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We were off to the Miragoj Cemetery, my choice of the sites since visiting cemeteries is one of my long term interests. I am used to the cemeteries in Victoria, in Australia, and in particular to country ones - where a pair of gates and a fence is all that is required to hold in the sections for the different denominations and belief systems. This one, however, was architect-designed by Hermann Bollé and is lavish in every way. We walked up a long hill to reach it in 35 degree heat, so I was cheered to see some stalls that looked like drink stands in front of the high walls with green cupolas on them. What a pity they only sold coloured plastic vases of pelletised wax to place as lanterns on the graves, and flowers.
In the centre of the walls there is a grand entrance and the Church of St. Mary, where funerals take place.
To each side there are arcades with domes and patterned tiled floors. Wealthy, notable and famous people have tombs along the arcades, with sculptures and tomb stellae against the walls and access to the tombs in the tiled floor. The variety of sculptures and their size is stunning - it is like being in an art gallery as much as in a cemetery. Some sculptures are religious in nature but many were not, denoting the interests of the deceased or the grief of the mourners. Political leaders, such as the presidents, were grouped together, and had wreaths on stands in front of them. There is a strong awareness of the contributions of some leaders and often flowers and lanterns are left there for them by ordinary citizens. It was interesting to note that in this predominantly Catholic city, there were some Jewish graves up in the arcades.
Beyond the arcades, trees shaded the paths and graves, which seemed to continue endlessly down the hill. 
Here the statuary was a little more discreet, although now and then a whole chapel, with full altar and religious statues, rose amongst humbler graves. Again it struck me how art is valued here and so was included for some graves, seemingly for its own sake and as a link to a loved one. One very poignant grave was of a family who had lost two babies and then a little boy of four years old. The photos of the parents and the little boy were on the grave and a statue of the child had been made and added. It was so like him and in a joyous childish pose.
Eagles, uncut stone like the rocks in a mountain, two lovers’ heads entwined, a coloured mosaic of an angel, a golden statue of Baloković (a Croatian famous for his violin concerts, his wartime efforts to get relief to war victims and his support for the anti-fascist partisans) with his violin, a weeping woman, and a large relief of a couple arm in arm – the woman in folk costume with corn and the man with a rifle as a partisan – all expressed individuality and care. 
A mass produced head of Jesus with the crown of thorns lost its impact after seeing about fifty in a row, but probably was affordable. Some graves incorporated gardens with either plants that were hardy or others that showed regular visits and care.
We were surprised to see Muslim, Jewish, Catholic and Orthodox graves side by side.
In the centre row, behind the church, a cross with Jesus on it was surrounded with many lanterns. They were placed there by those grieving the loss of loved ones in the six month war with Serbia in 1991. 
We were unable to read the inscriptions on the graves beyond the names and the dates, with often the title of professor or doctor added, but there did not seem to be the custom to add the names of others eg ‘loved daughter of’, details of the death eg ‘accidentally killed’ or an epitaph.
It was really unpleasantly hot and, after two hours, even this tranquil, shady and interesting place could not take our minds off the sweat trickling down our backs. As we left, we noticed another grand building that seemed to be a church – it had a cross on the top and religious statues. We went over to have a look and it was with embarrassment that we realised that it was a funeral chapel with a coffin in it ready for a viewing or a service. We backed out of the still empty chapel. Down the hill we passed hospitals and clinics for tests and thought how neat and tidy it was to have everything so close.
We heard that the health system is suffering from the changeover to capitalism; not so much because of the systematic change as such, but from the corruption and greed that has accompanied it. Education has also suffered, with principals more like business managers and sometimes with their own financial self-interest or advancement as their main objectives. Students are able to question results, as should be their right, but can accompany their complaints with threats to take it further and have a teacher who failed them sacked. Some rich parents provide in-kind incentives to some teachers in the hope that their children will receive good marks. An experienced secondary teacher receives about a quarter of the salary of a beginning teacher in Australia, but has ever increasing price rises to cope with. Industries, once run as cooperatives by the workers, have been privatised and in some cases run into the ground by a new boss seeking to line his own pockets. It was fairly gloomy stuff, especially combined with student apathy and deliberate disinterest in working hard to learn. The picture painted didn’t include the developments since independence that have brought Croatia to the brink of membership of the European Union, and the progress that was clearly being made in many fields. It would have been wonderful to have been able to speak to a teenager to see how they viewed things, but we did not have the chance.
We did learn something about the culture and activity of young people at the bishop’s ex-fish pond park behind the cathedral, now the venue for taking dogs to play off the lead. We were so tired that we took it in turns to have a sleep on the grass and use the computer, with a pillow made from our back packs.
Another man, not so lucky as to have a guarding companion, slept on a seat and I could see why after a couple of dogs had been over to sniff me and taste my discarded socks. In the park there is a sculpture vaguely resembling a head, which is a tribute an anti-fascist, Goran, who lived from 1913 - 1943. On the pedestal there is a soccer scarf, along with lanterns for the dead and dried up bunches of flowers. A lady exercising her dogs told us that a few months ago, the park was regularly frequented at night by young people who went there to get together and have a drink. One night a group was celebrating a birthday when some others arrived, and having no alcohol, they demanded that the first group hand theirs over. They refused. A boy from the second group tore a wooden picket off the rubbish basket and threatened the others. A knife was pulled out of a box by a boy in his early twenties from the first group. Minutes later one life bled out on the grass and another was ruined with prison and the emotional aftermath of having killed someone. 
The tributes to the dead seventeen year old continue to be placed and the woman watches young people come and spend time there, praying or just thinking for a while. The park behaviour has calmed down, but for how long, nobody knows. Some say that poverty has driven young people to leave safer social venues for the parks and streets, where there is nothing to do but drink.
We must have been really tired because it was a very doggy smell that clung to the grass and the Croatian equivalent of Fido and Spot were diligently marking their territory left, right and centre. We roused ourselves in time to visit the Cathedral where Mass was in progress, so it was just a little peek – so we should try to return, and the same was the situation at St Marks. In both churches the priest’s voice was an amplified whisper and the congregation’s responses resonated in swirls around the buildings.
A visit to a department store, in a beautiful old building with an open centre and delicate wrought iron fencing stopping the shoppers from dropping down to the ground level below, enabled us to buy some teaspoons as a gift for Vladimir and to see the set up which is not unlike the British Comedy, ‘Are You being Served?’ Assistants are not just behind counters but greet you and inquire as to your needs, giving courteous guidance. There is also a lot of neatening up of displays going on, so it is not the ‘free for all’ feeling that Melbourne’s Myers currently has, but more the atmosphere of genteel shopping I experienced in my childhood in the 1960s.
We went home a different way, down the steps on the steep part of the hill where the shortest funicular in the world rises only 35 metres to serve tourists who can’t, or don’t want to, make the climb to the top. We emerged through a decorative archway into the main street leading to the central square, as if we had popped out into another, suddenly modern, world. In all the time we have been in Zagreb it has been very quiet – a public holiday and the weekend being combined by some to be a whole week off to go out of town.
We had planned to take Vladimir out to tea, but he wasn’t keen so we all ate at home. We talked about all sorts of issues – about language, history, politics, childhood, friends and travels – and I looked through Vladimir’s family photos. He was the sweetest baby and little boy, growing up and going through the stages of communist youth transitions, as was expected of everyone, and the stages in a Catholic boyhood, as instructed by his mother. One photo shows Vladimir as a little boy at the party in first class when he became a Pioneer, resplendent in his cap with the red star on it. Catholicism is the religion of the majority of people, although there were many years when its observance was discouraged and frowned upon. Catholicism and individual bishops have played an important part in the development of Zagreb and have supported, and been identified with, Croatian culture and independence.
We were off to the Miragoj Cemetery, my choice of the sites since visiting cemeteries is one of my long term interests. I am used to the cemeteries in Victoria, in Australia, and in particular to country ones - where a pair of gates and a fence is all that is required to hold in the sections for the different denominations and belief systems. This one, however, was architect-designed by Hermann Bollé and is lavish in every way. We walked up a long hill to reach it in 35 degree heat, so I was cheered to see some stalls that looked like drink stands in front of the high walls with green cupolas on them. What a pity they only sold coloured plastic vases of pelletised wax to place as lanterns on the graves, and flowers.In the centre of the walls there is a grand entrance and the Church of St. Mary, where funerals take place.
To each side there are arcades with domes and patterned tiled floors. Wealthy, notable and famous people have tombs along the arcades, with sculptures and tomb stellae against the walls and access to the tombs in the tiled floor. The variety of sculptures and their size is stunning - it is like being in an art gallery as much as in a cemetery. Some sculptures are religious in nature but many were not, denoting the interests of the deceased or the grief of the mourners. Political leaders, such as the presidents, were grouped together, and had wreaths on stands in front of them. There is a strong awareness of the contributions of some leaders and often flowers and lanterns are left there for them by ordinary citizens. It was interesting to note that in this predominantly Catholic city, there were some Jewish graves up in the arcades.Beyond the arcades, trees shaded the paths and graves, which seemed to continue endlessly down the hill. Here the statuary was a little more discreet, although now and then a whole chapel, with full altar and religious statues, rose amongst humbler graves. Again it struck me how art is valued here and so was included for some graves, seemingly for its own sake and as a link to a loved one. One very poignant grave was of a family who had lost two babies and then a little boy of four years old. The photos of the parents and the little boy were on the grave and a statue of the child had been made and added. It was so like him and in a joyous childish pose. Eagles, uncut stone like the rocks in a mountain, two lovers’ heads entwined, a coloured mosaic of an angel, a golden statue of Baloković (a Croatian famous for his violin concerts, his wartime efforts to get relief to war victims and his support for the anti-fascist partisans) with his violin, a weeping woman, and a large relief of a couple arm in arm – the woman in folk costume with corn and the man with a rifle as a partisan – all expressed individuality and care. A mass produced head of Jesus with the crown of thorns lost its impact after seeing about fifty in a row, but probably was affordable. Some graves incorporated gardens with either plants that were hardy or others that showed regular visits and care.We were surprised to see Muslim, Jewish, Catholic and Orthodox graves side by side.
In the centre row, behind the church, a cross with Jesus on it was surrounded with many lanterns. They were placed there by those grieving the loss of loved ones in the six month war with Serbia in 1991. We were unable to read the inscriptions on the graves beyond the names and the dates, with often the title of professor or doctor added, but there did not seem to be the custom to add the names of others eg ‘loved daughter of’, details of the death eg ‘accidentally killed’ or an epitaph.It was really unpleasantly hot and, after two hours, even this tranquil, shady and interesting place could not take our minds off the sweat trickling down our backs. As we left, we noticed another grand building that seemed to be a church – it had a cross on the top and religious statues. We went over to have a look and it was with embarrassment that we realised that it was a funeral chapel with a coffin in it ready for a viewing or a service. We backed out of the still empty chapel. Down the hill we passed hospitals and clinics for tests and thought how neat and tidy it was to have everything so close.
We heard that the health system is suffering from the changeover to capitalism; not so much because of the systematic change as such, but from the corruption and greed that has accompanied it. Education has also suffered, with principals more like business managers and sometimes with their own financial self-interest or advancement as their main objectives. Students are able to question results, as should be their right, but can accompany their complaints with threats to take it further and have a teacher who failed them sacked. Some rich parents provide in-kind incentives to some teachers in the hope that their children will receive good marks. An experienced secondary teacher receives about a quarter of the salary of a beginning teacher in Australia, but has ever increasing price rises to cope with. Industries, once run as cooperatives by the workers, have been privatised and in some cases run into the ground by a new boss seeking to line his own pockets. It was fairly gloomy stuff, especially combined with student apathy and deliberate disinterest in working hard to learn. The picture painted didn’t include the developments since independence that have brought Croatia to the brink of membership of the European Union, and the progress that was clearly being made in many fields. It would have been wonderful to have been able to speak to a teenager to see how they viewed things, but we did not have the chance.
We did learn something about the culture and activity of young people at the bishop’s ex-fish pond park behind the cathedral, now the venue for taking dogs to play off the lead. We were so tired that we took it in turns to have a sleep on the grass and use the computer, with a pillow made from our back packs.
Another man, not so lucky as to have a guarding companion, slept on a seat and I could see why after a couple of dogs had been over to sniff me and taste my discarded socks. In the park there is a sculpture vaguely resembling a head, which is a tribute an anti-fascist, Goran, who lived from 1913 - 1943. On the pedestal there is a soccer scarf, along with lanterns for the dead and dried up bunches of flowers. A lady exercising her dogs told us that a few months ago, the park was regularly frequented at night by young people who went there to get together and have a drink. One night a group was celebrating a birthday when some others arrived, and having no alcohol, they demanded that the first group hand theirs over. They refused. A boy from the second group tore a wooden picket off the rubbish basket and threatened the others. A knife was pulled out of a box by a boy in his early twenties from the first group. Minutes later one life bled out on the grass and another was ruined with prison and the emotional aftermath of having killed someone. The tributes to the dead seventeen year old continue to be placed and the woman watches young people come and spend time there, praying or just thinking for a while. The park behaviour has calmed down, but for how long, nobody knows. Some say that poverty has driven young people to leave safer social venues for the parks and streets, where there is nothing to do but drink.We must have been really tired because it was a very doggy smell that clung to the grass and the Croatian equivalent of Fido and Spot were diligently marking their territory left, right and centre. We roused ourselves in time to visit the Cathedral where Mass was in progress, so it was just a little peek – so we should try to return, and the same was the situation at St Marks. In both churches the priest’s voice was an amplified whisper and the congregation’s responses resonated in swirls around the buildings.
A visit to a department store, in a beautiful old building with an open centre and delicate wrought iron fencing stopping the shoppers from dropping down to the ground level below, enabled us to buy some teaspoons as a gift for Vladimir and to see the set up which is not unlike the British Comedy, ‘Are You being Served?’ Assistants are not just behind counters but greet you and inquire as to your needs, giving courteous guidance. There is also a lot of neatening up of displays going on, so it is not the ‘free for all’ feeling that Melbourne’s Myers currently has, but more the atmosphere of genteel shopping I experienced in my childhood in the 1960s.
We went home a different way, down the steps on the steep part of the hill where the shortest funicular in the world rises only 35 metres to serve tourists who can’t, or don’t want to, make the climb to the top. We emerged through a decorative archway into the main street leading to the central square, as if we had popped out into another, suddenly modern, world. In all the time we have been in Zagreb it has been very quiet – a public holiday and the weekend being combined by some to be a whole week off to go out of town.
We had planned to take Vladimir out to tea, but he wasn’t keen so we all ate at home. We talked about all sorts of issues – about language, history, politics, childhood, friends and travels – and I looked through Vladimir’s family photos. He was the sweetest baby and little boy, growing up and going through the stages of communist youth transitions, as was expected of everyone, and the stages in a Catholic boyhood, as instructed by his mother. One photo shows Vladimir as a little boy at the party in first class when he became a Pioneer, resplendent in his cap with the red star on it. Catholicism is the religion of the majority of people, although there were many years when its observance was discouraged and frowned upon. Catholicism and individual bishops have played an important part in the development of Zagreb and have supported, and been identified with, Croatian culture and independence.
One of the more bizarre grave sculptures in the Zagreb Cemetery features The Grim Reaper.
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