"A business relationship turned into a love affair. Both went bust." Split (city), Croatia, 2002. This is probably the shortest true love story you’ll ever read. Beside the plaque stood, as if ashamed, an exhibit -- a broken porcelain jug, now glued together, that was once a gift from the man to his sweetheart at the start of a 5-month affair. It now serves as an emblem to a passion withered.

This is one of the dozens of fascinating exhibits, showcasing both heartwarming and tragic stories of personal relationships in the strangest establishment anywhere on the planet. A sucker for love stories both tragic and those with fairytale endings, I was engrossed in the true stories displayed in the Museum of Broken Relationships in Zagreb one sunny spring afternoon.

An organised lament to heartbreaks and lost loves, this is one of the most successful Croatian museological wonders. A voyeuristic peek into other people’s lost loves makes you hold on your own loves tighter. I was glad I took my long-distance friend Lore Ikovac-Szlapak’s advice to not miss this experience once in her town. "To live in this world/ you must be able/ to do three things: to love what is mortal/ to hold it/ against your bones knowing/ your own life depends on it/ and, when the time comes to let it go." These lines from a poem by Mary Oliver inscribed near the museum’s entrance sum up the human condition by way of the matters of the heart.

A must-visit museum then if you’re in the beautiful Zagreb.

I had arrived that morning on an Air Serbia flight from Belgrade. Zagreb was a contrast to the behemoth Serbian capital in many ways -- smaller, less congested (even though a quarter of all Croatia’s 4 million people go about their lives here), livelier and much easier to quench a curious tourist’s deep thirst for wonders accessible and hidden.

The city’s situation on the historical and political fault lines between the East and West help pronounce the continental and Mediterranean spirit of the residents and the city’s architecture. Compared to Bosnia and Serbia, from where I had just arrived, Croatia seemed more attuned to the mainstream European ways and a forward-looking demeanor and organisation. Indeed Croatia and neighbouring Slovenia are the only two of seven ex-Yugoslav states in European Union.

Read also: The melancholic spirit of Sarajevo

The façades of Zagreb’s buildings imitate the flux of history while its myriad streets and squares bear witness to the coming together of the many cultures that have shaped the identity of this laid-back capital. The partially hilly city with its rich cultural life is neatly divided into parts -- the upper Gornji Grad and the lower Donji Grad.

Walking -- as I did -- is probably the best way to explore key picturesque historical sites, hidden alleys and lanes but especially the ebullient main city square, the Jelacic Square, the intersection of many streets, each leading to lovely landmarks. The square is a pedestrian zone -- no vehicles allowed inside but trams!

Tourists in Zagreb are known to be partial to Gornji Grad because of its historical structures, churches and religious monuments. It is here you will find some of the city’s best loved landmarks like the Cathedral of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary -- a magnificent, massive Gothic structure with its super-tall twin spires visible from many parts of the city -- like Faisal Mosque is hard to miss from most parts of Islamabad. Close by are the St Mark’s Church and cafe-lined pedestrian Tkalciceva Street.

The lower town, the Donji Grad, houses the Jelacic Square as well as shops, museums and parks. Parks include the ‘green oasis strip’, the Zrinjevac -- the perfect counterfoil to the buzzy manic life along its broad rectangular alignment ending in the Railway Station. I caught myself exploring, childlike, the hollowed trunk of a massive tree standing by a rich-green strip with flowers running riot in colours. The close-by botanical garden is another leafy delight.

After a long day well spent exploring the city, it was time to move to the neighbouring state of Slovenia, the last leg of my Balkans yatra. Early next morning, I took the train to Ljubljana. Few people know where it is and even fewer struggle to pronounce it (just replace ‘j’ with ‘y’ and you’ll be able to pronounce it correctly -- so: ‘Lubyana’!), the capital of Slovenia.

In about two hours, I found myself disembarking into the city and stumbling into the most amiable of towns you’ll ever see. All you need is several hours to see all of the charming delights of this city.

Ljubljana is the latest winner of the prestigious European Green Capital 2016, the only winner in central and southeast Europe. And no wonder -- a decade after private motor traffic was outlawed in the large centre of the city, Ljubljana has become super green with mostly only unhurried pedestrian and lazy bicycles constituting its daily traffic, apart from the public transport.

Read also: Belgrade -- weighed down by a wearied glory

The city is one of only a few European capitals providing natural drinking water without prior treatment, so clean is the nature reserve and its supply. I also found out the city is with the highest share -- about 65 per cent -- in any European capital of separated waste collected. This is the best performance in the continent’s ambitious ‘Zero Waste Program.’ If this was not enough, consider: Ljubljana has about 600 square metres of public green area per resident -- the highest in any world capital! The target is 1,000 sq m per resident which means the local government’s main preoccupation is building more parks! Islamabad seems like a petty home-garden by comparison.

Ljubljana is the perfect picture-perfect-postcard city. Nowhere in the city are you a five minute walk from either a park or one of the many waterways -- including the super-scenic Ljubljanica, Sava and Iska -- ambling alongside which are the pedestrian walkways leading up to one square or the other. It’s like the Lahore canal only winding, greener, more flowery.

Even if you walk aimlessly, you inevitably run into the city’s best landmarks such as the legendary Dragon Bridge with its green-tinged fire-breathing frozen winged wonders; the king of parks Tivoli Park with its magical fountains, ponds, exhibitions and mansions; the twinkling Ljubljanica River along the medieval centre with its abundant cafes, and their perfect spots for sitting and lazily watching the world go and boasting many, many pedestrian bridges; the super-scenic Triple Bridge where no one not stops to take a photo of themselves (like I did!); the Ljubljana Castle sitting pretty atop a small hill smack in the centre of the city; and the Congress Square surrounded by leafy green trees and some of the most important buildings in the city.

Not to be missed is the perpetual lively open-air market in the centre of the city forever thronged by half the city’s residents gossiping over vegetables, fruits, craft works, trinkets, flowers and herbs.

I approached a striking small stall run by an amiable elderly woman hawking various cards, booklets and bookmarks sporting dried, pressed flowers on every item. "I make these myself," she encouraged my interest. As I investigated, she asked me where I was from. Pakistan. "Ah, [Zulfikar] Ali Bhutto -- I loved him," she said. My heart skipped a beat.

I smiled and selected two bookmarks, one with a viola flower and the other a violet. "They don’t make them like him [Bhutto] anymore," she said in immaculate English, with a trace of wistfulness. I nodded in agreement.

In Ljubljana, I discovered strangers could be perfect friends.

After a focus on Sarajevo and Belgrade, this concludes the 3-part series on a journey of a peripatetic Pakistani in the Balkans. For comments or feedback:

adrehmat@gmail.com.