I remember driving into Zagreb the first time. It was a cold January morning. The city looked pale. I followed a set of twin spires, Zagreb’s main cathedral, the taxi driver said, all the way from the centre of the city to the apartment we’d rented. The spires were hidden beneath layers of scaffolding; ugly braces on a pretty face.
It’s three years later. The renovations continue. One spire is shiny and perfect. The other is still a work in progress. Along the left edge of the cathedral, uprooted angels stand against a chicken-wire fence, waiting to fly free once again.