Balkan Surprise

Returning to Croatia after an absence of half a dozen years, I am filled with a mix of anxiety and anticipation.

At one time, when Croatia was part of Yugoslavia, I considered it my second home. Over two decades, my wife and I came here at least once a year to visit friends and relatives and explore this beautiful country from one end to the other.

But the breakup of the Yugoslav federation in 1991 triggered a war that would rage across much of the land, until the Dayton peace agreement enforced at least a temporary cessation of hostilities.

In June, we needed to return to Croatia on family business. So, with a tenuous peace in place, it seemed as good a time as any to go. According to reports, Dubrovnik--”the Pearl of the Adriatic”--had been rebuilt and was back in business after Serb artillery attacks early in the war. Tourism was said to be flourishing in the seaside resorts on the Istrian peninsula.

Although the parts of the country we would be visiting had remained on the periphery of the fighting and were spared the devastation that decimated much of Bosnia and Herzegovina, I was still torn between fear and trepidation on the one hand, curiosity on the other.

As it turned out, nothing could have prepared me for the reality.

On the flight from Paris to the Croatian capital, a full-page ad in the International Herald Tribune for the new Sheraton Zagreb Hotel described Zagreb as one of “the great capital cities of Central Europe,” on par with Budapest and Prague, to which “business travelers and tourists will be thronging.”

Indication of things to come? We were still dubious.

We landed at a revamped Pleso airport on the plains 12 miles southeast of Zagreb. Efficiency appeared to be the order of the day. Major auto rental agencies offered late model cars in tiptop condition. From Avis we picked up a bright red Opel Corsa with only a few thousand kilometers on the odometer. A first-time visitor might not know there had been a war. Approaching Zagreb, the heavy traffic seemed to be made up mostly of expensive, new cars.

The 19th century lower town--the present-day commercial center, with tree-lined boulevards, leafy squares, parks and gardens--had shed its image of a grim, minor Eastern European metropolis of the socialist era. The facades of gracious, century-old buildings had been scrubbed, fresh coats of paint applied to window frames, parks and gardens tended. Water from fountains splashed merrily.

The medieval upper town--which developed from the 11th to the 13th centuries--also appeared buffed to a high gloss, with historic structures restored close to their original glory. In this romantic quarter, too, boutiques, cafes and bars lined the cobblestone streets. It was as though after six years of semi-isolation and war, a whole new Zagreb had emerged. The so-called self-managed socialist system had been dismantled and replaced by an anything-goes market economy.

We moved in with friends and, over the following days, got on intimate terms with the city.

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It is boomtown, central European division, and a new class has emerged: nouveau riche. Men in Armani suits. Shiny BMWs and Mercedeses. Cellular phones. Attractive women in the latest fashions and chic jewelry, living in lavishly furnished homes with weekend hideaways on the side. All of which is in large measure because of the influx of foreign capital during the war years and the continuing peacekeeping efforts.

In the atrium of the historic Oktogon Building, between the main street, Ilica, and the flower market on Petar Preradovic Square, the shops would fit right in along Rue du Faubourg St. Honore. Prices may not be as high as at Hermes, but they are high enough for this poor country: $60 for a necktie (said to have been a Croat invention); a shirt for $75. Women’s scarves at $100 and up? In Zagreb? Well, why not?

Zagreb also serves as good-time city, with what sometimes seems to be the densest concentration of cafes in any Continental metropolis.

Fancy restaurants open frequently; prices are more or less on a par with other European capitals.

One day, we settled in for a late lunch at the newly opened Klub A.G. Matos, a current “in” spot on the second floor of a building overlooking Zagreb’s main square, Trg (square) Jelacica. It’s elegant, ostentatious, with obsequious waiters and features “continental” cuisine with a Viennese accent. Prime time is between 2 and 5 in the afternoon. (A hangover from the bad old days of socialism, most offices still close at 2 p.m., after which executive types repair to their favorite restaurants, clubs and cafes.)

The city’s refurbished grand hotels boast high occupancy rates, thanks in part to the U.N. and NATO officials headquartered here. Entire floors are occupied by U.S. troops. A vast underground shopping center, Importanne, with more bars and boutiques, has been inlaid across from the railway station beneath Trg Starcevicicev.

The Dolac farmers market, open Monday through Saturday, 7 a.m. to 1 p.m. at city center, has been expanded to include a large indoor arena where butchers, bakers and fishmongers display their finest products in profusion. Stands are stocked with cheeses, hams and sausages, and imports are much in evidence: anchovies from Morocco, salt cod from Norway, hams from Parma and Poland, extra virgin olive oil.

But inside and out, prices tend to be as high as in New York, if not higher. And there’s the rub. Back in the real world of real people dependent on a salary or pension, there is little at the market, in the restaurants or cafes that they can afford. To go out for an ice cream or espresso makes for a treat.

Our Croatian friends, in whose company we explored the new Zagreb, have not struck it rich. But for a visitor, Zagreb can be a good deal.

You’ll have the place more or less to yourself, with a scattering of tourists, along with the natives and officers and troops up from Bosnia on R&R; or in the process of being transferred in or out of the former war zone. And, of course, the suits with briefcases out to plug into the moneymaking machine.

It’s Prague before the tourist crowds, some say, with plenty to see and do, including 40 museums and galleries, ballet, opera and renowned chamber music groups.

On our last night in the city we went to a performance of the Ballet Ensemble of the Croatian National Theater in its ornate 19th century theater. Comparing the presentation to one I had attended a few weeks earlier by the much heralded ballet company of Basel, Switzerland, I found the Zagreb production infinitely more stimulating and original. And the price was right: about $15 for a good seat.

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From Zagreb, a 125-mile drive leads to the coast, a short stretch on the toll highway, the rest on narrow mountain roads winding through dense forests.

But once again I am subject to anxiety attacks. Are Serbs hiding in the woods, ready to set up roadblocks, steal the car, strip us of money and valuables? I know this is a figment of my imagination; the nearest Serb troops are at least 50 miles away; our route is perfectly safe.

And we make it without incident, save for getting stuck behind slow-moving trucks for most of an hour. Eventually we reach Rijeka, where my wife’s family lives. Though there are reminders of the time (1870-1918) when Rijeka served as Budapest’s outlet to the Adriatic, today, Croatia’s largest port has a basically industrial character within a setting of shipyards, dry-docks, refineries and heavy industry.

One day, I leave my wife to deal with a family business matter and drive a dozen miles to Opatija, Kvarner Bay’s leading resort, in the shadow of 4,580-foot Mt. Ucka. From there, I set off on a whirlwind tour of the Istrian peninsula.

Jutting south near the Italian border alongside the Gulf of Venice, this is the Adriatic coast least affected by the war.

My first stop is Rovinj, a 15th century Venice transplanted across the drink, frozen in time, so to speak, with age-old red-roofed houses clustered around a Venetian bell tower.

Fifteen miles south, from the port of Fazana, a ferry zips to the Brijuni (Brioni) archipelago of 14 green and lovely islands. Once the private domain of Yugoslavia’s late President Tito, now a national park, its largest island can be visited via a three-hour guided tour or by checking in at the deluxe Istra-Neptun Hotel complex.

An additional six miles south, at the port of Pula, the centerpiece is a 1st century Roman amphitheater that once held 23,000 spectators.

A few days later, my wife and I head south from Rijeka, 65 miles on the coast road to Jablanac. From there the car ferry gets us to Rab, where members of her family have lived for generations, where she spent childhood summers and where we visited before the Bosnian war.

Rab is among the prettiest of about a thousand islands off Croatia’s coast, all of which have been largely neglected by foreigners since 1990. Tourism on Rab goes back to the 1880s. Before World War I, the island was a favorite winter retreat for wealthy Viennese. In the 1930s the trend turned to summer vacations; from June to September hotels were booked to capacity, campgrounds filled to the gunwales. Nudist retreats attracted the avant-garde.

The formerly fortified main town, also named Rab, is something of a living museum, with palaces and portals in Baroque, Romanesque, Gothic and Renaissance styles, along with Venetian loggias, all within the shadow of bell towers going back to the 12th century. Add beaches and hideaway coves with crystal clear water, at one of which King Edward VIII swam in the nude in the summer of 1936.

Rab is famous for lobsters and scampi from the Velebit Channel, where cold spring water flows from mountains into the sea, creating ideal conditions for the spawning of shellfish.

One night we went to Kordic, on the waterfront in the village of Barbat, an establishment that has been in business since 1881 and is now in the third-going-on-fourth generation of family ownership. We went for the whole bag--risotto, grilled scampi, lobster boiled and broiled, along with a bottle of wine from Rab’s own vineyards (somewhat tart, but OK). At tables around us just about everyone spoke German. One gent with a bib around his neck exclaimed “Wunderbar!” as he polished off his lobster. It seemed like old times.

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GUIDEBOOK

Croatian Comforts

Getting there: No airlines fly direct from the United States to Croatia. For connecting service between L.A.-Zagreb take American carriers or Air France to Paris, changing to Air France or Croatia Airlines to Zagreb. Or American and international carriers to Germany, changing to Lufthansa or Croatia to Zagreb; round-trip fares begin at about $1,070, including taxes and fees. Visas required.

There’s daily train service to Zagreb from Paris, also from Munich and Vienna.

Where to stay: In Zagreb, international chain hotels include the Inter-Continental and Sheraton.

At the elegant Esplanade (Mihanoviceva 1; toll-free reservations [800] 223-6800), price of a double room is $245-$275.

At small, recently refurbished Hotel Central (Branimirova 3; tel. 011-385-1-425-777), cost of a double is $78-$115.

In Opatija, at the new Mozart (M. Tita 194; tel. 011-385-51-271-877), double is $135-$175.

At revamped, seaside Kristal (M. Tita 207; tel. 011-385-51-271-333), double with breakfast and dinner, $55-$100.

In Rovinj, Park Hotel (tel. 011-385-52-811-077) harborside room for two, $55-$110.

At Brioni’s Istra-Neptun complex (tel. 011-385-52-525-400), double with breakfast, $80-$160.

On Rab, Hotel Padova (across harbor from the old town; tel. 011-385-51-724-544) doubles range $40-$100.

For more information: Croatia maintains no tourist office in the U.S. Informed travel agencies include:

Atlas Ambassador of Dubrovnik, 60 E. 42nd St., New York, N.Y. 10165, tel. (800) 528-5275; Adriatic Travel, 777 9th St., San Pedro, CA 90731, tel. (800) 262-1718.