For a little over a year now, I have called Zagreb home. I first saw the city where I live and work for the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, in the dead of winter on my way to Italy from the small town in Bosnia Herzegovina where, on behalf of the UNHCR, I had been working on the issues faced by people returning to their homes, and an unfamiliar new reality, after the long exile imposed by the war. Despite the inclement weather Zagreb looked inviting, and after so many hours on the bus I longed to walk the streets that promised a welcome respite to that extended – and at times difficult – stay in Bosnia.

Now that I live in Zagreb and have learned to give myself time to discover her secrets, I have finally managed to overcome the sense of routine that inevitably colours a work-related sojourn in a foreign city. Zagreb – or at least that part of Zagreb which might be of interest to a visitor – is small enough to be explored on foot. It is lovely to leave your house on a Saturday morning and, avoiding as much as possible Ilica, the long avenue that crosses the city from east to west, make your way to Britanski Trg (one of the city’s main plazas that hosts a farmers’ market on Saturdays and a flea market on Sundays). From there you turn right towards hillside streets lined with homes of a kind of decadent elegance, and up you climb to where those houses begin to thin out and the descent through the Tuškanac, the woodland copse whose greenery laps the buildings of downtown, begins. Here the road steepens again in the direction of the upper city (Gornji grad), stretching all the way up to the multi-coloured rooftop of the Gothic church of Sveti Marko. You stroll along streets graced by old houses covered in ivy, basking in the tranquil atmosphere that encompasses them and perhaps taking a moment to rest in the courtyard of the Atelijer Meštrovic, populated by the artist’s sculptures. On sunny days this part of the city is illuminated by a particular beauty that invites you to slow your pace to match the ancient rhythms of your surroundings.

On weekends you can do your shopping in Dolac, the great open-air market of the lower city (Donji grad). The colourful wares of the market stalls embody the appealing combination of Central European and Mediterranean cultures that characterise Croatia: seasonal fruits and vegetables, fresh-caught fish, savoury cheeses and countless types of bread, including a rustic maize loaf prepared by the peasants of Zagorje and sold piping hot to anyone eager for a taste of yesteryear. Dolac is also a place of plants, flowers and floral compositions. No edition is complete without the red fruit of the šipak (dog rose hips, from which tea is also made), shiny little wild apples, ears of wheat, sprigs of heather and whatever else the season offers artfully arranged in homage to Croatia’s varied and abundant natural wealth. And so, laden with your purchases (or simply heavy with the scents and colours of the market), you might decide to take another little break nearby in one of the numerous cafes found along one of Zagreb’s oldest streets, the Tkalčićeva, where a river once ran. It is here that, especially during the summer when hundreds of others are inspired by the same idea, the ebullient spirit of “Mitteleurope”, and Zagreb’s soul, are most strongly felt. After an aperitif you could stop for lunch at Kerempuh, a restaurant on the edge of Dolac whose owner transforms the market’s fresh ingredients into delicious house specialities. Kerempuh is the vagabond buffoon of local folklore that exemplifies the Croatian sarcastic sense of humour; naturally, the city’s satire theatre also carries his name.

Another weekend pleasure is the Sunday appointment with friends in Zagreb’s main square, Ban Jelačić Trg, for a leisurely ramble along the stube, or stairways of the upper city, to Saint Catherine’s Place (Katarinin Trg). After taking in a photographic or painting show at the Klovićevi Dvor exhibition spaces, you might give in to the delicious temptations served at Ivica e Marica (famous characters from Croat fairy tales), a wonderful pastry shop on Tkalčićeva dedicated to children (of all ages!). If you stop by in the autumn, be sure to sample the kesten pire, a sweet made from chestnuts.

In the lower city (Donji grad) you can walk for hours with your head thrown back, gazing at the friezes, bas-reliefs and other decorative elements that characterise the city’s neoclassical and “Secession” architecture. The inner courtyards of the buildings on Ilica and other downtown thoroughfares reserve another visual delight: strange and beautiful balconies of wood or stone.

Zagreb is many other things to me as well: Maksimir, for example, the great park just outside of the city; or the beautiful “park-boulevard-plaza-garden” that stretches all the way from the central train station (Glavni kolodvor) to the streets near Ban Jelačić Trg; the Novinarski Dom (Press Club), with its unusual oval hall; the musical auditorium Lisinski; the concerts and the various downtown theatres; the Kino Evropa (Cinema Europa, with its air of retro elegance, so different from the chaotic multiplexes in the modern shopping centres that of course exist as well in this city). Zagreb is also Ljiljana’s house on Pantovčak whose windows open onto such a peaceful, green landscape that you’d think you were miles away from the city; the penthouse flat where Iain and Zelijko live, on the same square as the National Theatre, with the cathedral spires reflected in the bathroom mirror (“… so that your morning shave is framed by a postcard!”); Biba’s “party terrace” facing Mount Sljeme; the unique ceiling with its hanging garden at Vesna’s; Lada’s delectable Dalmatian cuisine which in the winter makes summer feel less far away and in summer makes the steamy Continental heat feel less oppressive; dogs on leads out for a walk in Zagreb’s parks (I’ve never seen so many dogs in a city); organ-grinders in the squares and plazas; the bread shops, open at all hours; summer evenings on Lake Jarun; the surly frown that dissolves into a warm smile as soon as the city natives hear you struggling to say a few words in Croatian; the biting cold of winter and the warmth of “cooked wine”; the “dupla kava s mljekom” (double coffee with milk) which is better to order than the local version of cappuccino when you’re feeling homesick for your native Italy …