Croatia and France Battle It Out

We hadn't planned it this way. The bus station was in a dingy industrial estate some kilometres from the city centre and, budget being at the forefront of our minds, calling on the services of a taxi was out of the question. A stop along Croatia's marvellous coastline had been erased from our itinerary due to its exclusive accommodation costs, so the capital Zagreb had to do; only, we had arrived the very day of the World Cup Grand Final, and Croatia was headlining the event with France.

The closer we drew to the centre, the more red and white checks were seen, until we finally joined a parade of chanters and singers, all clad in the happy colours. Rob looked over at me with a grimace, and I knew what he was thinking: there was to be no way through to our accommodation. Ahead, the main square was one undulating mass of red and white, with towers of scaffolding holding up TV cameras and equipment, spaced evenly around the perimeter. The streets feeding the square were rapidly filling. We retraced our steps, seeking an alternative route, and found that a few blocks away from the mayhem, we saw hardly a soul.

Hungry, we ventured into the eerily empty neighbourhood for something to eat and found a similarly post-apocalyptic pizza shop where the few staff crowded the monitor and begrudgingly announced each goal against their country. Croatia, as history will show, ended as runner-up to the Cup, though the fanatical crowd could have fooled the world. They were as joyous as victors, and though we were pleased to have been present, we were still quietly glad that the end of celebrations were bound to open the streets once more.

We were wrong. Another full day of celebrations, crowds, and blocked streets were in order, as we witnessed the ever-proud citizens vying for a spot to welcome home the National Team.