Today has actually been a rather bad day, though people have been so NICE. Unnecessarily rode the tram to the train station with an unvalidated ticket but the polie who caught me accepted my stupidity, checked my passport, and validated my ticket. They understood English, and I think were quite amused with me. Even got back on the tram with me to SHOW me how to validate my ticket. Bought two rather dry muffins for breakfast from a woman who spoke NO English but gave me a warm smile. The “boys” at the busstop were so eager to help me get on the right bus that one actually came out of their office to walk me to the bus and make sure I got on okay. I have discovered that people here treat you better if they realize you’re a foreigner, and particularly an American. Everyone keeps telling me, “Tell your country to come visit us!” They want our tourism.
The bussride was fun, though I was so sleepy. Finally arrived in Samobor and I definitely prefer it to Zagreb. At first I wandered through an area of town that really looked like camping grounds. Central old town is precisely what I expected of Croatia –old, small, crumbling buildings packed like sardines along narrow and winding roads, no room for sidewalks. If you keep walking, the mountains rise up and the buildigns spread out and fall apart even more. It’s peaceful and quiet and just about as tranquil as you can expect. Mostly old people in the old part of town, all wearing hats or headscarves. Laundry and big dogs decorate rustic yards and a couple brooks run alongside the roads. The people seem to keep to themselves but will try to help if you ask. St. Something’s bells were ringing; the church is about the size of a one-bedroom house, but set among sweet little gardens at the foot of a mountain.
I saw castle ruins on top of a very high hill and, desiring to explore them, couldn’t find a way up. I found a man who spoke a very small amount of German, and he gave me directions to a certain point. There I found a shopkeerer sweeping her steps, but she spoke nothing except Croatian. Fortunately, with hand gestues I explained what I want and she gave me diretions. I bought some very strange fruit jucie from a small shop and then hiked the mountain, which overlooks a small resort with a very blue pool and very white buildings. I don’t like the resort; it feels out of place. But Croatia, with its nice climate, is really pushing for tourism. The path was muddy and covered in still-falling leaves, and either unpaved or dotted with stone steps far too high for the average stepper. The view from teh top was truly breathtaking though. There was a sign, I think telling me to keep out, but I still edged around the ruins. You can see down either side of the valley, the distance disappearing in mist. I know nothing about the castle; it was probably nothing but a landloards place of abode, all crumbled whitish-grey stone that looks to have come from a part of the mountain on the far side of the valley, where the same color stone looks like it was mined and then forgotten.
The new part of town, where the tourism center is located, reminds me of Freiberg or Fuessen. The buldings are faceless, small, often brightly colored. Quaint. The central square bustles with easy-going people, an it’s impossible to tell who belongs here and who’s a tourist. Everyone walks around with a friendly dog or grinning baby. Even at it’s busiest, though, the tiny buildings and lazy brooks that break the town up remind you that it IS smalltown. Big enough that people don’t seem to know each other, though. Leaves clung to the trees but the seasons are winning. The mountains cage the town in.
I wound up on the wrong bus back to Zagreb, but after nearly having a HEART ATTACK MELTDOWN, I realized I was actually in the main trainstation. Thank GOODNESS. So with a bit more difficulty, I found the right tram that I needed, and it took me back to my hostel, where I crashed for a bit before heading out to explore a bit more.
The square in front of the trainstation is beautiful and seems to always be full of people. There was some sort of big concert or event taking place, but it looked like it was about to rain so I din’t linger.
Unfortunately, though I enjoyed Samobor quite a bit, Croatia was actually a very lonely, homesick time for me. There wasn’t a whole lot I could do, especially with language being as much a barrier as it was. Zagreb itself offered more than I saw, but I planned poorly and missed a lot. I’m leaving, though, feeling like everything either says “city” or “country,” but never “Croatia.” I fear Croatia is losing their culture in the name of tourism . . .
