Once I was on the coach to Zagreb three days of cheap wine and near death in Slovenia finally caught up on me. At a moment’s notice I was conscious admiring my last minutes in Slovenia, and then suddenly I fell into an overdue slumber, only to find myself sharply awoken at the Croatian border for passport checks.
All went smooth for me, yet a Mexican couple were singled out and taken off the bus for an interrogation due to alleged passport issues. Keeping in mind I was more in the land of dreams than Croatia at this point; I wasn’t sure if in fact the Croatian border guards had been switched with ICE as the Mexicans were marched into a room for questioning, and then the rest of us continued onto Zagreb.
Yet one thing that became clear over a week later was that this event was some sort of twisted dramatic irony in my own story; one hinting at a certain incident at the Bosnian border involving yours truly and angry border guards(I won’t spoil it for you now).
The best way to described Zagreb is that it’s like Croydon and Vienna’s love child. It’s a grungy mix of nice architecture coupled with tower blocks plus a massive tram system which makes crossing the road alive an accomplishment in itself.