Museum of Broken Relationships
I somewhat, but not entirely, washed out literally and figuratively this morning in Zagreb. How much is somewhat? That depends on whether you are a glass-half-empty or a glass-half-void sort of person. Nevertheless, I did visit one quirky, but enjoyable in a quirky sort of way sight, the Museum of Broken Relationships.
I planned to visit another sight, a gallery, but, well, wait for it.
Expectations Built
Today is Sunday. That can cause problems with museums, galleries, and other attractions being closed or closing early. Consequently, yesterday, I consulted the tour book I use, which supplies opening times, to see what I could do today.
I wanted to restrict my choices to indoor activities because the forecast called for rain. Even with this restriction, the book suggested a few options, not all highly recommended, but suggested as worthwhile options nonetheless.
A couple of them close early on Sundays. So I planned to go to them in the morning. Only one, the one recommended most highly by the tour book, doesn’t open at all on Sundays. But I have another day in Zagreb, so I plan to visit it tomorrow.
With this information in hand, I ended yesterday confident I’d have no problem filling my day today.
Inclement Weather
The forecast proved accurate. Light rain was already falling when I got up
I’m getting a bit ahead of myself here, but I’ll take this opportunity to say that drizzle fell the whole time I was out this morning. It varied from little more than a few infrequent drops, to light drizzle, and up to an intensity that, depending on which international standard you use, you might classify as light rain, rather than a drizzle of any sort.
Fortunately, most of the morning was calm. Only occasionally did a slight wind blow. Consequently, my trusty umbrella and light rain jacket kept most of me dry.
Unfortunately, the walking shoes I brought on this trip are of a sneaker style, but with better cushioning and support. In dry weather, they are fabulous. But their uppers are of a breathable and not waterproof material. My feet got a bit damp.
Expectations Dashed
Due to the rain, rather than traipsing out in it only to find the tour book erred about opening hours, I searched the web while eating breakfast.
Where they existed, I visited the sights’ websites. Where they didn’t, I tried to find websites specific to Zagreb that provided current tourist information about the sights.
One by one, I found that the places I planned to visit were still closed due to ongoing restoration work resulting from the 2020 earthquake.
My morning research left me with just one sight from the tour book and two others from other sources.
Because I got a late start due to spending time doing research, I decided to go to two places in the morning and save one for the afternoon, hoping the rain would let up by then, making wandering around aimlessly more enjoyable.
Not The Museum of Broken Relationships
I didn’t plan to start with the Museum of Broken Relationships. I intended to start with the other of the two sights, which is closer to my hotel and generally on the way to the Museum of Broken Relationships.
That other sight was the Croatian Association of Artists. Its website said it’s open from 10:00 to 2:00 on Sundays and contains a couple of galleries.
It’s in an attractive cylindrical building I’d seen before while walking around. I went to what looked like a grand, but austere main entrance. The door was closed and locked. No signage hung on the door or beside it.
A walked around the perimeter of the cylinder and found another smaller door. It too was locked, but it had a sign saying it didn’t open until 11:00, not 10:00. It was 10:30. Rather than waiting, I went to the Museum of Broken Relationships first, planning to come back after that.
Getting ahead of myself again, I did return. Both doors were still locked. As luck would have it, a police officer was sheltering under the cylinder’s overhang. I asked him if it was open. He shook his head and said, “No.”
Returning to the interrupted timeline, I went to the …
Museum of Broken Relationships
The Museum of Broken Relationships website said it’s open from 9:00 a.m. to 10:00 p.m. every day. Despite having this information in hand, or rather in head, considering the luck I’ve had today, I was still surprised to find that, yes, it was indeed open when I arrived.
I read about the Museum of Broken Relationships even before I came to Croatia. Both the tour book I use and my walking tour app highly recommend it. And, after my apprehensions about Zagreb on my first day here, my most avid reader replied that she searched the internet and found a couple of quirky museums recommended as things to do here. One of them was the Museum of Broken Relationships. The other was one I hadn’t heard of, and it’s the activity I saved for this afternoon.
Despite those recommendations, I admit to being skeptical about the possibility of liking the Museum of Broken Relations. But I did.
The museum started solely as a travelling show that toured internationally. Then they found a permanent home in Zagreb. Their website says they still mount travelling exhibits as well.
The permanent museum is not huge, but they pack a lot in.
Except for one video vignette, most of the museum consists of text displays about specific relationships and their breakups mounted on the walls. Beside each text is a donated item that the donor found represented the relationship or breakup. Items varied.
Some were banal, like a toaster or an espresso machine.
Some were out of the ordinary, like a parachute pack, a voodoo doll, sheered-off dreadlocks, a plastic Godzilla decorated with jewelry from previous girlfriends, and a homemade plastic, um, er, sex toy.
Others were exceptionally weird, such as the scab from a wound that a first love got as a result of a motorcycle accident.
Still others were poignant almost to the point of tearful, like an old-fashioned film canister of the type that Kodachrome film for still cameras used to come in. Young people won’t know what that is. You can probably find it via Google. How is that poignant? I’ll tell you, but you have to wait until I talk about the texts at the museum, which starts now.
The format of all the texts was the same. The top line named the item. Below that, the placard indicated the duration of the relationship. While the duration always appeared, sometimes it stated the number of months, years, or days it lasted. Others gave approximate or exact starting and ending dates for the relationship.
The city where the relationship occurred followed the duration. I saw many European countries, a couple of Middle Eastern countries, a few Asian countries, and all three countries of North America represented.
Vignettes
After that was a brief vignette about the relationship, the breakup, and/or the item. The vignettes varied. Most were written in the first person, although some were exclusively or partly written in the third person about the other person in the relationship. A few were written in the second person as if the writer was speaking to the other person.
Some of the text spoke only about the significance of the associated item, sometimes in snarky terms, such as the note beside the toaster that said,
The Toaster of Vindication
2006 – 2010
Denver, Colorado, USA
And while most were the kind of breakups you (and I) probably thought of upon seeing the museum’s name, namely ended romantic relationships, some weren’t. For example, there was one about a godmother who left without saying goodbye. A child who died. And, to get to the poignant one, the one beside the film canister, a husband who died of cancer.
Like with the toaster, I took a picture of that vignette so I wouldn’t get it wrong when I typed it here. I was even more determined to be true to this one.
Poignant Film Canister
When I went to post a picture of the canister here I found that I took a picture of the text, but forgot to take a picture of the canister. That’s not a loss for old fogeys like me as it is unadorned and no different from the small film canisters of our youth. But for the rest of you, sorry, but you won’t find a picture here. The Google search you did based on my prompt above probably showed one to you.
As I mentioned, the film canister was from a woman whose husband died of cancer. They met after he’d been widowed at age 19 and had a young child. They got married and had been married for 33 years when he died.
Before he died, he said to her, “[capitalization as on the placard:] Live a Life of Love. When I die, give my ashes away in film canisters. Have my friends blow them away to all ends of the earth.” The vignette was unclear as to whether she did indeed, give any to friends. But she said that at the time she wrote it, she was in the fifth month of travelling the world herself and had sent him over Victoria Falls, into five different seas, off the Cape of Good Hope, in the Namibian desert, into a Capuchin crypt in Rome, over a Croatian cemetery, and into the Plitvice Lakes.
And one sits, with ashes still inside, in the Museum of Broken Relationships. The title over the text reads simply, “Film canister with a small amount of ashes.”
Lunch Frustration
By the time I finished visiting the Museum of Broken Relationships and failing to visit the Croatian Association of Artists, it was about half past noon. Because it was still raining, I decided to go back to my hotel, go up to my room, drop off my rain jacket and umbrella, change into the less comfortable, but dry other pair of shoes I brought with me, and eat in the hotel restaurant. The restaurant looks uninspiring, but at least I could stay dry going there.
When I went to the hotel restaurant, it was empty. No customers. No staff. It was still before 1:00, which is a little before most people eat lunch here, so I went to the front desk and asked if they were open for lunch. “No, it only opens for breakfast and dinner.”
I went to my room and searched Google and TripAdvisor for nearby restaurants. But there aren’t many. I walked almost 20 minutes to get to the first two dinners I had here because of that. There is a Japanese restaurant in a small mall right next to the hotel, but I’m in Croatia. I didn’t want Japanese food here, nor did I want a restaurant in a mall, small or not.
I found a restaurant about a ten-minute walk away that got decent reviews. Both Google and TripAdvisor assured me it was open at that time. I walked there. Both Google and TripAdvisor were wrong.
I found another restaurant a couple of minutes away from the first one. Eureka! It was open!
“Do you have a table for one?” “Do you have a reservation?” “No.” “Sorry, we’re all full.”
I gave up and decided to go to the Japanese restaurant. That involved walking past my hotel. When I glanced in the window. I saw people in the restaurant eating lunch. So I went in and asked if they served lunch. (I thought it might be a group that reserved the restaurant and that’s why the front desk told me they don’t serve lunch.) “Yes, we do.”
I went upstairs to my room, dropped off my rain jacket and dripping umbrella, went back to the restaurant, and had a so-so burger and a glass of wine.
It then took forever to signal someone to tell them I was ready to charge the meal to my room.
When I got the bill, the wine wasn’t on it. It took a while to signal someone to ask about that. He told me, oh, that was complementary. I don’t know if the front desk person saw me go into the restaurant and told the person at the restaurant about the misinformation she gave me and that was why the wine was free. Or maybe it was because of the long wait for the bill. I don’t know.
The walk to the closed restaurant and then to the full restaurant wasn’t without value. They are near the Zagreb bus station. How is that of value? Let me tell you.
I’m scheduled to leave Zagreb on a bus to my final destination for this trip in a couple of days. When I passed the bus station, I saw a few buses from the company that runs the bus I have a ticket for. So now I know that that, indeed, is the place I need to get to in a couple of days.
You’re probably thinking, “Joel, seriously? Is that the sort of thing you spend your time worrying about?”
Me worry about something like that? Ha! I laugh in the face of concerns of that nature. True, it’s a nervous, almost hysterical laugh. But a laugh is a laugh.
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Exercises in frustration for the intrepid Joel and the snide laughter of the weather gods. Not such a good morning. But a surprisingly cool museum, and free wine for lunch? Not such a bad morning. Let’s see what you come up with this afternoon. All the best.
Yes, the weather gods were upset with me today. I don’t know why. I haven’t eaten any more treif recently than I normally do. That’s a lot, but not more than on the days when the weather gods have been happy with me.
And, yes the surprisingly cool museum and free wine provided some compensation.
Glad you posted about the morning. I fretted that a short email and photo might have constituted said post as there was no link. But I did get a link for the afternoon’s doings so I opened it, skipped down to see the links to previous posts on this trip, et voilà. A link to flesh out the plaintive teaser in the email: frustrations and a museum of distress. Hooray.
There was a cartoonish quality (in a good way) to your description of frustrating disinformation, misinformation, drizzly weather fulfilling literary construct meanwhile of pathetic fallacy, locked doors, misalignment between promises and facts on the ground, foraging hither and yon in search of lunchtime sustenance, and film canisters put to poignant use.
There’s a classic children’s book—Harry and the Purple Crayon—in which the eponymous Harry creates an interesting adventure for himself by drawing its elements page by page. Your morning exists now in my imagination that way: a squiggled purple doodle of loops and lines and zigs and zags.
I’m glad you got here. I don’t know what happened in the email. I checked. The link was there, albeit attached to the picture for a reason I don’t know. Clicking the picture took me to this page.
I’m not familiar with Harry and the Purple Crayon. I fear I’m often cartoonish, but not necessarily in a good way.