Budapest to Zagreb
is about five hours past a deserted Lake Balaton and
down some less than impressive roads in Croatia. However
except for police checks at almost every cross-road
there was no sign of the troubles 'up the road.' Zagreb
has all the impressive bits like a cathedral and castle
as well as a graceful centre and more importantly
one of the best hotels in this region. The Esplanade
Hotel, which is next door to the railway station,
was obviously built for the aristocracy when they
eased their way around the world by railway. Of course
in those days the world was European and players on
the grand tour expected nothing but the best. The
amazing thing about the Esplanade is that it has been
maintained at that standard, and recent renovations
have retained all the grace and elegance that the
original builder intended. Even more gratifying is
that the staff has risen to the occasion. We dined
in the main restaurant and had service and food on
a par with the best hotels of London and Paris, which
made it one of the best meals I have had for a long
time. If only Gundel could be like this, then in reality
it would be one of the best restaurants in Europe.
For those who like it a little less formal there is
.P Radica street. Just under the castle. This is a
street of restaurants and bars. Not full of clip joints
but jolly little pubs that one can wander between,
claiming a drink in each and still be able to afford
a taxi home. Zagreb seemed to be a city of bars, be
it little a light on general restaurants.
The next day we could have gone straight to Ljubljana
about 140km. away to the West, but Toad wanted to
put American Rent-a-car's Chrysler Shadow through
it's paces and insisted on a 3 hour rally ride to
Rijeka over the hills. The road winds its way south
and in parts is quite spectacular, and outside numerable
inns they were roasting suckling pigs. At times we
were above the cloud in brilliant sunshine, at other
times we were in the cloud with no visibility and
snow. After a prolonged crawl through snow and cloud
we breasted a hill and below us was the Med. (Adriatic
for purists). The weather instantly changed and the
scenery was typically
Mediterranean, stubby trees, wirey
grass and bleached rocks. We lunched in the affable
resort town of Opatija which could have been anywhere
in the Med., and is certainly not the current image
of Croatia. I am told this is Miami Beach to many
Hungarians. A comparison Opatija might well wish
to sue over.
A swift run back north to Ljubljana took 2 hours
and we quickly found rooms in the perfectly acceptable
Hotel Slon (Slovenska 34, 61.151.232). Ljubljana
is an attractive town with a castle high on the
hill overlooking the city. The Ljubljanica river
runs through the town centre and both banks to the
south of the main square have a scattering of bars
and restaurants on them, whilst there is almost
a bar area around St James's church. The Roza Bar
( 9 Zidvoska stega) is a small boozer with a delightful
atmosphere and an interesting decor featuring porcelain
cherubs. Near the Hotel Slon was the Holiday's Pub
(Slovensta 36) which was remarkably similar to a
noisy London pub and occupied by the same types
of 'trendies' knocking back Corona beer by the pack,
complete with the lemon. Personally I think Corona
beer is bad enough without adding lemon to make
it sour. The Flex club (junction Nazorjeva/Slovensta)
is easy to miss during the day because the entrance
is via a cellar cover, however at night it is opened
to allow access to this typical jazz cellar. After
a few drinks in these two I went in search of something
more exciting, and thus made the mistake of entering
the 'Evergreen Night Club' in my hotel. Fortunately
I missed the cabaret because the aftermath was bad
enough. A perfectly good disco with ballroom dancing
to those immortal lines 'will we have rainbows day
after day.' I was back in shorts again praying for
the matron not to ask me to dance.
However the night manager reluctantly put me right,
I had already seen the sign for 'cabaret' nearly
opposite the hotel, but could only find a doorway,
proudly bearing the sign of the British Council,
leading to the scruffy foyer of what is described
on the city maps as 'The Skyscraper.' By express
lift I was whisked to the 11th floor and Neboticnik
Bar. Here was another place from the past, from
a time they celebrated Stalin's birthday. Bow tied
waiters in dirty dinner jackets, a sleeping customer,
a magician with an almost dressed assistant and
a dozen girls from Kiev who demanded drinks at $20
each between displaying, on stage, that velcro had
not yet arrived in this part of the world, or maybe
their part. Suddenly all that sleepy image and apparent
staidness of Ljublijana disappeared.
The next day we opted for the Ski resort of Maribor
rather than the trendy bits around Bled. Maribor
is not actually a resort, but rather a place one
can Ski from. We struggled up the mountain to the
Hotel Areh (62.603.260) which at over 1,250 meters
was surrounded by snow and a jolly crowd of skiers.
A good spot for those who wanted to ski, but not
so good for Toad and I who's only interest was in
the après ski. We returned to sleepy Maribor
where a Black duck told us that Sunday night was
better spent watching the telly, and preparing for
the four hour drive back to Budapest, than searching
for life among Maribor's riverside bars.
C YA |
