It was 8:50 in the morning and I was engaging the young man pouring the wine in light banter about the joys of drinking in the morning. I had stumbled upon a real neighborhood market, far from the fancy ones I had visited yesterday. Here they wore cloth coats and cheap boots, not the leather of the monied marketers. This was a market for the neighborhood where all of the ladies had little bags on wheels and the men had hand baskets. Jon sold wine out of huge aluminum barrels, five wines, two white, three red and everyone had brought their own container. Jon had learned English wandering around California working in vineyards and then came home to work with his family selling wines to the public from various wine co-ops. This was good, very young wine, only about 11% alcohol and cold enough since it has been in the barrels overnight and the night had been chilly.
I thanked him for the samples and looked around the market some more and found more similarities to yesterday’s experience, but on a much smaller scale. Whereas the big markets had six or eight stalls for chicken and six or eight for turkey, this one had two for poultry. Everything was as clean and neat as yesterday, but there was more familiarity here, with everyone greeting everyone else by name. It felt good to be there and I felt obligated to buy something so I purchased a nice bag of egg pasta, which I can’t wait to cook back in Moscow.
I lingered for about an hour and then headed home through a nice little park and found a small café for my morning macchiato. The water here is wonderful, right from the tap, and that helps to explain why the coffee is so good. When you start with really good water run through good coffee, you’re bound to end up with a good drink. I had breakfast as soon as I came back to the hotel and focused on the fruit, cheese and homemade bread and jam. I was having a grand old time when one of the wait staff came over and brought me a lovely flute of French sparkling wine. She had had a problem with my name yesterday and couldn’t find it on the list and wanted me to pay. I wrote my name out and she couldn’t believe how it was spelled and felt terrible that she had questioned me, so the wine was her ‘apology’. I was on a roll, three kinds of wine in two hours, and it was still morning!
After I cleaned up and changed I headed out since I had to be back at the hotel at two for a tour with Cindy’s group. I walked around the Botanical Garden for almost an hour and enjoyed reading all about the plants and trees and wildlife. There are two ponds with little bridges and a host of places to just sit and think. It was so tranquil and relaxing, but time was flying and I was out of there in a flash heading to the only department store in town. I got Cindy a powerful hair dryer since the one she has in Moscow takes forever to get the job done. Once that transaction was over, and there is a story there but I’ve not the time to tell it, I was heading up 110 stairs to the upper village to get there in time for the Changing of the Guard Ceremony by the Regiment of the Cravat. Zagreb is said to be the place where neckties were invented. The Regiment of the Cravat wore red scarves tied around their necks and when they fought with the French, who always appreciate style, they copied the scarves and called them Croats, which became cravats in French.
Okay, that is the end of the story for today since we have to be downstairs for a god awful early dinner!! More tomorrow, Cindy and Wm
PS He means the timing is god awful because it’s so early – we’re going to a Croatian restaurant and I’m reasonably sure the food will be good!
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