Gordon Blue

We enjoyed Zagreb so much the first time around that we felt Beans needed to see it. In fairness it was actually the hostel that we enjoyed so much. In fact it was the insane fellas who ran the hostel that we thought Beans needed to see. So we went. To Zagreb. Again.

'Twas a 7 hour coach trip from Split to Zagreb. Croatia is a very long country. On one of our food/piss stops we were greeted at a service station by a group of Croat elders bellowing out what can only be described as a Communist folk song. We couldn't understand the lyrics of course, but that was the vibe we got.

After eventually arriving at Fulir Hostel, in Zagreb, we were settled in by the irrepressible Dabor. Although he didn't seem quite as chirpy and mischievous as he did on our last visit. This worried us. Turned out it was because he was drunk and was at work. Understandable. Give him his due, he gave us all a free beer and cracked out the vodka for himself. After sitting on a roof terrace and being informed of the day's Gay and Anti-Gay marches we went inside. Dabor closed the common room so we could have it to ourselves, along with his band of Croatian buddies. He and an affable ginger Canadian decided to dance for us. It got slightly out of hand and resembled a wrestle more than a waltz. Dabor ended the dance by jumping onto a very fragile table covered in beer bottles. Bed time for Dabor.

His friend - and Beans's main gay-scare of the holiday - Teem recommended we go to a club called Piranha, so we went. There. It was pricey but had a great atmosphere and played some good dance stuff. I don't normally like this sort of thing. But I did. Beans threw up by the DJ booth, so we left.

We were rather hungover the next day and couldn't find a pub that was showing the rugby, having trekked to at least 3 different 'recommended' establishments. After a kip and a spot of blog writing - turned out to be the last of the trip - we joined the hostel men to watch some Ultimate Fighting. After one round the Croatian fighter decimated the Brit. We kept schtum. We three, and an Irishman with a PhD - PhD Patrick - went out for drinks with the Croatian girl we met on our last visit. Unfortunately the cool rock club was empty and it was raining.

The next day another Irishman - with the enviable position of working at the hostel - Damien, took us to the Zagreb Music and Arts Festival. The music was shite, but the weather was nice and the company was pleasant. We played with a ball for a bit then went to get some food at a 24 hour eatery. I had the cordon bleau - or 'Gordon Blue' as the menu informed me - which was truly horrific. A taste sensation similar, I'd imagine, to deep fried rubber. The chips were OK though.

Our last night's sleep in Zagreb was marred not only by the heat, but by a bed so noisy that I might as well have been playing a CD of howler monkeys using megaphones, than just rolling over because my arm had pins and needles.

Ah well. Another day, another country.