The historic Željeznički Kolodvor Rijeka welcomed visitors with its hot stone, which was beginning to heat up even more. The morning sun was already pretty strong. From the nearby harbour, a pleasant light breeze blew in, stealing all sorts of scents from the town and bringing them to the visitors as a kind of introduction to what awaits them on their holiday in this town. There was the scent of pine, a little oleander but also the typical damp smell of the evaporating sea. It’s quite a miracle indeed, how water later rains down from the clouds. It’s amazing how moisture has been taken care of, as well as drinking water, but the perfection of life on earth must of course be taken as something normal. The naturalness of the functioning of the earth will pass away one day as a consequence of the functioning of man, the main parasite, who will not stop multiplying, but that will be another story altogether. When the sun burns us to dust and when there is no more water, when water is more expensive than oil and gold and even diamonds, and when our own waste is adjacent to man’s most luxurious areas and everything is full of plastic, then maybe, just maybe, only then will these aphids understand that they have cooked their own end.
When there is nothing to eat, and when we move on to what has already been experienced once in Stalin’s Ukraine, that newborn babies were eaten, then, perhaps only then, will one understand that we could have acted differently. But it is not worthy of us to limit ourselves, God gives but later we must pay! Sometimes Martin thought that everything is necessary and there is no need to do otherwise, because that is life. Every round we appear here as people, we hope it will be different, that we will evolute and finally grow up and progress, yet it always ends in the same tragicomic and lovingly blissful way. We stupidly exhaust or ruin all our resources and then we die. Maybe it’s meant to be like that. Maybe that’s all there is. All that was expected from us. To the moon! Monkeys dressed in suits. We ruin everything, because that’s us, self-destructing species called humans. But that doesn’t mean we should ever stop trying, and it also means we’ve lived. And that is the ultimate essence of everything and the original goal. Viva La Vida.
The historic station building has been well looked after. Nostalgia cut the air and permeated everything living and inanimate. The building was well maintained and boasted new paint. The original appearance and historic features were of course preserved. Inside, it was pleasantly cool. With its unchanging presence and appearance, it seemed to want to tell everyone that people were dying, but their history remained a little longer. All beautiful buildings turn into ruins one day. It’s called the ravages of time, but if you really want to, you can preserve things for a long time. Will our future generations be able to experience vividly what was once magically original, just as we were able to experience it? The train moved on to Zadar, and while Dominik was already rushing to find his Studio Apartment Bulesic, which was supposed to be a mere 10 minutes’ walk from the station at 4 Alessandro Manzonia Street, Martin was staring at the information boards.
The station was not an actual building until seventeen years after the railway was built. When they finally built it, it was intended to gloriously give the downtown a representative station building. The chief architect of the Hungarian State Railways, Ferenc Pfaff, was in charge of the building project. Pfaff had designed typologically very similar buildings in Zagreb, Bratislava, Pécs and elsewhere in Austria-Hungary. The project was carried out by the firm of Vjenceslav Celligoi and so on 1 January 1891 Rijeka received a railway station building.
The architectural profile of the station building is simple and subordinate to its purpose. The building is based on a single-storey pavilion complex, the emphasis of which is on length. The central entrance pavilion stands out in terms of height and façade decoration; the two side pavilions, which are connected to the main pavilions by wings, are slightly lower in height. The building has a harmonious classical composition in the spirit of Hungarian architecture. The triangular gables above the window openings, the roof balustrade and the relief decoration with garland motifs and the buttress pilasters with Corinthian capitals are just some of the motifs with which the Hungarian architect interpreted antiquity in the spirit of classicism.
Dominik stumbled through the historic Alessandro Manzonio street to the entrance of a four-storey apartment building where he rang the bell. The historic city apartments looked amazing. Compared to what is being built today, it was a great trip to a former standard. Large double wooden doors with a glass in the middle buzzed open and a wide stone staircase with no elevator greeted him as he entered. The railings. An honest beautiful artistic forging. The stairs could easily be two metres wide. Each step was about half a metre with a rise of about ten centimetres so the stairs were not steep. The last time he saw such stairs was at the Slovakian castle in Bojnice. Unfortunately, such a staircase is no longer made today. In old days, everything was just a bit better than it was later. Decade after decade the things were just getting worse and less honest because people always found a way how to rip each other off. Especially big companies that do it to a regular helpless people whom they live of. Looking at this beautiful residential building from 1920 you can tell that, back then, no coin was spared. Not here, not in the old days. Martin was just going to give it a last glance from the outside when he spotted a man sitting on the roof of that building. He was dressed in old 19th century clothes and was wearing a hat. Martin first though it’s a suicide attempt so he flew up there, ready to stop man from doing so. He sat next to the man and was going to enter his mind, but he couldn’t. It was closed. He just smiled and then saluted quietly. Just sort of nodded his head and lifted the hat a little, like people used to do in the old days. Good manners. “Oh, of course, silly me.” — Martin thought. Man was also sort of transparent. It was a ghost.
“Good day sir. What a nice day, huh?” — Martin opened.
“Nice indeed my dear, nice indeed.” — man responded, still smiling and looking down onto the sunny street.
“You came for holidays?” — he asked and lit up a cigarette.
“Well, not really. I just followed a man who did. I woke up from a deep sleep into this nice European summer and I kind of didn’t know what to do so I just rolled with the circumstances.” — Martin explained and was going to explain more about him, but man just nodded his head again and sent the vibration of a total acknowledgement of things, which indeed was convenient way of communication only ghosts could do. In this way, there was little effort needed and the regular talk could be done faster, however, ghosts didn’t just abuse it. The vibrations, thoughts, were always sophisticated and short. You could simply tell a story with few vibrations. These two, however, seemed to like the old human ways of doing so and so they talked.
“Nice to meet you, Martin. I’m Thomas. Thomas, the builder.” — he introduced himself and laughed. “That’s how they called me around here. Oh yes, long time ago. I helped to build this city. This block is particularly precious to me. Good stone, good stone indeed. It will last forever. These people are lucky. My and my wife, we used to live here. See those windows opposite? The second floor. Used to be ours. You friend is staying in Bulesic’s apartment? They moved only recently. About 30 years ago. Nice place too. Huge as well. Nowadays people just rebuild it into couple of nice studios they can let out. Stubborn Albert, a widower from the first floor, refuses to give in. All those huge rooms are locked and he lives alone on the kitchen couch. Some people love their possessions more than themselves. Even to the point of being sorry to rent it out. He’s an old bastard.” — said the man laughing and carried on puffing on his cigarette.
Martin suddenly became angry. He remembered how his friend struggled to get her own little space in Bratislava and thought would be funny to tell the old man from the 19th century how we live now.
“Bank wouldn’t cover the full price, so she had to take an additional loan with that huge interest. Greedy bastards! Tiny studio where you need to watch every step otherwise you hit the wall or stumble. By the time you pay off the mortgage you’ll be actually dead and someone else will live for free. It makes sense when you have kids, of course, inheritance is a good thing. And when you don’t have anyone, you can give to a charity. Still nice. Yeah, the good old days of yours, my man. There was no need to rip people off, build a cheap, cramped and bleak space made of poor-quality materials where the developer will save a lot of money but still sells it dearly. You want quality? Pay for what was once a standard! There was no need to sell scattered socialist panels for huge mortgages that young people sign for 30 years as in some contract with the devil. So, it is like this.” — Martin started eagerly and perhaps a little bit angry.
“The once good socialist panel, which was available to decent working people for almost a penny, is now being sold by our capitalist banks which turned it into the millions of euros profit. Will the children of these people ever enjoy this space again? Or will it already be falling apart for good?! After 30 years, just as you pay off the last piece of the mortgage, it will simply crumble and fall onto your head. Banks, they don’t care. There’s no such thing as insurance for an accidental building collapse. They would just say: Oh, we are sorry, there was no way we could have anticipated that. Banks interests should be regulated and no property older than 10 years should ever be made available through the mortgage! The inflated value of the apartment, plus the usurious interest. Sure, still good, we bend over of course, we now have a place to lie down. Better eat shit than being on the street. Extortion! Own space has always been a luxury item. But somehow everything used to be better quality, more lavish and generous, things more valuable, processes simpler and not so focused on mammon and bloody profit. Everything is sort of rushed nowadays. Neither socialism nor capitalism has paid off for us, and democracy is also losing its credibility. There will always be a thief, a crook under the guise of freedom or a cruel ruler. Time is too fast, the pursuit of money is unstoppable, survival is hectic, and a person’s day seems to be no longer practical. Blood flows in drops and in some places in streams. The age of consumption has swallowed the masses. The young have their necks craned by smartphones. Supermarket obesity is driving humanity to its grave. Back in time, you had to wait for an egg. You didn’t just barge into the supermarket and bought a dozen eggs. People had ducks and chickens, cows and sheep and they had to take care of it. You had to set up a fire to stay warm or to cook things. There wasn’t just on and off switch button for everything. People appreciated things a lot more. Things were slow, more natural and healthier. Now we just fly at the lightspeed. Everything is super-fast and without a value. No appreciation and no joy. Progress is therefore two-sided thing. It always brings both, good and bad. Where are times you needed wood to get hold of? Needed a bit of light during the dark evenings and nights? You needed candles. The image of the labour market has changed today to that of a master and a beggar. In the evening you sit down in front of the TV with the soul of a slave. As long as you have something to eat and a place to lay your head. We work for food and for a living. It sounds familiar, but it’s not like it used to be. When you compare it, basically nothing has changed, but everything has changed. The value has gone out of everything. Things are acquired less honestly and almost without direct effort but rather through slaving away at the wealth of others and then to the sickness of humanity we run for the easy purchase just to feel that we have it good after all. Man needs to do things for himself. As to maintain his value. The great harvest, the growth of domestic animals, the development of agriculture. We need a craft. Craft production and the social division of labour. Bring the Barter back! The old world had some good old value. Whereas now, everything is just a shit!!!!” — Martin spat out angrily.
“All ages have they own ups and downs my friend. Enjoy that one of yours. Don’t get discouraged and happy holidays.” — said the man calmly and tapped Martin’s shoulder heartily. He finished his cigarette and with the last exhalation of cigarette smoke, which was lost in a gentle breeze, this magical man also disappeared.
Dominik walked up through the magical old apartment building of Rijeka. Jula De Paloma and her Piccolissima Serenata in his ears. Moving into these dwellings must have been a piece of cake. Each mezzanine hosted only two apartments. The doors faced each other and the mezzanine, the size of a studio flat, was unnecessarily spacious. The stone had been trodden smooth over the years. Even that stone will eventually wear away. The railing made of old honest ironwork wore wood on the top which too was made to last. The old town building was built in a classic square, as they used to do, with an inner courtyard in which there was the old market hall. The inner courtyards were once a great place for children where parents could keep an eye on them through the window. Anxious mothers and less anxious ones sipped coffee leaning on their elbows watching their little ones. Today, buildings are no longer constructed in this style. The wide windows of the large, high-ceilinged old apartments faced the courtyard on one side and the street on the other. On hot summer days you could get a nice draft. Dominik staggered to the third. Martin, looking at it, began to miss the physical world a little less. Its hardships of discipline and maintenance when one wanted to live a normal life. His eternal celebration of life and search for pleasure and joy, whatever it might be, he missed a little more. Never mind, if one even dies prematurely.
On the third floor, by the open double doors, a well-maintained woman waited. She was probably about 50, but she looked truly Mediterranean-Adriatically stunning. She wasn’t skinny but she wasn’t obese either. She was smiling. She had that typical seaside smile of people who worry like any other person that is trying to survive but, somehow, you couldn’t tell by looking at her face.
“Dobar dan. Dobrodošli.” — she smiled; one leg crossed over the other. She was leaning against the doorframe. She wore short cut-off jeans, a white tank top and something like clogs. Nails manicured, but no makeup on her face. Hair originally light but grey hair dyed with a proportionate blonde.
“Oh, hi.” — he splashed in English, to which the lady just, sort of, automatically grinned.
“Drago mi je. Zovem se Jelka. Ne pričam engleski. Uđi draga moja.” –she said with a smile, motioning for Dominik to come in.
It was pleasantly cool in the corridor. The smell of a well-kept and clean apartment washed over him. The hallway was huge. The floor bore large white tiles and there was a large mirror hung on the right side, a short distance from the door. On the left side was a large white double door, it was closed. The jambs were wide and the ceilings high. Everything was painted white. As Dominic followed Jelka into the back hallway, Martin curiously walked through the door. It was one of the apartments with its own kitchen and bathroom, and its windows faced the street. A tastefully and modernly furnished room with a large bed on which two naked young people were lounging. Their tanned bodies were only lightly covered by a white sheet. In this contrast they looked more than erotic. They were eating grapes and watching a large television on the wall. The Friends series in the Croatian audio. Martin used to watch friends in English or Slovak, so this did sound comical to him, to say the least. However, English subtitles ran downstairs. On the bedside table next to the girl was an unfinished glass of wine and a book. Sicilian Lions — The Saga of the Florio Family (Stefania Auci). The Czech version suggested they were Czechs on holiday. He couldn’t hear them thinking at all. It must have been the television. Funnily enough, TV is known as one of the few things that really can switch the mind off. It has that strange power. What’s more, it can dull it for good. Although the sun was not yet shining directly on this side, the large window was closed from the outside with the typical wooden shutters that are more than common in the Mediterranean. On the floor next to the bed, used wet wipes were scattered. The quantity of them suggested that the youngsters might have had about six orgasms in the course of an hour. One can only hope they were mutual. Girls are a little different in this after all. So, we must not be offended when they call guys, so unpleasantly and truthfully, cum-sowers. There was a cleverly furnished kitchenette on one side, and behind a door on the opposite side was a bathroom with a toilet, which was surprisingly afforded one of the large windows facing the street. The glass panes were not opaque and only a clever bamboo shutter could protect the bare ass from being seen by everyone. Anyway, the bathroom window gave the room the free Southern feel of old seaside dwellings where one didn’t feel so cramped. Somehow the bare ass belonged to the narrow streets of the old townhouses where people could see into the pots in addition to the bedroom. The young weren’t exactly orderly. Towels, bathing suits and underwear were strewn on the floor. Probably in a run for passionate connection, they didn’t bother with anything after a refreshing shower from the salty sea water.
Back in the corridor, higher up on the right, was a wide-open door. A wide swath of sunlight filtered into the hallway. It was a spacious kitchen with a window facing the courtyard. The window was wide open and there were many different kinds of cacti on the windowsill. Some were blooming. In the morning, and until the lunchtime, the sun could be enjoyed on side of this huge apartment. It came in through the windows facing the courtyard, and later, as it turned, it fairly flooded the other sides of the inner square until it finally set on the street on the opposite side of the building. The kitchen had a dark wood counter and a light marble countertop on which stood a small white cup of the landlady’s unfinished black coffee. The kitchen floor hosted old original tiles with a rustic black and white pattern. An old sewing machine with a treadle stood in the corner behind the door, and an electric machine stood next to it. Scattered all over the large dining room table were bits of clothing and assorted tailoring supplies. All summer light fabrics of bright colors. Chalk here and scissors there. Across the hallway, opposite the kitchen was another open door revealing the landlady’s bedroom, which had an open window so there was a nice breeze through the kitchen and hallway. Even though it was already quite hot outside, somehow there was still no need for the health and environmentally damaging air conditioning in this magnificent apartment. None had even been installed. Opposite the landlady’s bedroom was a slightly smaller apartment with a kitchenette, bathroom and toilet with windows to the courtyard, where Dominik was already throwing things out on the big bed. Jelka still threw in a few clean towels and handed him the keys.
“Osjećajte se kao kod kuće.” — she smiled and closed the door.
After unpacking, Dominik poured himself a small glass of red wine and gazed into the charming courtyard of the old market. He turned on his computer, answered a few emails and played a few old songs. Then he stretched out on the big comfy bed, and while My Baby Just Cares for Me by Nina Simone played happily, he thought about all the beautiful things he was going to see here.
“I’m going to visit the city harbor first.” — he mused, but then the exhaustion finally overcame him, and sleep invited him back into the loud snoring.
