Dražen – za sva vrimena (Dražen – for all time).

This article is from October of 2019, just a month before we were in Zagreb. Had our tight schedule permitted, I'd have suggested we stop by the museum.

The music video Dražen – za sva vrimena (Dražen – for all time) was presented at a ceremony at the Dražen Petrović Musem – Memorial Centre in Zagreb where it was also announced that a musical dedicated to the legend will premiere next year.

Following is an excellent appreciation of Dražen Petrović. When Petrović went to the NBA, it was just before the horrific Yugoslav civil war, and it's fair to say that all of eastern-central Europe knew who he was, and enjoyed seeing his success in America. Certainly he was known and respected in Slovakia, where I taught in 1991-1992.

The fact of his symbolic role in the fratricide (he "chose" Croatia in spite of his father being from Serbia) gives me pause, because Yugoslavia's disintegration is a fiendishly difficult topic that cannot be blamed on a relatively small number of war criminals. There were too few heroes in the conflict.

And yet quite obviously, Petrović didn't start the war. Those seeds were planted decades before his birth, and what's more, his premature death at only 28 precludes us from knowing how he'd have chosen to be part of the postwar recovery.

What I continue to appreciate about basketball in general terms, and the NBA in particular, is the way it has become a truly international sport. That opening wave of European players 30-odd years ago transfixed this Europhile. I can't say Petrović was my favorite player then -- that'd be Arvydas Sabonis, the best passer for a big man ever -- but I definitely was a fan.

Drazen’s Keepers, by Jeff Greer (Medium)

... It is these people, Croatians from all walks of life, who make up Drazen’s Keepers, those who carry on his transcendent legacy in a country still hurting from the shocking car crash that killed Petrovic in his prime 27 years ago. One of the most accomplished players in European basketball history, Drazen was the first European named to an All-NBA team, a pioneer in crossing the Atlantic to play on the biggest stage in hoops. He remains even bigger than that to his compatriots: a projection of what Croatians want athletically, culturally and morally in their ideal heroes. Visiting his tomb in Zagreb and the statues and museums dedicated to him across the country has become a rite of passage. He is immortalized through the stories Croatians tell. And Drazen’s Keepers pass on his memory — a memory that often drifts between past and present as if their hero never really died at all — so the newest generations of Croatians understand just who Drazen was, and why he is still so important to their young nation.

At Food & Dining Magazine: "Štruklji, Jota and Pelinkovac — or, what I ate and drank on winter break."

Here's a periodic reminder that I'm doing most of the daily posts at the Food & Dining Magazine web site.

Generally these are short "news and notes" articles, Monday through Friday. One of my goals is to expand postings to Saturday (which we sometimes do now) and Sunday. Ultimately I'd like to theme one or both of these days, but walking before running and all.

I went a bit longer-form on Saturday this week. Here's the link; you'll have to go to the site to read the full text.

Štruklji, Jota and Pelinkovac — or, what I ate and drank on winter break.

Your correspondent and his lovely wife spent time before and after Thanksgiving across the pond: In Zagreb (Croatia), Ljubljana and Lake Bled (Slovenia) and Trieste (Italy). In addition to taking a break from the everyday and enjoying the many sights in this always fascinating corner of Europe, we sought as always to taste just a bit of these faraway locales.

BEER WITH A SOCIALIST: Kalin Tavern, where a passport is required to cross the barroom.

At Conde Nast Traveler, Ken Jennings writes about a tavern divided.

Sitting on an international border can be bad for business.

Running a multi-national pub in the middle of nowhere can be tricky. Kalin pays taxes only in Slovenia, but has a separate phone number in each country. He doesn't get so many Croatian guests now that they have to show a passport just to get to his front door, so he only stocks Slovene beers. An old photo in the hallway shows Kalin's mom's dog in happier times, peeing on the border marker right outside the tavern door.

The Google street view above dates to 2013, affording a clean view of the Kalin Tavern on the left (note the awnings) and the border blockade running right across the street.

In Slovene, "gostilna" is an inn or pub.

You might recall a digression from last year, in which I recounted my first and only visit to Ljubljana, Slovenia in 1987, when there was no wall across the road because all of it was part of the late Yugoslavia.

30 years ago today: (May) An introduction to Yugoslavia in Ljubljana, then Zagreb and the way to Sarajevo.

Union Pivo (beer) figured into that one, too.

So many walls, too few bridges.

Long read: Not Legoland, but Liborland.

If Liborland can achieve independence, then why not New Albany?

Thanks to W for the link.

Welcome to Liberland, the World’s Newest Country (Maybe): Travels with Vit Jedlicka, the would-be founding father of a libertarian paradise, by Gideon Lewis-Krausaug (New York Times)

Along the western bank of the Danube, more or less halfway between Zagreb and Belgrade, there rests in historic obscurity a three-square-mile teardrop of no man’s land. It is an artifact of a border dispute of long standing, and neither Serbia nor Croatia expresses a desire to rule over this unprepossessing Gibraltar-size property. The land, marshy and prone to seasonal inundation, is choked with unregulated scrub, with here and there the lone tongue of a poplar or the gentle shag of a willow. The only road is a rutted single-lane dirt track, the only existing dwelling a flimsy hunting hovel, its provenance unknown.

The absence of governmental authority on this land is due to the manipulated course of the Danube itself. By the late 19th century, the Danube was accepted as the natural border between the regions — at that point still under Austro-Hungarian control — that would become Croatia and Serbia. There, however, the river’s path was tortuous and difficult for larger boats to navigate, so engineering work was undertaken to smooth the snaking flow. The straightened Danube was a vast improvement for international riverine transport, but in the process, four large uncontiguous bulges of Croatia became stranded alone on the Serbian side, and one small pocket of Serbia, on what was now the far bank, became attached to the Croatian mass.

This latter pocket, which local residents call Gornja Siga, is the no man’s land in question.