Beneath the linden trees, poplars, plane trees, and chestnuts, aristocratic Zagreb quietly gives way to its working-class counterpart. The clicking of high heels and the rustling of shopping bags gradually fade away as we make our way down Jurišićeva Street toward the Square of Croatian Greats.
Accompanied by the splashing of water and the screeching of tram wheels on the tracks, the way opens up toward the eastern half of the city: socialist-era apartment blocks, the old mosque, the half-empty shop windows along Zvonimirova Street… The streets are draped in nostalgia, which, thank God, no one has yet tied up with a pretty bow and pushed into the final tourist clearance sale.
The greenest corner around the old mosque (which hasn’t been green for a long time now, neither in the religious nor the botanical sense) is King Petar Krešimir IV Park. It’s familiar to Zagreb’s younger crowd, who used to gather here for a few drinks before concerts at Tvornica, to bookworms, since the Božidar Adžija Library is one of the city’s richest in collections, and to the kumice, the local market ladies from the former farmers’ market on Branimirova Street…
It may sound surprising, but there are people from Zagreb – even among those just mentioned – who have no idea that this park has a very special little corner: a fountain called “The Cosmic Water Cycle.” Tucked away in the park’s greenery and enclosed by a fence, it’s not particularly easy to spot – but there it is! Right in the city center, on King Petar Krešimir IV Square, for almost an entire century.
Exotic and romantic, to me the most beautiful fountain in Zagreb has a special charm because it announces the city’s eastern half. There is no need to spend too many words on it – for those who already know it, it holds a special place in the heart, and for those who have yet to discover it, let the images speak for themselves. An oasis perfect for cooling off, late-night tenderness, meditation, nostalgia… just as its name suggests: The Cosmic Water Cycle.
Is it because I spent my childhood in this part of the city? Because of my aunt’s stories about how, in war-torn 1993, she found herself stranded here, cut off from her family during the heaviest snowfall she’d ever seen, struggling through the snow to reach some soldiers who could help her make a phone call, because her nephew had just been born across the border? Or perhaps it’s the cover of Filigranski pločnici (Filigree Pavements), the album whose songs would later become the soundtrack to our rebellious years… Or does this part of Zagreb really have a romantic soul? I don’t know.
But I’m glad to see that this little corner has survived, despite the cosmetic makeovers in the surrounding area, which we shall politely refrain from commenting on. Not only has it survived, but thanks to the initiative of a group of enthusiastic volunteers from 1postozagrad, it has been restored and brought back into use after a long period of neglect.
Saša Šimpraga, the founder of the initiative, recalls how little fish once swam in the fountain’s pool, aquatic plants grew in the water, and birds and other small creatures would come there for a drink. He also thinks it’s a shame that the park is locked at night. After all, a couple in love might fancy sitting there at midnight on a warm summer evening…
How lovely is it that someone (still) thinks about such things?
For this little haven of romantic souls, we have our Slovenian neighbor, Ciril Jeglič, and the mischievous architect Josip Seissel from Krapina, who also worked on Studentski grad, Maksimir, Dotrščina, and other parts of Zagreb, to thank.
And long live their city – and their creation! ❤️
