Strolling in Zagreb. Walking without any particular purpose, just for the pleasure of being there and the things around me. Walking slowly, quite often meeting someone I know, stopping for a chat, or joining them at one of the many street cafes, being introduced to the people they are sitting with. Slowly wiling away the time. Coffee at Pif, on Preradovićeva, with all the other thirty and forty-something wannabe intellectuals, or in the garden of the archaeological museum; Ice Cream on Bogovićeva; beer at Mali Medo, on Tkalčićeva, or on Kaptol, opposite the cathedral.
For a feeling of general well-being, ambling up to Dolac market, past the flower sellers, and up the steps. Visiting Dolac was one of my most striking impressions of Zagreb when I first went there 24 years ago. Walking among the stalls, with the peasants from the surrounding Zagorje region selling their own produce. The fresh cottage cheese and soured cream (delicious with garlic); the filthy eggs (the dirtier, the better is a good rule); little bundles of vegetables and herbs, all you need for the base of a great soup; the seasonal fruits – lots and lots of plums at the moment; the Dalmatian section, with figs, and olive oil. In the autumn there are piles of chestnuts. In spring, it is wild asparagus. In years past, there used to be wild mushrooms, including ceps (vrganji). Unfortunately those have gone, apparently due to the annual toll of poisonings (which I suspect were mostly suffered by people who picked their own, rather than buying them on the market). Although I am told they can still be bought under the table.
And there are some nice little restaurants around the periphery of the market, selling fresh, wholesome produce. Especially worthwhile is the little seafood place next to the fish market. On my first trip to Zagreb in 1986, I was enthralled by the tanks of live fish, even quite large carp. My landlady from student days, the inestimable Sonia Bićanić, told me that when they bought a carp, they used to keep it alive in the bath for a few days to get all the mud out of its system. Sadly, the tanks have gone. But the fish is fresh and good. The little restaurant is well supplied from the market. Its food is simple and unpretentious, low-priced and satisfying. You can eat anything from the market, but most people take sardines, and bakalar (dried codfish) on Fridays. I love bakalar. At this place, it is a thick soup, heavily laced with garlic. Why do Zagreb restaurants only sell it on Fridays?
Dolac is still an invigorating place. Twenty years ago, staying in Zagreb with my dear, late friend, Darka, I told how in England such markets had found it hard to compete with the large-scale distributors of mass-produced, homogeneous, tasteless fruit and veg. I feared the same would happen in Croatia. “No”, she said confidently, “we like our markets”. I was partly right. New hypermarkets have indeed sprung up around the outer rings of the city. And much of Dolac is now taken over by commercial sellers rather than peasant producers. Finding a tasty tomato on Dolac is no longer so easy. But some of the peasants cling on, smiling faces and delicious produce. I hope there continues to be a place for them. With the spreading fashion for farmers’ markets, there is surely hope.
