No yesterdays on the road

Crossing the border from Serbia to Croatia, the differences are immediately apparent. Actually, that isn't strictly accurate. Croatia does immediately feel different, if only in subtle ways, but it takes a little while to register just where those differences lie.

There's the same flat landscape of the edge of the Carpathian Basin, the crops much the same in similar looking fields. But look again and you notice the hedgerows and fences are better looked after. Tracks and paths and the strips of grass between crops are all tidier with less litter.

Thin white church toweres rise over scattered woods, hiding little villages in the middle distance and it looks so comfortable that it takes a moment to register that it is precisely those towers that are different. You don't see those signatures of Central European Catholicism dotted around the Serbian countryside any more than you see the bulging onion domes of Serbian Orthodoxy in the rolling Croatian plains. For that is where I most definitely I was as I crossed the border: back in Central Europe. The border marks, for me, the watershed between the Balkans and Central Europe. Naturally these distinctions are always rather murky and vague, a little arbitrary even - bullet holes still marr the concrete buildings of communism on both sides after all - but recent history has perhaps made the distinction rather sharper in this region than others.

Arriving in Zagreb only confirms the feeling that the Balkans have been left behind. It is a small city, compact and tidy. Things seem well organised and the streets are cleaner. Little differences like the lack of beeping horns, even in the worst traffic jams, attest to the pull of Central Europe. Seriously, the silence of a quiet traffic jam is a deafening surprise after the tumult of traffic in places like Skopje or Tirana, or even Belgrade, where people seem to beep just for the solidarity and sheer joy of the thing. There are recycling bins, non-existent in Belgrade, and fewer people just hanging around, passing the time because they've nothing else to do.

Zagreb is a charming city, though it suffers in reputation for the proximity of the Croatian coast (which I didn't visit). Some backpackers I met said it was a two-day city (on the backpacker circuit, cities are ranked according to the time required to see everything). I, of course, could have spent a week there. It is altogether a lovely city, unjustly ignored in the race for the beach. It is kind to tourists and travellers, of which there are many, both backpackers (two main types: those on the Southern trail to Istanbul - something like Venice, Ljubljana, Zagreb, Belgrade, Sofia, Istanbul - and those on their way to the coast) and good old tourists of the usual sort, American, German and Japanese (us Brits still haven't made it out of Spain yet it seems). The streets are full of bustling cafes lining the picturesque squares, with trams wending their way down past regal houses and handsome churches. The city is also packed with museums. The Modern Art gallery is particularly good, though the upper rooms are covered in so much contemporary art it feels like you've been hit over the head with giant red and black iron installations when you walk in.

If Croatia is pretty much Central Europe (with a twist of the Mediterreanean and a touch of the Balkans), then Slovenia is just pure Central Europe, a veritable miniature Austria. Everything is on a small scale, the whole country has something like two million people, and you can drive across it in a couple of hours. It's by far the most Western and rich of the Balkan countries (I am never sure if Greece counts or not as a Balkan country). It's GDP per capita is 1.5 times that of Croatia and twice that of Serbia (it's about four times that of lawless Albania). The scenery is distinctly Alpine, little Austrian-like villages set in little Austrian-like mountains. It was almost a continual surprise to hear Slovenes speak with what was clearly a Slavic language and not some variant of German. Everything feels neat, prim and in its proper place and the whole atmosphere was one of typical Alpine health, as if the locals rose early to catch the sunrise on the local Alp before swishing stylishly down the perfect offpiste powder for a splendidly healthy breakfast and another day on the slopes. Ljubljana, the capital, is tiny, a little gem of a city that you can walk plain across in an hour. It does, however, feel rather too much like the perfect romantic weekend getaway rather than a budget backpackers destination. Restaurants full of fawning couples crowd the riverfront, the trees and cute little bridges reflected in the water in the still evening air. It's just the right size to do in two days, too.

Most people recommend basing yourself in Ljubljana and then seeing the rest of the country in a series of day trips. I, of course, like to do things differently. I spent the requisite two days in Ljubljana before even I began to wonder if I could bear walking up to see the view from the castle for the fourth time in 36 hours. I therefore thought I'd sacrifice my usually snobbery and use my third and last day to take a touristy day trip to Bled, a super picturesque village somewhere near the Southern reaches of the Alps.