After weeks of eating sausage rolls and sleeping in dorm rooms with snoring strangers, I longed for a little bit of luxury. But at what price? It was my first night in Zagreb and I was staying at a hostel down the road from the Dolac Market. After a long travel day I was in the mood for a drink, so I ordered an Ozujsko at one of the terraces along Tkalciceva Ulica and watched the people go by.
Halfway through my beer, I noticed two American men standing outside the terrace, debating whether or not to come in for a drink. They invited me to join them at another bar down the road and I accepted, appreciating the company. Their names were Chris and Jacob and they had come from Las Vegas, looking to buy property in Croatia.
Turns out these guys owned most of Las Vegas. Jacob, in particular, was quite the power player. Originally from Israel, he still had a strong accent although he had lived and worked around the world. He was involved in, he said mysteriously, the diamond business. After a few more rounds, they convinced me to go to the casino at the Sheraton, where they were staying.
And while I was at it, I should join them on their sailing trip to Split, which they were embarking upon the next day. I was tempted. I could imagine myself living the high life for a change, drinking triple vodka-redbulls all week, replacing sketchy hostels with luxurious yachts. But something needs to be done to stop them from spray-painting the buildings that are the main attractions of the city.
Chris was overbearing and touched people a lot when he spoke. He must have come into his money recently because he still loved to mention it. He told story after story about young celebrities who danced on Vegas tables for him and about the time Oprah Winfrey asked him to adopt a South African child. He blew smoke rings into the air as he talked, and catcalled every woman along the way, making Chinese-sounding noises that sounded to him like Croatian.
