In 1987 I spent four months backpacking through Europe, of which roughly three weeks were devoted to roaming Yugoslavia, the nation in the Balkans created following World War I, and dissolved during the horrendous civil wars of the 1990s.
Yugoslavia’s components of Croatia, Slovenia, Serbia, Northern Macedonia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Montenegro and Kosovo are now independent. I touched ground in them all except the latter two.
Yugoslavia was a budget-friendly place to travel, which is to say ridiculously cheap. In sort of a socialist precursor to Airbnb, ordinary people were allowed to offer “private rooms” for let, and these usually cost the equivalent of $5 a day. Riding trains and buses, which also were inexpensive, I was able to cover a fair amount of ground, and based on my stock of knowledge at the time (I knew so very little), most of the “must sees” were viewed.
But in retrospect, quite a lot of worth was omitted, like the city of Split. It is a port on the Adriatic and one of the principal cities in the historic Croatian region of Dalmatia (in essence, coastal Croatia). I missed Split without regrets in 1987 because Dubrovnik had been declared a personal priority, and it was in fact marvelous.
Yes, this took place prior to Game of Thrones.
The modern city of Split has a unique foundation story: “Diocletian’s Palace was built at the end of the third century AD as a residence for the Roman emperor Diocletian, and today forms about half of the old town of Split.” Talk about adaptive reuse.
Had there been time, I’d have visited both Split and Dubrovnik. Fortunately bucket lists circle back around so long as you’re above ground, and the time for Split is now.
It has taken only 37 years for me to correct this Yugoslav-era omission, and as you read these words I’m likely sipping on a Karlovačko beer even if it is widely condemned as an uninteresting Euro Lager by most beer enthusiasts.
However, I’m counting on uninteresting Euro lager to prompt comforting nostalgia, and as such, am perfectly capable of suspending my standards (and insisting that this and other beers of like style in Europe typically out-perform the dull awfulness of Miller High Life and Coors Banquet).
Yes, I drank a few beers in Yugoslavia in 1987, often following my cost-cutting strategy of sourcing half-liter bottles in groceries and markets. There may have been a dark lager in there somewhere, although my recollection is that all were golden in a Pilsner mode. Three bottles for a buck in a shop was standard. But draft beer in pubs and restaurants was priced accessibly, and merited the occasional splurge (50 – 75 cents a mug).
Croatia’s contemporary post-communist thirst for beer has elevated this small country to 14th worldwide in terms of per capita consumption, although historically the lands comprising modern Croatia boasted vineyards, and wine has been the main culinary and cultural marker.
There also is a proclivity for rakija, brandy made from fruit (often conjured at home), as well as a specific coastal Croatian specialty called Travarica. It is made with “komovica” brandy (read: grappa) and infused with Dalmatian herbs.
Beer and brewing as we know them today came from Central Europe to the Balkans and Greece, migrating south alongside the imperial aims of Austrians and Hungarians, with the oldest Croatian brewery, Osječko, dating to 1649 in Osijek. Subsequently the Central European lager brewing regimen dominated the Balkans.
Here’s a sampling of the main Croatian breweries and beers, courtesy of Wikipedia.
Karlovačko from the city of Karlovac, since 2016 owned by Heineken.
Ožujsko from Zagreb (founded 1892), since 2012 owned by MolsonCoors. A strong dark lager called Tomislav (7.3% abv) is also brewed by Ožujsko.
Pan from Koprivnica, first brewed in 1997 and since 2002 owned by Carlsberg.
Laško, brewed in Slovenia (along with Union since 2016) by Heineken. For a period until 2013, Laško was also brewed in Split.
Velebitsko brewed in Like near Gospić (in the Velebit mountains) by the Ličanka brewery. There are pale and dark versions of this lager.
Of course, craft brewing has put down roots in Croatia, just as it has everywhere else in Europe. Here’s a joint in Split that I hope to have discovered by the time you read this.
So, in conclusion, what does it all mean?
Whatever you want it to mean, as always. If it seems that Split is not a genuine beer destination in the same sense as Bamberg, well, that’s because it is absolutely true.
Early explorations of Bamberg made a deep and lasting impression on me. Of these the 1996 visit tops the chart by virtue of a single, earth-shattering revelation: Yes, it was possible to experience the city’s nine breweries on foot in a single day (with an asterisk), enjoying at least one half-liter of beer at each, and live to tell the tale, if groggily.
Then again, for all of Bamberg’s beer-related wonders, its atmospheric riverside architecture and locale, those pork knuckles, forests and dozens of other breweries, it is neither seaside nor Balkan.
It is okay to possess diverse and varied fascinations, and to pound a Pan when necessary. My interest in the lands that once comprised Yugoslavia dates to university times. Regular readers will be aware of my Habsburg fixation; Sarajevo, where the Archduke met his fate, is close enough to Split that a day trip is possible, just barely; we won’t be attempting it, and yet it sets off a few flares in my increasingly cluttered cranium.
Consequently, if one of those dark Velebitsko lagers is available at a clean, well lighted place near the water, I’ll be pulling up seat for refreshment and contemplation. Europe and beer; my twinned obsessions.
A platter of black risotto cooked in cuttlefish ink? It never hurt a soul.
I highly recommend a novel to anyone seeking an understanding of what happened in Yugoslavia in the 1990s: Yugoslavia, My Fatherland by Goran Vojnovic. Think of it as one family’s perspective. For a more detailed rendering of the geopolitical factors involved, check out Slobodan Milosevic and the Destruction of Yugoslavia, by the retired American diplomat Louis Sell.
Wish me luck. I’m hobbling on a damaged hip that’s about to be replaced. Even if these Croatian beers are not be the world’s finest, painkillers are always appreciated.
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Previously at “Hip Hops”:
Hip Hops: American Craft Beer Hall of Fame, Donum Dei’s dip & Kentucky Hop Water
Roger Baylor is an entrepreneur, educator, and innovator with 
