearby islands gets going it will be a spectacular summertime destination for those fortunate enough to know about it.

From Ukraine, Romania, Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, and Slovenia

As that number of aware people grows, the city will get worse. The several dozen souvenir shops will transform into people wandering around the streets selling plastic representations of Dubrovnik landmarks the way those guys pacing under the Eiffel Tower sell mini-Eiffels today. The already high food prices will rise even higher. A nearby waterpark seems inevitable. The escalating kitsch factor will soon see folks wandering through the crowds in historical costumes, maybe with some staged Roman gladiator sword fights for good measure, and thus Dubrovnik will become a parody of its historical self.

Nearby the monastery is a memorial to those who died defending the city during the shelling of 1991 and 1992. It's a single room with photographs of the dead. Lots of young faces, feathered haircuts and mustaches from another place and another time. Their heroism then paved the way for the souvenir sellers stationed just outside the memorial today.


* These holes, an aspiring German architect named Daniel told me, might be for scaffolding, but he wasn't sure since it seemed to him that the holes were not regularly-enough spaced. Here is a photo of these holes/alpine swift nesting spaces for your own consideration.

Friday Night Clubbing at Club Fuego, Dubrovnik

From Ukraine, Romania, Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, and Slovenia

Club-curious visitors to Dubrovnik face in insidious choice at the bus stop outside the Old City's walls. Should one catch the last bus back to the comfort of one's hotel room or hostel at 11:55 PM, or should one gamble that the quiet Club Fuego, just across the street from that bus stop, will turn into a lively venue sometime later in the evening? The price of failure: getting ripped off by a cab driver, or a one-hour walk back to your digs. Add to that the prospect of another brutal all-nighter, thanks to one's bizarre decision to take a 7:30 AM bus back to Zagreb the following day, and one faces quite a bind.

Last night my hostel mates chose to return to their beds. I don't blame them. At Fuego's entrance, where 30 kuna ($6) tickets to the club were sold by a weary Kurt Vonnegut lookalike and things seemed unusually quiet, there were no encouraging signs that the venue would amount to much. But despite the fact that life would have been far more comfortable had I gone "home" with my friends, I reminded myself that I am DJ King Pigeon, and I came here to conduct research into Balkan club life.

When I entered the main dancefloor area it seemed I had made a terrible mistake. A group of people running the gamut from 40 to 60 years of age sat at tables under flashing lights while Michael Jackson's "Thriller" played. When I am 40 to 60 I hope to still be hanging out in clubs, also. But it was an odd juxtaposition. Had I blundered into an 80s night?

But the stroke of midnight announced a change in music and clientele. As Beyonce's "Sweet Dreams" played, the older people got up at once and exited. This struck me as a fascinating idea; to run a nightclub that in the early evening serves an older group who wish to bask in the memories of clubbing days long past, then turn things over to today's young all-nighters who are manufacturing and oblittering new memories of their own.

The all-nighters were mostly students, few older than 30, fewer still older than me, though there was an apparent 40-something woman in a catsuit going crazy to the music as she danced with some youthful guys; a good night out for her. Some of the clubbers merely dressed, some dressed up, and some dressed to kill. Several young Britishers aggressively chatted up the many Croatian girls in the room, but they appeared to have no success.

Club Fuego is divided into several sections. The dancefloor is in the basement. Upstairs from that is a "Chill Out Room" which offers a great concept: a projection-screen TV showing a live stream of the dancefloor action on the floor below. A level above that one can take a seat and chat with a friend without having to yell over the music. It's on that highest level that one realizes why the club seems chillier than most; you look up and see the moon and stars and realize you are on a sort of patio; the whole club with its interconnected rooms and levels is thus open to the night air, which must make it a terrific place to be on a summer night.

The music included the usual top 40 dance suspects, including the requisite Lady Gaga "Bad Romance" remix, followed by a number of house tracks, including Martin Solveig's "C'est la vie," which reminded me that I had seen Solveig's singer perform in Kiev three months earlier.

Then, as was also the case at Club Saloon in Zagreb, the DJs switched to all-Croatian pop music, which seemed to alienate most of the expats in the crowd, but which gave me the most pleasure as here was a reminder that I really was far from home. The club's patrons sang along to Croatian Eurodance (there was clearly a lot of Croatian Eurodance made back in the day), and later Croatian rock tunes. The clubbers even assembled themselves on the steps on one end of the dancefloor like some kind of boisterous, drunken mixed chorus.

I left at 3 AM, an hour before the club officially closed. I chose walking over taxi, and had a great conversation along the way back with Cristina on my cell phone.*

I caught my bus back to Central Operations (i.e., Zagreb) with literally five minutes to spare (I had written down the wrong time, apparently), and today I qualify under three technical definitions of the word "dead." But as George Bernard Shaw, a man who loved Dubrovnik, once said, "Use your health, even to the point of wearing it out. That is what it is for. Spend all you have before you die; and do not outlive yourself."**


* The conversation had an odd start to it because she rang while I was sitting on a street corner talking to an intoxicated Croatian guy named "Doc," and Doc would sometimes punctuate Cristina's and my conversation with shouted exclamations. I gently extricated myself from him (he really seemed to be a nice guy, but Cristina wasn't paying to talk to him).

** For the benefit of my Romanian friends, "Foleseste-ti sanatatea pina la limita ei de-i nevoie. De aceea o ai. Cheltuieste totul inainte de a muri si nu trai mai mult decit ti-e dat."

Split, Croatia

From Ukraine, Romania, Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, and Slovenia

I travel in the off-season because it's cheaper and I love cold weather. Fortunately, the majority of the rest of the world travels only in summer, which is why I get to enjoy the lower rates of the off-season in the first place, thank you majority of the rest of the world. But unfortunately, due to the heightened popularity of some cities as summer destinations, some places should only be visited in the summer months. Split is one of those. Nonetheless, I had a pleasant stay there, even if my March visit felt like a 50% Split experience.

Split has a big music festival. Several Croatian musicians and pop groups hail from Split, as do a high percentage of Croatian Miss Universe contestants. But in the off-season, Split is a country of old men, a sort of Florida in Croatia. It's during the summer that, Daytona Beach-style, Split becomes a youth paradise.

People in Split sound exactly like Italians, only they are speaking Croatian, another demonstration of the blurred reality of humanity vs. political borders. That Italian-esque Split accent is distinctive. It made one self-conscious Splitter in a Zagreb hostel particularly nervous the night before a big Zagreb/Split football match. "The moment I speak they know exactly where I'm from," he told me.

As the train snaked up to the Split train station, my initial impression of the city was that it looked pleasant but not especially marvelous. That view changed when I walked down the palm tree-lined promenade facing the bay. The promenade is a lovely bit of city design work that I was told caused some controversy initially for its being considered too modern ("modern" in the Mediterranean sense of looking fewer than 500 years old). But as the voices of 1880s protestors over the then-new Eiffel Tower were quickly drowned out by the many more people who dug it, people in Split seem to like their promenade now.

The handsome facade facing the bay contains a variety of cafes and bars, most of which offer nice first floor (second floor American-style) views of the promenade and the water beyond. Typical bars here have a very narrow porch—not wide enough to accomodate even a small table—so one sits on a stool facing out towards the sea, beer glass set on a wooden slat counter. These porches are like garden boxes for beer drinkers.

That's really nice, but the real magic of Split lies behind that facade, for there you find the sprawling network of ancient Roman alleys and narrow streets that has earned the city its distinction as a UNESCO World Heritage Site. This is the Diocletian's Palace.

If you've lost your sense of childlike wonder, you'll find it again wandering amongst these Roman ruins. The Diocletian's Palace is a maze of stone streets, and every time you turn a corner you discover something new to delight your eye. Best of all, it's not some dead museum. Life goes on here. There are cafes, bars, and stores of all sorts, nestled tastefully into the ancient ruins. It's fantastic.

Birds have begun building nests in Croatia, and the denizens of Solta Island, a one hour ferry ride from Split, were tending to their own nests, preparing their beds & breakfasts, hostels, cafes, bars, and discos for the coming summer season. I was the only tourist wandering aimlessly around the island. I had a nice meal at an otherwise empty restaurant while adult-contemporary Croatian music played in the background. It served as a painful reminder that my European adventure was coming to an end, for I could see how much fun Solta was going to be in a few months, and I knew I would not be here to enjoy that.

From Ukraine, Romania, Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, and Slovenia

Philosophy of Hosteling and Split, Croatia

From Ukraine, Romania, Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, and Slovenia

In Zagreb there is no public wireless internet, and there seem to be only two internet cafes. One of these cafes requires that you—I cannot believe this—feed coins into the computer in order to surf. I'm at the other one. Most of this material was written at the Oliver Twist Pub.

After that wild last night at Saloon, I returned to the hostel, then walked to the train station. I was a bleary-eyed wreck. I rode in a semi-conscious state about 7 hours down to Split, a celebrated coastal city in Croatia.

Most surreal after experiencing the spring temperatures of Zagreb was the sight of snow-capped mountains overlooking fields covered in snow. Much of the interior of Croatia is national parkland. It's gorgeous. Nice though the snow was, I was pleased that warmer weather awaited me in Split.

I stepped off the train to a chorus of people shouting, "Do you need accomodation?" "Do you need a room?" and so on. I hate that.

Then I couldn't find the hostel. I wandered up and down the street seeking the Hostel Split Mediterranean. It was at No. 21 along the street, but the numbers jumped from 19 to 23. Since I had never received a confirmation from the hostel, I was unsure as to whether or not the hostel even existed anymore.

I wheeled my baggage to a second hostel, called Croatian Dream, which I had seen on the way up the same street, but while some too-trusting guest buzzed me in, the staff was not there, and after five awkward minutes of waiting (the sign on the door said "Back in 30 minutes"—30 minutes from when?) I decided to split (forgive me).

I went on to a third Split hostel, one for which I had collected a flyer in Budapest. It's called "Al's Place," and it's run by a British fellow whose name you can guess. But when I finally found it it was closed for renovation.

I was at wit's end.

Fortunately, while Al's Place was closed, a dusty and disheveled Al was there. He was renovating the hostel. Remarkably, he took time out to talk to me. It turned out he was in a spat with the very same Hostel Split Mediterranean I sought, because they had taken a very similar internet domain name (his is www.hostelsplit.com, and theirs is www.hostel-split.com). The spat was serious enough that he was reluctant to call the number I had for them, but he encouraged me to go back and find it. He even let me keep my luggage at his place while I made my second search, a great burden literally lifted from my shoulders. Al is obviously a terrific guy, so if you find yourself in Split during the summer season be sure to make Al's Place your first choice.

When I returned to the original street and found myself facing the same 19 to 23 quandry, I heard a guy shout, "Hello! You're Andrew? You made reservation for hostel on internet?" It was a grinning old man in a cap standing in front of a gate in a little alley off of the street proper. Clearly he was a true blue Croatian.

So I found the place, or rather the propreitor found me. I was deposited in a cozy, three bedroom apartment all to myself for 100 kruna a night, which is less than $20.

The proprietor was very friendly, if a bit perfunctory, in explaining the details. Then he left, and I never saw him again—even when I had decided to spend some more time in Split and wanted to pay the necessary money in order to do that. After fruitlessly knocking on the man's door, I wound up stuffing money into it with notes explaining my intentions. I guess this was acceptable.

Al had told me that Croatians are suspicious of strangers, and that this colors their style of running hostels. Why would anybody want to fraternize with strangers who might try stealing your stuff? they reckon. So, often a solo traveler can be placed in a room of his own for no additional cost. But although having a space to yourself is nice, for the solo traveler it's also alienating. Al spoke passionately of the importance of bringing people together at a hostel in order to facilitate the creating of new friendships. Despite my general introversion, I had to admit he had a point. The times I spent at the hostel in Kiev, with the gentle/hard-partying Gautier, the talented writer Keith, the wise beyond her years Lauren, and the affable mega-snorer Piet were among the best of my trip.

Friday Night Clubbing in Zagreb

From Ukraine, Romania, Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, and Slovenia

The top day of the week to catch a 7:50 AM train to Split is Saturday, because on Friday night you can party in Zagreb's clubs until 5 AM the morning of departure. Sunday is good, too.

On Friday night I had hoped to meet up with Tena Vodopija and Domino Effect Band. They had performed at Saloon on Thursday night. We had talked tentatively about a rendez-vous at Maraschino, but had not set a time. So I got to Maraschino a little early (10 PM) thinking it was a bar and that we'd all go from there to Saloon at midnight. As it turns out, Maraschino is more of a club, and it was pretty dead at 10 PM.

My fruitless hunt for my Friday night clubbing guides allowed me to discover that Maraschino has a small bar at street level, where green and red laser lights drift across all the surfaces in the room like phosphorescent plankton in the deep sea; a lounge area above that; and a dance club in the basement.

I moved to the basement dancefloor level about the time the music switched from house (the classic Salif Kieta track "Madan" [Martin Solveig mix] being one choon played) to retro Motown and 70's funk (e.g., "You Can't Hurry Love"), with perhaps some newer songs offered that fit into the sonic architecture. The place filled up quickly. The funky music was well-complimented by the movie Hell Up in Harlem showing on the TV hanging over the bar. How do Croatians know about obscure American blaxploitation flicks?

I embarrassed myself in a case of mistaken identity. It turns out that, to a clueless American, many Croatian women look alike, and one I thought was Tena was in fact a totally different person who made it absolutely clear how unamused she was by my error.

Random observation: Croations are quite tall, and size does matter. For example, if you are a tall Croatian bartender, it is much easier to lean across the bar to kiss your girlfriend than it is if you are short.

Some American cry-baby boys showed up at the bar cry-babying about the cost of beer. One had an Indiana driver's license. That's all I know about them.

As talented as the DJ was, his retro sound was not for me; I wanted to hear new tunes. So I decided to return to last night's spot, Saloon, which I had been promised would feature plenty of dancefloor action.

As I strolled to Saloon, it was impossible to ignore the three drunk kids staggering down the street while the tallest one hoarsely sang the same four syllables over and over again. It was irritating. I hoped they weren't headed for Saloon, but as it turned out they were.

Saloon's DJs began the night by focusing on the greatest hits of Eurotrash. It was pretty terrific, because hey, fun tunes; but also mildly disappointing, since I knew all the songs already. If anybody reading this remembers the Eurotrash parties I used to throw, many of the songs I spun then were exhumed here, including Mad'House's "Like a Prayer," Paul Johnson's "Get Down," Elvis's remixed "A Little Less Conversation," and Rednexx's "Cotton Eye Joe." There was some inspired mixing, including a good transition from Madonna's "Four Minutes" into Michael Jackon's "Billie Jean."

I finally saw Tena, so I gave her a hello and clinked beer glasses in acknowledgement of her good suggestion to return here. Then I went circulating about.

Lots of people were wearing stickers featuring a cartoon, little-boy version of "the Riddler" from the Batman comics. I asked one guy what that was about. He didn't seem to know. Then he threw an arm around me and in a booming voice said, "What is your name?"

"Andrew."

"Andrew! And where are you from?"

"America."

"Andrew from America, what the FUCK are you doing in Croatia?"

"I'm rockin', man."

"Do you know anything about Croatian football?"

"No."

"This is a shame!"

"Is Croatia in the World Cup this year?"

The change of expression told me I had asked the wrong question.

"No," he said. "Because we were FUCKED by England!"

Then the DJs veered into pure, pounding Croatian-languge Eurodance. I could have cried with joy. This was what I had really wanted to experience: a full-on Croatian discotheque at its peak. The patrons went crazy, singing along in big booming choruses to songs like this fantastic remix of Bijelo Dugme's "Hajdemo u planine," and to tracks from artists like Rozga Jelena, Alika Vuica, Severina, and Magazin. I know this much because I ran up to people with notebook in hand requesting artists and song titles. "WHAT IS THIS SONG?" I wrote on the top of a page in my notebook to help them out, since the music was loud and written English might have been easier for the Croatians to process than shouted. Sometimes the people singing along to the tunes had no idea about the song's identity; they just knew the words by heart. It reminded me of folk music in that sense, an oral tradition of popular music passed down while the original songwriters remain anonymous.

Many tune IDs were lost, probably forever. But you cherish what information you are able to gather and the lost songs are forgotten.

Scenes from the club: A patron's tired push of a drained tumbler of ice and lemon rind back to the bartender to collect. A bottle of Jack in a bucket of ice shared by three guys who fished out the ice cubes to cool their drinks. A girl with her arm around a guy hitting the side of my head over and over again as she twirled her hand to the music—not a problem, until the hand held a lit cigarette, at which point I had to move.

On my way out I discovered another dancefloor showcasing typical house tracks, so I stopped in there and had another beer. At first, the DJ'ing seemed technically good but joyless, but later some colorful tunes, including the requisite David Guetta, entered the mix. A group of young women were dancing there as if in an aerobics class, with one leader facing four girls who mimed her moves. When the leader quit leading, I jumped in and took over, taking the girls through as many silly dance moves as possible, including the "Ketchup Dance," which my friend Michael will be pleased I still remember. Then I fell backwards onto the couch behind me, whereas there were no couches to catch them, so some pretended to fall and others just stood there laughing. Dumb nights are made of this.

Feeling refreshed by the more "normal" house sounds, I returned to the main, Croatian-heavy dancefloor, and hung out until 5 AM. I marveled over how early Atlanta's club scene shuts down and almost thought that was a shame, until I remembered that Atlanta's clubs are terrible and undeserving of being open until 5 AM.

I spoke to the bartenders, who were middle aged men, perhaps even a bit past middle age. Some of them had been students in Saloon themselves years ago. I asked them what the club was like back then, but I didn't get much out of them due to the language barrier. The club has been around since 1970 and they heard a lot of live rock music in it back in the days when they went there to party instead of work.

Lonely Planet, by the way, does not mention Saloon. One of my emerging theories about Lonely Planet is that it writes for a UK/US audience, which it assumes will want to experience night life more on terms with which they are already familiar. For example, clubs with great live alternative music, or jazz, or house music—music scenes with which young backpacker types are familiar—get promoted. Croatian pop-friendly venues, on the other hand, seem to have been excised. Turbo folk music in particular gets the usual condescending treatment in a special box titled "Brotherhood & Unity or Dumb & Dumber?"* And so Saloon, which flirts with some of that stuff, might have thus been cut from the final edit of the volume. That's just my theory.

I stumbled back to Nocturno Hostel. Some dummy had locked the door (he was not supposed to), so I buzzed to be let in, thus bringing out the bleary-eyed proprietor who then complained about the dummy's incompetence. She asked if I still needed a wake-up call for my 7:50 AM train to Split. I told her I'd be fine without one. She went back to sleep, I Skyped with Cristina for maybe an hour, and then I took a shower and headed to the train station in the bright light of day.

Maybe the best night of clubbing in my life.


* This rhetorical technique always angers me, the one where the author seemingly offers a positive perspective balanced with a negative one, but in fact the positive is really just a different kind of negative ("brotherhood" and "unity" are familiar jingostic terms--the sorts of words used today by nationalistic skinheads and associated with statues of Lenin [the term is plucked from a Tito slogan]--and thus they ring sinisterly in the ears of the British and American hippie backpackers who reference Lonely Planet). A fairer title for the piece would have been, "Techno-fied Celebration of Traditional Balkan Culture or Dangerous Vehicle for Nationalism?" It's clunkier, but it's also truly balanced and more accurately captures the essence of the music.

Backdated Entry: Zagreb, 19 March 2010

From Ukraine, Romania, Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, and Slovenia

I wrote most of this on the 19 March, but posted it on 25 April.

Due to last night's revelry, I slept until 11:30 AM today. I awoke to temps near 20 degrees Celsius, which is around 70 degrees Fahrenheit ("30's hot. 20's nice. 10's cold. Zero's ice"). Without a doubt this is the most beautiful day I've seen in many months, and the natives probably feel similarly. Every other park bench in the city was occupied by kissing couples. A dog took obvious pleasure rolling around on the grass while its owner looked on. And insects are out, now. I had forgotten about insects.

Buskers played on the streets. Simon and Garfunkel music seems to be the most popular. I passed a male/female duo, one with a guitar and the other with a flute, performing "The Sound of Silence." Then I passed a guy in a corridor singing "Mrs. Robinson." Near the train station the strains of "El Condor Pasa (Yes I Would)" filled the air.

Zagreb remains a complete pleasure. The people here smile and laugh constantly; it's their natural disposition. In some countries the people don't laugh, or when they laugh it's a cruel or bitter laughter. Here, everyone seems to be a good-natured comedian. While telling funny stories, people frequently lapse into comic voices to enhance things. It's wonderful.

I have enjoyed every city I have visited, but I can't recall a place where I felt more charmed than Zagreb. I love this city. So after Split I'm going back to it again for a couple days before I head to Belgrade to interview another band.

Zagreb, Thursday Night Music Scene

I began the night strolling down my favorite street of cafes. I heard live Croatian music floating out of one bar and a chorus of people singing along. I had to check that out. It was a private party, so I was told to stay at the bar. Stayed I did, for a good half an hour, as I listened to this wonderful band belting out old Croatian standards (with accordion) while the patrons sang along. Here is a recording of some of it.

Spacemen 3 had a terrific album title: "Taking Drugs to Make Music to Take Drugs To." I suspect many years ago that a lot of Croatians got plenty drunk before writing these wonderful songs to get drunk to. They are perfect drinking songs because they are bittersweet. You feel the love, but you also feel the tears just below the surface.

After that I sat at the bar of a cafe that was playing good house music, including Dennis Ferrer's groovy "Hey Hey." Then it was on to another bar where the sounds of classic disco were offered, including "The Hustle."

The club proper that I visited was Saloon, a legendary Zagreb venue. Live music was on tap; the video above is of that, and shows Tena Vodopija (on right) performing with Domino Effect Band. It was the first time they had performed together like this, but they sounded like they had been working together for years. The song is "One Way or Another," one of the great Blondie tracks. My dad had the album this came off of, Parallel Lines. Parallel Lines also contained the legendary "Heart of Glass."

For the curious, other songs in their set list included "Bitch," "I've Got My Mind Set On You," and "Proud Mary," which served as the finale. Some Croatian songs were tossed in as well. Here is a longer bonus clip of them tackling "Umbrella" and a song I did not recognize.

Everything shut down at 2 AM, so at 2:30 I wandered through a nearly-deserted Zagreb. A few minutes after I got back to my hostel, three dorm mates, guys from Italy, entered the room. They had been to the Rammstein show and must have been drinking after that because I saw lots of fresh Rammstein T-shirts when I had arrived at Saloon hours earlier.

For many visitors to Zagreb, Rammstein was the music event of the night, but I was very satisfied with my own music experience.

My Long-Suffering Mother

From Ukraine, Romania, Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, and Slovenia

My mother is very concerned about the photos I post of myself drinking beer after beer during my travels. Unfortunately for her, I have been especially busy these days exploring various night spots, a task which inevitably invites the associated consumption of alcoholic beverages. My last several pictures, taken on St. Patrick's Day and St. Patrick's Night are sure to upset her further. I torture my mother with every good night out.

The trip to Zagreb was spoiled by my boarding the right train but the wrong car in Gyékényes, Hungary; the cars split at one point and I was on my way to Budapest with a ticket saying "Zagreb." I spent an hour sitting at a train station in Balatonszentgyörgy, a town which, despite its sexy name, was dead. Three and a half hours after my expected arrival I made it to Zagreb.

Hostel Junis, first choice in the new Lonely Planet guide, exudes a hippie sort of cool, much as did the excellent Hostel Nap I had stayed at in Pécs. Unfortunately, it smelled like a locker room in my six bed dorm, which is not the fault of the staff so much as the luck of the draw. Due to a lack of room there tonight, I have now moved to the Nocturno Hostel which, based on my first impression, may be superior to the celebrated Hostel Junis, though it also costs $7 more a night.

I met a terrific young Californian named Darren at the hostel. He is a 23 year-old international studies student, table busser, and death metal DJ who is exploring many of the same countries I am. We started with drinks alongside the people-watching paradise that is Tkalčićeva utica. Then we headed to Sax! pub, which was hosting a St. Patrick's Day celebration with live music. Dismayed by the cover charge (about $6 US) and lack of activity in the early part of the evening, Darren and I decided to make that a miss. We passed time at a hip little cinema-themed cafe. Then, Darren proposed that we pick up beer at the supermarket and drink it on the street. I asked him, "What are the rules here with regards to open containers?" to which he replied, "It's ZAGREB!" and to which I replied, "One might say, 'It's SINGAPORE!' "

Still not clear about Zagreb's open-container laws, I opened our beers with the hostel's key anyway, and we strolled and sipped until Darren spotted a McDonald's. He wanted to drink the beers inside because it was too cold outside. I was reluctant, but agreed out of curiosity. As we entered I noticed people seated at their tables staring at us bemusedly—perhaps worriedly. We sat in front of a TV showing men's handball, followed later by a Barcelona/Stuttgart football match. Darren ordered and ate a cheeseburger in order to buy good-will from the McDonald's staff for our transgression.

When he disappeared for a bit, an older McDonald's manager came up to me and scolded me for the beer bottles. She marched them out of the restaurant in a huff. I rose from my chair and found Darren engaged in conversation with a Bible student at an internet station in the restaurant. At one point Darren seemed to get a bit effusive and, to my ear, nonsensical; the Croatian Bible student looked terribly confused. I made a snarky comment, which offended Darren greatly. In retrospect I realize there was no need for my remark, and I wish I had contained it. The remark, for the record, was, "Dude, I'm an American and an English major, and even I cannot follow what you are saying."

He was sore about that for a while, so after we hit the streets I proposed that we go back to the Sax! club and that I pay his cover. This cheered him up, and it cheered me up too, since I felt bad that I had hurt his feelings.

It was a terrific decision. Two excellent live bands played, the first serving up a pint of traditional Irish music, the second offering two pints of raucous Flogging Molly-type rock.

Two Finns from the hostel that Darren had invited showed up, and the four of us, who share a great fascination with foreign affairs, got into a fabulous discussion about the World. What more perfect thing to discuss over several beers, a pint of Guinness, and two Johnnie Walkers while seated with two Finns and an American in a Croatian bar on St. Patrick's Day?

From Ukraine, Romania, Hungary, Croatia, Serbia, and Slovenia