The underground wine cellar was empty. Not that anyone needed to hear our conversation. In 2021, every corner of the world echoed the same complaint: 2020 was the worst year ever.
“Yes, I want to hear your story but, sorry. I need to go outside and make this call. I had plans for later with…someone.”
That’s The German. She claims to not be a typical German, yet always is able to plan her time for a friend, a colleague, a date, etc. And when we met in Zagreb the day after I returned from Ljubljana, I couldn’t have been happier to see her. It had been a long year.
“We can meet for lunch, then go to this Bornstein Wine Cellar you told me about. After that, I have a date.”
“Sure, yeah. Today I made an exception for all of this craft beer since I know you prefer those fine wines. And Croatia has some great ones. In fact, my time in Rijeka and Krk Island was pretty much just white wines.”
“Oh, you have changed during the pandemic. You’re becoming a more well-rounded alcoholic. But you’re still the same. There was a girl on Krk Island, I’m sure.”
She knows me well.
Old Friends In New Bars: Bornstein Cellar And AMBASADA Bar
I put all my planning into where I’m going to drink, but very little into where I’m going to eat. Usually, I follow my nose until I find a good place. If I put some effort into it, I search Google Maps for ‘Best Restaurants in Blahblahblah City.”
“We’re meeting at DOMA? It’s good. I’ve already eaten there, but it’s good for lunch. See you at 2PM.”
DOMA is small. There were four tables with seats for two customers in front: all occupied. I stepped inside and was instantly at the register. The attendant (and waitress) said I could wait inside with my mask on until a table was free. Not wanting to be a bum, I ordered juice. I sipped it. Very. Slowly. After 15 minutes, while sticking my head outside for the third time, I saw that one of the tables was unoccupied. Covered in dishes, but unoccupied.
Half a block down the street, a couple was excitedly talking to each other in French. They were pointing at the same empty table.
A small battle ensued as I grabbed my juice and took casual but extremely long strides from the door to the table. I squatted on the seat right in front of the couple. They stood in front of me, daggers shooting from their eyes. I pulled out my phone to check a series of non-existent messages which I hadn’t received. The couple silently waited by me for a few moments, but I continued to stare at my important non-messages. Finally, the couple left, grumbling in their language. Too bad. Finders’ keepers.
The German arrived, 15 minutes late. She apologized; I told her I couldn’t care less. After the past year and half in isolation, she was the first of my European friends who I had seen in person (not on a tiny mobile screen.) In the past two months traveling, I had already met many people through craft beer. Yet this was first time I was meeting a genuine friend. It was first conversation that summer that didn’t begin with, “What beer are you drinking?”
German gave me a big hug, then, with a concerned expression on her face, placed the back of her hand on my forehead.
“Raleigh, are you OK?”
“What do you mean? I’m really happy to see you again after almost two years.”
“No no, but you’re drinking juice right now? Where’s your beer?”
Dry German humor.
“Oh, umm. I guess it’s too early. After lunch we’ll go straight to the wine tasting place I told you about. Then on to the beer; there’s lots in Zagreb.”
We ordered lunch. DOMA serves its food like Spanish tapas. Although the portions are small, there’s plenty to choose from (all local) and the descriptions are lengthy, so you have no doubt what you are ordering. I ordered a pesto sandwich; she ordered a plate of national cheeses. Then we talked: work, love, travel (or rather lack of travel) and life in The Balkans.
Bornstein Wine Cellar Tasting
After lunch, we went to Bornstein Wine Cellar, which was only a few blocks from my apartment. Surprisingly, it was completely empty on a Saturday afternoon. The cool underground cellar was a welcome retreat from the July heat that beat down outside.
The menu had several samplers. You could choose different selections of wines that represented different regions of Croatia: Slavonia, Dalmatia, Istria, Zagreb…
“You’re the wine enthusiast, German. You choose something. I loved the white Malvazija and Zlahtina on Krk Island, but, you know, there wasn’t much else to have.”
She chose a sampler from Northern Croatia, Slavonia, where I had just been for the Nova Runda beer festival two weeks ago.
Right after we ordered, German excused herself to take a call. She stayed outside for a long time. When she returned, I could tell, despite her stoic facial expression, that she was pissed off.
“I’ll be joining you for beers tonight after all. Even though he knew about this for a month, he couldn’t find time to fix his car. So he can’t make it to Zagreb.”
She rolled her eyes and sighed.
“You’re so mysterious… Ok, fine. Tell me. Is he from Serbia?”
“No. But he’s…Balkan.”
“Nevermind him. You have wine now.”
Our attempt to plan the rest of the day was a big failure.
We attempted to walk to Zagreb’s Goblet Beershop</