All visitors to Croatia must register with the police within 48 hours. If you stay at a hotel, or as I did in a dorm, the process is invisible because they do it for you. But when you move, you have to register the change of address. I was told that I had to go to the central police station with my landlady, the lease and proof of ownership of the apartment. So, last week off we went. We arrived in a huge room where 100's of people were standing around. Fortunately, they had the "take a number system," with a twist. Our number was 868 but the sign was already at 900+. Eva ( my landlady) asked someone how that could be and she reported back that the numbers go to 1000 and then revert to 750 and start over. (I wonder who thought that up.) Knowing that and a little bit of advanced algebra we determined that there were 154 ahead of us.
We promptly retired to a cafe (see previous post) across the street to wait it out with pastries and coffee. While we were there, Eva told me the story of the building. Her grandfather built it and owned it. Then it was nationalized. After independence, Eva applied for the return of the title to the apartments. Some of the tenants had lived there so long that they had acquired the rights to buy their apartments and the state only pays her the equivalent of $1000/year in compensation, a small fraction of what she could get in rent. As for the apartment I am renting, she applied for title in 1992. Though there were no issues or questions as to her right to title, as of last week it still had not been confirmed by the state. So the next time you think our legal system is cumbersome, think again.
An hour later we went back to the police station and there were still 40+ ahead of us. Pretty efficient, I thought, all things considered. Forty minutes later we arrived at the window. They had called our number so fast that we almost missed it. Breathless, Eva started with "he's an American." Immediately, the woman behind the glass interrupted, "Americans upstairs. Windows 29 & 30." Upstairs we went, to an entirely empty room and 10 minutes later I had my address registration.
But, I'm not done yet. Because I'm staying over 90 days, I have to get a residency permit. Stay tuned.
We promptly retired to a cafe (see previous post) across the street to wait it out with pastries and coffee. While we were there, Eva told me the story of the building. Her grandfather built it and owned it. Then it was nationalized. After independence, Eva applied for the return of the title to the apartments. Some of the tenants had lived there so long that they had acquired the rights to buy their apartments and the state only pays her the equivalent of $1000/year in compensation, a small fraction of what she could get in rent. As for the apartment I am renting, she applied for title in 1992. Though there were no issues or questions as to her right to title, as of last week it still had not been confirmed by the state. So the next time you think our legal system is cumbersome, think again.
An hour later we went back to the police station and there were still 40+ ahead of us. Pretty efficient, I thought, all things considered. Forty minutes later we arrived at the window. They had called our number so fast that we almost missed it. Breathless, Eva started with "he's an American." Immediately, the woman behind the glass interrupted, "Americans upstairs. Windows 29 & 30." Upstairs we went, to an entirely empty room and 10 minutes later I had my address registration.
But, I'm not done yet. Because I'm staying over 90 days, I have to get a residency permit. Stay tuned.
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