Zagreb is a strange place indeed. I've never been a massive fan of cities, preferring to spend my time exploring delightful country lanes and picturesque villages untouched since medieval times - but I think this is perhaps because I live in England and have to contend with the crush of a million tightly packed bodies which is London. Zagreb is different in the same way that Australian cities are different - it somehow manages to contain everything you want from life in the city, while simultaneously overflowing with parks and open spaces. What I really like about Zagreb, however, is that the place is seriously weird - and believe me, this isn't a negative thing at all. In fact, it's precisely this weirdness that makes we want to go back, and sets Zagreb apart from pretty much anywhere else I've ever been. Normal cities, for example, are bustling with museums of natural history, science or technology; perhaps a museum dedicated to the history of the region - and I wouldn't like to suggest for one moment that Zagreb doesn't have these things as well, because it does. It's just that visitors to this city are far more likely to be drawn to places such as the Museum of Broken Relationships (which I shall talk about tomorrow), the Museum of Naive Art (an exhibition of paintings by people who really don't know how to paint), The Mushroom Museum (I'll leave that one to your imagination) and the "Hunting Museum of the Croatian Hunters Union", which I want to say nothing about other than to quote its description on InYourPocket:

"Living animals have been killed and stuffed so that you might believe they were alive (and not dead). Wander through the carnage. Impressive array of critters."

The Four Points hotel is a little out of town, but definitely not as far as you would be led to believe by those online reviewers for whom "out of town" refers to anything more than two blocks from the city centre. The walk to Jalacic Square required crossing some major roads and, indeed, tram tracks, but also took me past some of the most iconic landmarks and museums the city has to offer, not to mention the imposing buildings of the National Theatre and the Academy of Dramatic Art whose address, rather pompously, is 10000 Zagreb. So it was hardly as though I was being asked to walk across the Siberian tundra to get to the shops. There was a little excitement this morning as I passed the Westin Hotel on my way into town - apparently it is Entrepreneur's Day here in Croatia (16th May 2012) and the hotel is playing host to both the President and Prime Minister of Croatia who are appearing as guest speakers and obviously require stupid amounts of men with guns to be guarding all the surrounding streets bringing the neighbourhood down. They may be overreacting, but I can't help noticing that the official Westin website refers to the Prime Minister as an "Extinguished guest", so perhaps they're expecting trouble. Still, it's difficult to be mad for long at a city with an extensive tram network - we all know that the presence of trams lends anywhere a certain old world charm. Think San Francisco, Edinburgh, Prague... Croydon.

When I arrived at Jalacic Square this morning, some sort of student protest was going on. Well, I say protest. Students, in my experience, haven't really been alive long enough to have worked out how to protest without seriously annoying everyone around them, so what these students were actually doing was walking around the square blowing whistles in people's faces while throwing each other in the fountain in the mistaken belief that this would illicit sympathy and free money from passers by. I have no idea what they were protesting about, and I'm not altogether convinced that they knew either, to be honest - possibly lack of swimming facilities and lifeguards in the city centre - but they were certainly causing a fair amount of distress for passers by who probably hadn't left the house today with the intention of being soaked and deafened on the way to work. Still, they were having fun.

The centre of Zagreb consists of the upper and lower towns - the lower town being where you'll find Jalacic Square, the colourful daily flower market, all the shops and as much nightlife as you can take, while the upper town is where they hide all the history away from the sort of people who wander around the lower town late at night after all the bars and clubs have chucked out looking to throw up on things. I guess they figure that anyone unable to stand up after several pints of the local tipple probably isn't going to want to climb a steep hillside to look at a church. The upper town - or at least, the bit where the history is - was eerily deserted today, and I can only conclude that this is because most people seem to be gloriously unaware of its existence. Most tourists, I believe, are under the impression that the upper town is the delightful street of coffee shops and bars which stretches from Jalacic square in the centre to the spookily deserted recession hit Cascade shopping centre, and although this street and the equally popular daily market in the adjoining square could, at a push, be considered part of the upper town, finding the real thing requires wandering along a series of nondescript side streets and climbing a ridiculous number of steps to the top of the hill. Under normal circumstances, a convenient funicular railway to the top makes this unnecessary, but today it was neither convenient nor fun as it was, as things often are when I'm in town, out of order. Oh, and the Zagreb Funicular railway credits itself as the shortest in the world at only 60 metres, but it's also one of the steepest, so don't go getting any ideas that the walk to the top is a stroll in the park. More on the upper town tomorrow.

Zagreb's main shopping centre, Kaptol, reminds me of all those sprawling Hong Kong shopping malls I encountered a few years back where small cubical shops congregate throughout narrow corridors and you need to be in possession of a satnav or homing pigeon on a lead in order to find your way around. It's also not called Kapital despite what all my notes at the time seem to think, so thank god for the internet. Shopping at Kaptol comes as something of a culture shock for those of us used to the more traditional open plan shopping centres we have back home where more space seems to have been allocated to the atria and walkways outside the shops than to the stores themselves - 90% of the little box shops in Kaptol seem as though they've been allocated to cafes and designer boutiques, so don't expect to pop in for a fake watch, either. Personally, my time in the mall was spent getting lost in a maze of interconnected corridors and terraces as I endlessly walked up and down stairs and passed through doors which led me to seating areas on sunlit roof gardens. In England, we have a tendency to make sure the escalators only move in an upward direction in stores, ensuring that customers can get up to the sales floor easily enough but then stay there because it's simply too much effort to walk back down - in Kaptol, the plan appears to be to simply hide the exit until such a time as visitors have spent everything they have in their wallets. What shops there are seem to be mainly aimed at those looking for a designer handbag or brand name watch, and in fact it was impossible to get into the place without walking past a gleaming new car which somebody had jacked up in front of the main doors.

And this is where things get seriously spooky.

Right next door to Kaptol is another shopping centre, connected by a concrete bridge. From the street, Cascade appears to be the epitome of modern architectural excess, its bright yellow facade, balcony cafes and gleaming interior walkways designed to attract a new generation of young shoppers whose pockets and purses were overflowing with disposable income. Cascade, hinted the designers, would redefine style for the 21st century - sleek, boutique shops would attract the new elite, and a nightclub would keep them there to spend long into the night. What could possibly go wrong? Construction began in 2006, and three years later the centre was finally ready to be unveiled. Four levels of shops and terraces were topped by a transparent roof through which the sun shined and the rain was kept at bay, an underground car park had room for 180 cars, four beautiful modern apartments overlooked the gardens below for anyone with enough money to afford to live on site. Naturally, people flocked to Cascade, designer clothing stores lined up to move in, and soon the terraces were filled with the sound of happy Zagrebians sipping coffee and discussing their purchases. But it was not to last. In 2009, just as the centre welcomed its first visitors, the European financial crisis hit. No sooner had the shops begun to open, the management was having to waive rent in order to encourage them to stay. Then the tenants began to complain, saying that the rent was too high and that there were no longer any visitors - some insisted they were being asked to pay backdated rent they did not owe. Slowly, the centre turned from a vibrant modern hangout to the eerily deserted, echoing walkways I found there today. Escalators stood unmoving. Shops stood empty, doors open, electrical wiring hanging from the ceiling and unwashed coffee cups lying next to upturned tables. Even the shops with boards on them had only been half boarded up, as though the workmen had known that nobody was going to come and check on their handiwork. As I peered into one of the deserted units, kicking away an empty crisp packet which wafted in on a breeze and deposited itself on my foot, I couldn't help feeling a shiver run down my spine - it was like a scene from a post apocalyptic nightmare.

Crossing the lobby of the hotel this evening, all the lights suddenly went out and we were thrown into darkness for a while - I envisioned somebody with a giant key having to traipse down a thousand stairs into a cobweb filled basement with a torch in order to open a giant creaking door to an ancient generator room. Old hotels like this do that to you - realistically, somebody behind reception probably just flicked a switch or made a call to the power company, but that wouldn't have been quite as romantic. I'm just glad the power didn't go off while I was in the elevator on the way to my room on the 70th floor (I made that up), otherwise I'd be writing this while plummeting to earth from a great height. What fascinates me in these situations is the reaction of people around me, as though they've never experienced a blackout before. No sooner were we plunged into darkness - which, I hasten to add, lasted for all of 5 minutes - people were scampering around like caged animals, panicking and screaming as though we were experiencing the end of the world. I just sat myself down on the nearest comfy chair, apologised to the woman who was already sitting there, and prepared to go on with my life.

About Simon and Burfords Travels:

Simon Burford is a UK based travel writer. He will be re-publishing his travel blogs, chapters from his books and other miscellaneous rantings on these pages over the coming weeks and months, and the entry on this page may not necessarily reflect todays date.