The project of the Yugoslav socialist Sanrem was designed and realized in 1958 with the launch of the Opatija Festival, which everyone later simply called Opatija. I was born in the following decade, that is, at a time when that sound was already filling kitchens and living rooms. Someone's hand would adjust the frequency on the huge "lampash" radio, and the voice of a man named Lado Leskovar would start streaming from that magical box, "Look for me in the suburbs." Or the striking voice of Dragan Stojnić, who begs the "mysterious woman" to come even when it's not raining.
Live from Opatija
A little later, television entered homes. We managed to take a peek at the stage of the Kvarner Hotel's Crystal Hall. The black and white gestures of pain, pride, sadness and joy of the Yugoslav schlager plumes have become part of the national ritual. Tereza Kesovia's dramatic-operatic poses, as well as Đorđe Marjanović's dramatic throwing of his coat on the stage, were all conceived in this Istrian place. What would the Benedictines who founded here in 1506 the abbey of St. Jakov, thought they had seen that miracle. And they were only human. Some would be baptized, others would toast, and still others would dance.
Stars like Zdravko Čolić were born on that stage - it's simply unbelievable that he sang his hit "Gori Vatra" in Opatija in 1973 and that here in 2021 his star is still shining. In those decades, I liked it more when Oliver would sing Opatija's victory song: "There are days when I am wistful, when I don't know where to go with myself, I sit empty by the piano. There are days that burn me, because old wounds wake up, always when the music plays..."
I am closer to the Adriatic dream than the continental fire.
Because of Opatija, the rest of the Yugoslavs, otherwise quite ignorant in learning the minor languages of their compatriots, sang in pure Slovenian the victory song of the composition Pepel in kri: "That was your day of love, the most beautiful day, that never goes away".
It was a time of chastity - a time when I sat calmly with my mother and sister in front of the television before puberty and watched that sugary Opatija cosmos, occasionally listening to sighs mixed with notes.
Bulldog and cod
I came to Opatija for the first time in the new millennium, when the festival glory of the place had long passed. I arrived from the direction of Rijeka by bus, which must have been an exceptional technological achievement in my gymnasium days from the late seventies, but now it sped past Kantrid all the way to Opatija. After we got into the back door of the "accordion" as we called the articulated bus, my seven-year-old son was bouncing on the wooden seat as if it was made of rubber, laughing so sweetly that it brightened my gloomy day. It was the time between the Christmas and New Year holidays and the trip from Germany followed as a spontaneous action of people escaping from everyday life. The Opatija rodeo is what will remain in my son's memory.
Opatija welcomed us with a mild temperature and all that remained of Austro-Hungarian and Yugoslav charm. Ever since Rijeka patricians from the Skarpa family built Villa Anđolina in 1844, rich noblemen have discovered the charms of this place. The railway connection between Vienna and Trieste in 1857 and Rijeka in 1873 made Opatija a seaside winter resort and health resort for the capital of the Habsburg Monarchy.
First, we went to the apartment that we had booked by phone with the Puž family. They were good, gentle people. They immediately brought us cod pâté, claiming it was the best in town. But one cannot know everything in advance: their cuddly bulldog was the cause of an allergic reaction, so we had to move to the Opatija hotel.
There was no cod pate, but no bulldog. The hotel smelled of generations of classy guests. Located on a slight rise above the Slatina bathing area, in the very heart of the city. From the French window there was a view of the Kvarner Bay - the winter sea, steel gray, with blue tints and the sun struggling to see the sunset, break through the cloud cover and gild the water.
Opatija time machine
From those days, I remember walks along the coast, admiring the evergreen plantations and Austro-Hungarian villas, and the snow that fell on the third day of our stay - right after it cleared up over Opatija. It's a wonderful sight when cypress trees emerge from the blue sea between beautiful buildings, and above them rises the completely white massif of Učka. Here, the Mediterranean came closest to the pre-Alpine regions, that miraculous combination predestined this place to be the point of intersection of the continental yearning for the sea and the coastal yearning for Central European splendor.
Hemingway, the cafe on the waterfront, next to the Lido, was open even when everything else was closed. My son loved cakes, I drank coffee and beer from Karlovy Vary. Restaurant Ruzmarin brought that unique, Istrian mix of tastes.
I also know that we once stopped for peas with beef in a sleepy bar that was miraculously bypassed by privatization. Same kind of time machine as that bus - tin ashtrays, mediocre grumpy waiter and great food. I'm afraid I won't find that place again.
I think that people with hot nerves would rest their souls here. Especially if you take into account the fact that Leo Sternbach, an Austro-Hungarian chemist who later emigrated to America to find valium, was born in Opatija.
Summer and bisque
Ten years later I am coming again by bus from Rijeka. It's summer. A lady with whom I have already visited the whole of Istria is traveling with me. The bus is relatively new, there is no more traffic.
Immediately after getting off the bus, we come across the "promenade of stars" - the names of famous people who mean something here are engraved on the pavement. The list is impressive. From Ivo Robić, whom my mother loved, through Kreša Ćosić or Dražen Petrović to Oliver Dragojević or - Miroslav Krleža. However, one name stuck to my heart more than the names of the stars of the Opatija Festival. Mate Parlov. Yugoslavs saw him as a left-handed boxing champion from Pula, although he comes from the village of Ričice near Imotski, and moved to Pula as a young man to train in boxing.
We spend the morning at Slatina beach for a paltry fifteen euros. Opatija is returning to its old glory, at least as far as prices are concerned. After that, we walk along the Franja Josip Coast all the way to the Ambasador Hotel, then return to Titovo. Judging by the name of the main street, even Opatija does not want to give up its Yugoslav heritage.
Istranka is a restaurant that magically attracted us with the smell of truffles and garlic in olive oil. And indeed, the pasta with truffles was a revelation. Even when the bisque came to the table - we had nowhere else to go, we declared that day one of the best in Istria.
Biska is an Istrian brandy that is made by putting twigs and leaves of mistletoe in a good komovac or grapevine. This is the herb that the druid Aspirinicus uses to cook a miraculous potion and that gives the comic book hero Aterix and the other Gauls incredible strength. The ancient Greeks believed that mistletoe was a cosmic seed. The combination of cosmic seed and comovage in Opatija gave miraculous results.
One guitar, countless wonderful dreams
After lunch in Istranka, we went down to the Langomare promenade, a path once made for Viennese counts and gentlemen. The nine-kilometer long promenade is carved into the rocky coast and the feeling when you walk along it or sit on one of the benches is certainly unique on the Adriatic. When we were full, we took off our sandals and let the Adriatic cool our soles. To the left was the white multi-story cube of the Ambasador Hotel, the only grandiose legacy of socialist aesthetics. To the right, where we came from, there is a statue that I will visit every time I come to Opatija - Girl with a Seagull.
Unlike the Ambassador, this is a lovely figure, related to the rock and the sea. And it was created in 1956. It is the work of sculptor Zvonka Cara, who was Meštrović's interwar student. The writer Vladimir Nazor noticed his talent in Crikvenica, and sent him with a recommendation to the Academy of Fine Arts in Zagreb. He was only 16 years old then. There are few artists who were lucky enough to give a permanently recognizable symbol to the entire city with one of their works. This figure on the shore is always a sign that you have arrived in Opatija, that some things, in a world of rapid changes, remain beautiful in the same way.
This is how I see us, I see myself: I am sitting on the shore in Opatija, listening to the soft lapping of the sea on the rocks, looking sideways at Girl with a Seagull and humming to myself a long-ago hit by the singer born in Opatija, Elizabeta Beti Jurković: One guitar, countless wonderful dreams...
Bonus video:
