The weather turned overnight, so we would have to contend with rain showers throughout the day. Yet the rain was a welcome relief from the searing heat we’ve had up to now. We dressed accordingly and left the apartment.
We were next to a tram stop and John was keen to try out the vintage looking metro system. So, we purchased a ticket, and boarded one that we thought would take us to the main square via a loop around to the west of the city. We stood at the back, to get a good view out of the windows. The tram was of a similar style as those in Sarajevo, cigar-shaped if seen from above and, if like the Sarajevo ones, second hand from Vienna. They were painted a near deep blue and white, presumably as part of the city network branding. The rain was trickling down the back window, but we had swift view of our surroundings as we saw cars weave in and out behind the tram.
We jumped off at the main square, and headed up the hill in the general direction we went last night. We carried on past last night’s restaurant and continued further on up what seemed like a narrow valley. There were numerous cafes and bars along here, but we spotted one that was serving Israeli food. I saw the menu and instantly fancied a shakshuka, so in we went. It was an outrageously decorated venue, with lime greens and aqua blues sploshed everywhere. However, pride of place, above the staircase to the mezzanine level, was a painting of the one and only Dana International. I think we chose wisely.
The food was ordered, it arrived, and we devoured it hungrily. I was keen to head back out so that we could make most of the dry spell that had arrived. So, we walked back down the street, which had a bit more life on it now the rain had stopped, then turned right to venture up the hill to the government area. It was a steep old climb, up part cobbled, part tarmacked roads alongside central European, baroque style buildings. We weaved our way through, and then came to the Stone Gate, the old entrance to the old hilltop town. A few pilgrims paused here, as it also has a shrine to the Virgin Mary.
We continued on up, and arrived at the Sabor, the Croatian Parliament. But the dominating feature of the square was St Marks Church that sat in the middle of it. Its glazed roof tiles displaying two vivid coats of arms were the draw for people to come here. We meandered around the narrow lanes and found ourselves on a viewing platform with great views over the city. After some time of pointing out landmarks and points of interest, we wound our way down the hill, alongside the funicular, and took in the sight of the National Theatre, in its faded, yellow glory. We passed the former Trg Masala Tita, and onwards to a square I had visited before, tucked off the main roads, and so had the chatter of patrons, flutter of pigeons, and clinking of glasses as soothing background noise.
We chose one of the cafes that had a canopy, to shelter from the unpredictable rain, but was half perched outside as it was still mild temperature wise. We flicked through our respective books, between sipping cool beers and commenting on people around us or plans ahead to make. I ordered an ice cream, as a reward for my hillside walking. After more than an hour, we paid our bill and made our way towards the market and cathedral area. We stopped off for some burek on the way, to stave off initial hunger following our two beers.
At the cathedral, I kept to my thoughtful and default mode of not entering a functioning place of worship as a tourist, out of respect for those have faith. But John was eager to have a look at the impressive building from the inside. He spent about 10 minutes inspecting whilst I checked out the surroundings outside. As John re-emerged, he clocked that he had misplaced his coat. He thought it may be at the café, so we walked back at a pace in order to retrieve it. Now we had come full circle, we thought it may be best to walk further west, so after some searching online, John found the rather homely sounding ‘British Market’, so we set off for it.
We walked along one of the busier streets, but it was narrow and had a bohemian vibe to it, what with its artisanal shops and cafes in many low-rise, almost bungalow style buildings. It was on the quieter side, perhaps the time of day, but small groups of tourists were busying the pavements. The rumble and clanging of trams occasionally disturbed the peace as we strode along. We reached the British Market, but we must have come on the wrong day, as there was just a smattering of stalls open. The space itself had an almost small French town square feel to it, with a couple of taller buildings jutting up that could easily be a hôtel de ville or bureau de poste. Indeed, a pošta on the square!
We headed north, over cobbled stones to a park that was on a hillside. It was here that we saw the brown tourist signs for a ‘Tunel Grič’. Intrigued, we went back down the hill onto a quiet, treelined side street, then to a junction, on which a small tunnel doorway was situated, looking almost like the entrance to a garage for the neighbouring property. Upon inspection of the tourist sign, the hidden tunnel was built in the 1940s during the Ustasha regime, as a bomb shelter and promenade. We ventured in and walked the length, which brought us out into a courtyard just off a street adjacent to the market.
We made another pit stop and had a few hours sipping on beers and chatting, before deciding upon a čevapi place to eat. We returned to the apartment and, after a full day of walking, slept.
