Osijek

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I got a ride back to Slavonski Brod this morning with Vesna.

It was a bright day with a crisp breeze, perfect for strolling through the vineyards. I wished I had another day to spend there but I was keen to move on.

Vesnja arrived in a dark suit. She on her way to a funeral in Slavonski Brod and I felt a little guilty for bumming a ride.

We listened to a radio program about an international cooking competition that a Croatian chef had just won which, frankly, shocked the hell out of me. I felt a little uncomfortable alone in the car with her. She had a way, like so many other Croatian women, of looking at me like she didn’t trust me. Like she could see right through any smiling bullshit I gave her. For the first ten minutes, we were silent as we listened to the radio. When the show ended, I asked if she preferred living in Brodski Stupnik or in Zagreb, where she’d grown up. And for the rest of the journey, I didn’t have to worry about awkward silences; she quite happily launched into a tirade about her feelings for Slavonians.

“Definitely I prefer Zagreb,” she said. “I don’t like their way of thinking here. Yes, okay, Slavonian people are warm, they want to give you everything, that’s the official line on Slavonians. But they don’t want to do anything. If you say you want to do something, they say you can’t. If you get something done, they resent you. They are lazy.”

She was quiet only for a minute, then her eyes brightened because she’d found a way to make it clear to me. “Like Mexicans!”

“They want everything easy, they don’t want to worry, they don’t want to rush. They take life slowly. And they don’t do things properly. Sure, it looks fine but if you inspect it closely, it’s not complete.”

“People see me as a snake,” she continued. “No, not a snake. What is it, when it rains?”

“A spider?” I suggested.

“Yes, a spider! A black widow spider! That’s how they think of me around here.”

I had planned to stop for the night in Dakovo, but I walked around for an hour or so and there were no hotels/pensions to be found, so I caught the next bus out. I’m a bit gutted to have missed the Lippizaners that apparently originated there.

The ride to Osijek was quick, and I don’t know if I was entirely prepared to be there yet. This is the town of Vanja and Sandra. Of kids living in basements for two years, starting to drink at 12 years ago and the bartenders allowed it because they knew these kids were a lot more grown up than most adults. Of little girls watching the friends they were just playing with blown to bits in an apartment building. This is Sasa’s town.

From the second I stepped off the bus, I was lost. My backpack felt too heavy, the sun was too hot. In Slavonski Brod I’d been wondering if the pockmarks in some of the buildings were war-damage, I couldn’t be sure. In Osijek, I was sure. They were everywhere.

I found the centre of town and, correctly assuming there was no hostel in Osijek, I decided to find the cheapest hotel. I spotted Hotel Royal just off the main square and ventured inside. There was no one at the front desk so I looked into the attached restaurant. A young waiter jumped up to help me.

“Room, for hotel? Yes, yes, come with me.”

He bounded up the hotel’s wide staircase without paying much attention to whether or not I was still behind him. The hallway was long and empty, and I felt like I’d wandered into The Shining. When he opened the door and lead me into the room, even he could barely keep a straight face. There were no blankets on the tiny single bed. The walls were stark white with no paintings or other decorations and there was no tv. I wondered if the hotel was even open to the public yet. This waiter, surely, was taking the piss out of a poor, unsuspecting tourist.

“Is okay?” he asked and if I hadn’t been a little afraid for my life in the empty hotel, I would have laughed out loud.

“How much?” I asked for kicks.

“Three hundred kuna,” he answered.

When he offered me the key I politely refused it and turned away. The vineyards in Brodski Stupnik would have been a better choice of accommodation.

I then tried the Pension Regina. When I knocked on the door a lady answered, dolled up in a black, velvet suit and sparkling jewelry. She told me that the titular Regina was out but that she would call her immediately. She offered me a seat, then a cup of tea and I’m sure she would have offered to cook me lunch if she’d been able to ask in English. She was a Croatian living in Germany and although I told her I did not speak German, she persisted in speaking to me in that language and to my surprise, I understood her quite well. I gathered that she was either going to a funeral or a wedding service at the cathedral next door and I felt awful for making her late. Regina arrived twenty minutes later, relieving her poor mother - or mother-in-law, I didn’t quite catch that part - and showed me a room. She, and the room, was lovely, but wanted to charge even more than the swanky Hotel Waldinger down the street. I told her I just needed to pop out to a bank machine, and I headed straight for the Waldinger. To this day, there might be people at both the Hotel Royal and the Pension Regina holding rooms for me.

I’d heard that Osijek was the gastronomic capital of Croatia so even before I got there, I expected to have great food. Thank God for the breakfast buffet at the Waldinger because apart from that, I found nothing. Even in the gastronomic capital of the country, for the love of God, I was hard-pressed to find a restaurant where I particularly wanted to eat. I wandered the streets that first night, increasingly cold and tired and frustrated. There were few choices, and the few restaurants I did see were either too empty or too crowded for me to feel comfortable eating alone. I had no guide book with me and I couldn’t find tourist information. I tried to follow Davor’s advice and eat in the restaurant, but it was closed that night.

I phoned Sasa a few hours after I arrived, to tell him I was in his hometown. A girl who sounded just like Sandra told me he was busy, and then hung up the phone.

That Saturday night in Osijek was one of the coldest and loneliest I’ve ever had.

I knew I’d hit rock-bottom when, after hours of unfruitful searching for somewhere to eat, I wound up in McDonald’s. And it wasn’t even particularly tasty McDonald’s. My descent into madness was accelerated by a group of screaming children having a birthday right beside me.

While I bitterly shoved french fries into my mouth, a man and his young daughter started making the rounds through the restaurant asking for money. The man couldn’t have been older than thirty and the girl not much more than a toddler. When they reached my table, I said I didn’t understand what he was talking about. He repeated his request.

“Ne govorim Hrvatski,” I said.

“Money! Money!” he nearly shouted.

I shook my head. They stood there. The little girl reached for my french fries and the man said something in Croatian which sounded like a demand that I give them to her. I handed her one french fry, which she happily shoved into her mouth. I’d suddenly become the selfish bitch who was stingy with a pack of fries that I wasn’t even enjoying?

Afterwards, I forlornly walked the streets. I was desperate for a beer but I was afraid to meet anyone, in case they were somehow linked to Sasa or Sandra. I finally settled for a pub that was empty except for two old men watching a football game with the bartender, who was gorgeous so that helped a little. I sat directly under the big screen, writing in my journal, smoking a cigarette and drinking a huge Osjecko, a nice play on the more common brand name Ozujsko.

On my way home that night I passed the burnt-red Cathedral and there was a group of men standing outside. A wedding ceremony had just ended and there were still guests milling about. The men had ukeleles and guitars and they were singing joyously.

I went back to the Waldinger and bundled myself into the enormous Hotel Waldinger bed. Supersize Me was just starting on TV, an ironic little jab for that night’s meal.

The next morning I woke up late and wasn’t able to partake in the beautiful hotel brunch for as long as I’d intended. I made a mental note to force myself out of bed the next day. The food at that brunch made up for the high price of the hotel.
I went to the reception to ask for another night and ended up chatting to the receptionist with excellent English. She asked me what I had done the night before. I told her not much, I’d had only one quiet drink then called it a night.

“You didn’t go to Tvrda?” she asked incredulously. I knew that was the best area to go out partying, but seeing as I’d felt intimidated just walking around the quiet center streets, I knew I’d been in no shape to head out to a nightclub.

“I wish I’d known you were here,” she said. “I would have taken you there.”

She then asked me what I was doing in Osijek. It’s a common question posed by Croatians, not only in Osijek which, granted, doesn’t see many tourists, but even by Croatians in Zagreb or Pula. What are you doing in Croatia? And when they find out how long I’ve been there, What do you like so much about Croatia? It’s as if they have no concept of why tourists fall in love with their country, even if they are in love with it themselves. I remember Matija asking what I thought of their language, the way it sounded.

“I always thought it was very hard, like German,” he admitted.

I left the Waldinger at around ten to eleven, not sure where I was heading. As I passed the red Cathedral and saw people going in, I realized it was Sunday and mass was about to start. I never attend mass. I am Catholic and a believer, and I visit as many churches as I can in different cities to say a little prayer of thanks. But I couldn’t remember the last time I’d actually sat through a mass that wasn’t connected to a wedding or funeral.

I sat down at the end of a pew but had to move into the middle when more people arrived. The mass began and although I did not understand a word of it. There were two girls, probably 19 or 20, sitting in the pew in front of me. At one point when the congregation stood up, one of the girls dropped to her knees, hands folded in front of her, eyes closed. She wasn’t embarrassed to do it, she paid no attention to the friend with her or anyone else, and no one else paid attention to her. I couldn’t imagine one of my friends at home showing their devotion so strongly in public. There was a long line at each side of the cathedral for the confessionals. And when it came time to shake hands with our neighbours and say a few words, the handshakes I received from the women on either side of me, and from the man who turned around from the pew in front, were firm and heartfelt, even though I could only respond to their words with a meek smile.

I left the Cathedral an hour later and the day was crisp and bright blue. I don’t know if it was the church service or the great sleep I’d had the night before, but I was suddenly full of love for Osijek.

I decided to take it slow, like Slavonian people, or like the slow-moving Drava river that I walked alongside for most of the day. I had read in a guide book that the grassy area beside the Drava at Strossmayer street was full of dogs and it was right.

I spent the rest of the afternoon exploring the Tvrda area, an old army barracks which blew my mind with how old and quiet it was, and I stopped for a bijela kava in the centre of the Tvrda, which I drank outside while wishing I was with friends discussing the previous nights’ events like everyone around me seemed to be doing.

I saw a statue dedicated to war victims, and then, as it was only mid-afternoon and I felt like I’d seen everything I needed to see in Osijek, I sat down on a bench atop a little hill, surrounded by autumn leaves and fresh grass, the sun on my head, and I read my book for hours. Something I’ve always meant to do but have never found the time. I ate the sandwiches I’d made that morning at brunch and had stuffed into my purse and I didn’t even have a cigarette, not wanting to taint the fresh and clean air.

Osijek, for all the trouble it had given me the night before and as tense as I’d felt, turned out to hold one of the dearest places in my heart. I wandered around residential neighbourhoods that evening, wondering if Sasa and Vanja had grown up in one of those houses, getting lost and using the Cathedral spires to find my way back home. I had a piece of cake and two gemists that evening while reading my book at the Café Waldinger, and then I watched “Cold Mountain” (far better than “Money Train!”) and went to bed early.
Osijek is a city best enjoyed for its simple pleasures. And yesterday I was ready to go home: bah humbug!

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