I can always tell when I haven’t really enjoyed a place because I look back at the photos and a) there aren’t many of them and b) none of them have people in them. Unfortunately this was the case for my stop in Zagreb.

I hadn’t really intended to stay in Croatia because I figured I’d be back at some point to travel the country properly. However, the great time I had Belgrade made me think it was worth giving Zagreb a go, since I was in the area. I wish I hadn’t.

I mean, Croatia has a good reputation right? The Adriatic coast is supposed to be great, but try as I might I couldn’t get along with Zagreb that well. Where Belgrade seemed confident and cosmopolitan, Zagreb seemed aloof, disinterested and almost arrogant. Nothing brought this home more than the quaint/charming/traditional/over-touristed/bland/corporate run of restaurants and bars in the old town. Bored waiting staff stood swiping left and right with no shits given really until they were troubled to provide overpriced, predictable tourist fare from a menu with photos.

Looking around I couldn’t spot anyone that seemed to be local. I couldn’t quite place the country of origin of all the people seated in these dreary outlets but I had a decent stab at 90% of them. Then it occurred to me, what actually is the purpose of travel and going somewhere new? Is it really to sit in a foreign country among people just like you, eating and drinking exactly the same stuff as you might in Wetherspoons at home?

Yes it looks pretty enough. I’m sure the Insta’ crowd would find it perfectly good enough for them to pout and post, but at the end of an amazing bike adventure to some truly original and interesting places this looked like the somewhat inevitable and sad culmination of the mad dash to capitalism for former iron curtain countries. Just cause we have this shit in England/Ireland/France/German/Spain/everywhere doesn’t mean it’s good!

I even tried my best at a hippy chillout DJ/global sounds event but no one was really having that much fun and none of them wanted to interact with anyone but those in their middle-class pretend hippie clique.

There was one bright moment to this overwhelmingly disappointing stop – The Museum of Broken Relationships. Never has a museum found it so easy to make me blub. OK, OK I know I’m a big softy really despite my tough exterior and these days it doesn’t take much to make be cry, a good human endeavour sporting story is enough. But, these human stories shared in just 1 object and a few words would be enough to set most people off.

The concept is simple 1) ask visitors to your museum to donate 1 object from their lives 2) get them to write a short few words about why it’s important 3) pick the best ones and put them in your museum. All varieties of human relationships are covered – romantic love, unloving parents, tragic friendships, gay repression, unrequited love and many more.

I submit to you, one of the best ones I saw and as my favourite memory of a disappointing city: