Third World Report: The Zagreb Chronicles

By Christian Hummel | Monday, November 12, 2001

Trg Ban Jelacic

My Fulbright grant, originally awarded for studies in Macedonia, had to be transferred. Offered a choice of several countries, I ultimately selected Croatia to be my home for the next year. Naturally though, things had to be complicated. Although I requested Osijek, a funny little town in Eastern Slavonia near the borders of Bosnia and Serbia, I was assigned to the Faculty of Political Science at the University of Zagreb. So here I am, in Zagreb, completely unsure if I will be able to do anything close to my original research proposal, but at least I'll have a good time. As one person pointed out—Osijek can be nice enough, but at the end of the week, when you've done all of your work, you're still in Osijek.

I arrived in Zagreb after an amusing series of flights, the highlight of which was an empty JFK to Istanbul jaunt. Seems people are still skittish about flying abroad. Incidentally, the Istanbul airport is a great place to sleep off jet-lag, after you pay $45 for a visa.

On my first day in Zagreb, I had a sequence of 'check-in' meetings with various officials, including the folks at the US Embassy. The Embassy is in a lovely building in the middle of town. However, I have to imagine that it is an inviting terrorist target now. The Embassy officials told me that they didn't expect any problems, to which I quipped, 'They probably did not expect any problems in Nairobi.' No response. I suppose it was not the most polite thing to say, but it's true.

American Embassies are interesting places. While I had been to various foreign embassies in Washington, this was my first time visiting an American Embassy abroad. There are rooms and hallways with odd locks. I was issued an ID card prominently labelled 'Visitor' lest I go and alter our foreign policy somehow. Of course, there are the Marine Security Guards. The Marines are great—I was invited to the upcoming Marine Birthday Party Ball at the poshest hotel in Zagreb, but I had to decline because a) I didn't want to pay $60 for the ticket and b) I did not bring anything nearly formal enough to wear.

Housing can be tough to find in Zagreb. With the influx of internationals over the years, all on expense accounts, and that, as the capital, it is already packed with people, getting a good place to stay can be a challenge for a student on a budget.

Fortunately, the Ministry of Science and Technology placed me in a spot in one of the studentski doms (dorms), for free. So, I'm presently camped out in a small room with a very pleasant Croatian roommate. S.J. is my age and from Split, studying in the Theology Faculty at the university. His English is great and he's done a brilliant job getting me settled in. Meanwhile, I'm scouting for cheap apartments because, as nice as free housing is, the location is awful—a good 30 minute walk from the center or a 15 minute tram ride.

Besides the introductory meetings with the Fulbright administrators, getting settled has meant getting a mobile phone. Even more so than in the U.S., everyone in Europe must have a mobile phone, preferably one that has some sort of awful ringer tone. There are two companies providing mobile phone services in Croatia. HT-Cronet is the state-owned enterprise and VIP is the private one. Both offer specials for using the same service as your friends; many people decide between the two solely on what their friends have. I chose based on price, and in spite of its reputed problems, HT-Cronet was cheaper. I now have a nice Siemens phone, set to an appropriately obnoxious ringer, armed with a pre-paid SIM card service.

While everyone in the country can communicate via mobile phone, it appears that the biggest use of the phones is to arrange meetings at one of the 4000 or more cafes in Zagreb. Cafeing is a sport here. Only near the Mediterranean can a person take an hour to consume a small cup of espresso. For an American this is distressing. I want to throw-down my cup of joe quickly and get on with things. Slowly, I'm beginning to appreciate the art that is enjoying a kava sa slagom for an eternity. It beats sitting in my cramped dorm room.

With several thousand cafes to choose from, it immediately becomes important to stake out claims to certain parts of town. The best place to see and be seen is Trg Ban J. Jelacic. Trg Jelacic sits at the base of the hill that forms the Gradec and Kaptol districts and faces the streets to the train station, a section known as the Donji Grad (Lower Town). The square is aptly named for Josip Jelacic, who was a nineteenth century Ban, or military governor, of Croatia during the days of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. Jelacic remains an immense hero to the Croatian people; he stood as an intercessor for the Slavs to the Imperial authorities and resisted Hungarian efforts to control the country. He marched on Budapest during the uprisings of 1848, cementing his favor among the Croatian people. The statue in his honor has had a curious history. First, it was moved from its original location on the southern part of the square to make room for the tram system. Tito had the statue removed entirely during the Communist period, but it was never destroyed. Among the first things restored following Croatian independence was the statue of the Ban, regal on his horse, saber held high, about to charge some unknown enemy (the train station?).

As a number of trams stop at Trg Jelacic, the square is an important meeting point for the residents of the city. At any time, the square is full of people chatting, going to work, or shopping. Ilica ulica, the main shopping street, crosses through the square, and Nama, a Croatian department store stands on a corner. Here, too, is one of the city's two McDonalds and the newly opened Subway. Last Friday a crowd was gathered around a group of poorly-dressed (and bathed) bums from somewhere in Western Europe. With dredlocks flowing, a few banged on some drums while one female danced interpretatively. The audience was puzzled. When one started juggling flaming batons, you could sense the great disappointment of the audience when he managed not to set himself on fire. The hat was passed to pay for the spectacle, and everyone ducked their heads and sped off to their favorite cafes.

Sveuciliste Zivot

Eating dinner in the dining hall at C.N., the dorm where I am living, I read a small notice on my box of apple juice. It was a UNICEF label—the product had been provided by the people of Slovenia. A very disconcerting thought—the food for Croatian university students was donated through a United Nations program. I cannot tell yet if that signifies something wider.

In typical European fashion the university is divided into a handful of feuding faculties. I find the faculty of political science here quite charming. The main departmental secretary is called the 'secretary-general' and refers to her underlings as 'comrades.' I'm quietly investigating to see if there is a politburo closeted away somewhere for safekeeping.

It seems that the Sveuciliste u Zagrebu, as my current academic home is called, has the same turf battles that regularly flare up on American campuses. For example, there is a Jesuit-managed faculty of philosophy officially affiliated with the university, but the other (secular?) philosophy faculty continues to object to its presence. According to one student, the secular faculty was a beacon of Marxism back in the heady days of Yugoslavia, only to have been completely converted to the wonders of the free market and liberal democracy in the intervening ten years.

Students, if they don't already live in Zagreb, are housed in one of several 'studenski doms.' These villages of youthful exuberance are quite removed from the center of town, except for one smaller dorm that houses international exchange students during the summer. There are eight buildings in my dorm, along with two cafeterias, a café-sweet shop, and a computer center (currently closed for repairs and upgrading; I don't actually think it exists, but students swear there is one). The students here look like students anywhere, but with a wider range of ages than is commonly found at an American school. However, rather than seeing the blond locks of a California pretty boy or the charms of a Southern debutante, the students all look ill. Pale, pimply, and with greasy hair, all are at best 10 pounds underweight. Then again the students here don't swill beer like their American counterparts. I can only imagine how they regard my impressive girth.

This past week I had my first meeting with my academic 'mentor' here. Professors keep office hours like American professors, but it would be more properly called an office hour. As very few professors actually have their own office at the Faculty, most share with one, two, or more colleagues. Twenty minutes before my professor's hour began, a queue of ten students had already formed. Prof. L. entered and immediately approached me. When I told him I was his Fulbright student, he pulled me into his office straight away leaving the other students to fend for themselves.

His first question was logical: 'What are studying?' My reply was equally succinct, 'Good question. Do you have any ideas?' What followed was a reasonably useful conversation about democracy versus liberalism. One could argue that we too quickly confuse the two. For example, there are many institutions in Croatia that need to be liberalized, but which can't be democratic, like the Church, while others may be democratic but not liberal, for example some of the political parties.

After talking for about ten minutes, Prof. L. offered to show me around the building. When I noted the growing line of students outside his door and suggested that I could manage on my own, he replied, 'Nonsense, they can wait—they're old friends.' I thought they would lynch this American interloper.

I was then shown around the faculty, shown the libraries, and introduced to the Dean. The Dean works from a palatial, modern office, meeting with two women while smoking a cigarette. He quickly shooed the women away and sat me down. This was an even more awkward moment. I nearly started to say, 'Nice school you have here, Dean. I love what you've done with the place,' but resisted. His eyes looked like he was about to hit me up for money—you got the sense he was a perpetual fundraiser. Our conversation was pleasant and unremarkable.

The word on the street is that faculties love Fulbright students because they receive generous grants for each one. They will get their money's worth with me as I doubt very much that I will be there too often. At least the library's periodicals are up-to-date; I noticed that the library's latest copy of 'Foreign Affairs' was from 1999. Then again, since the library is only opened two hours a day, I'm quite certain the authorities will be able to keep close tabs on it.

Third World Report: The Zagreb Chronicles

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