How much does a trip from Zagreb to Trieste usually cost?
Well, it depends on how you travel. If you go by car, that’s about €40 for fuel plus €15 for the highway vignette — a total of €55. That’s the expensive option.
There’s a cheaper one: the bus.
You don’t travel for 2 hours like by car, but for 4…
However, the ticket starts at €15 and up, and there’s no thinking involved.
You sit, you sleep, you scroll your phone, and you arrive. All for just €15. Wonderful! You buy the ticket online, in time, from the comfort of your warm living room armchair — and that’s where all worries end. Easy. No stress.
The only important thing is to arrive at the station about 10 minutes earlier, because buses usually don’t arrive early anyway. You show the driver your phone, he scans the ticket, you put your bag in the luggage compartment, sit down in your seat, and let your brain graze freely. That’s exactly what I thought too.

I thought everything was solved the moment I clicked a few links on my phone from my warm living room armchair and bought a ticket for Sunday at 8 p.m.
Departure from Zagreb Bus Station, via Ljubljana, directly to Trieste.
The ticket did cost €25 — probably because I wasn’t among the first buyers — but fine, I’m not picky. My faithful friend Biba drives me to the bus station. We arrive at the platform and wait… We chat, laugh, babble — time passes… but the bus isn’t coming.
We’re not the only ones waiting, which calms us down. Around us are people of all races, ages, moods, and smells… and all of them, apparently, are going to Trieste.
I check the departure time on my phone — the ticket says 20:00. It’s already 19:49, but surely the drivers know better. At 19:55, the bus should arrive any minute, pull into the platform, and I feel instant relief. This is it!
I’m already thinking about whether I have a window seat… hoping I’ll sit alone… which movie I’ll watch… I’ll definitely sleep a bit!
People are beginning to group, and most are already lining up to scan their tickets.
I catch a second driver.
“Excuse me, can I put my bag in the luggage compartment right away?”
“Of course, ma’am, just remember where it is.”
Biba says: “Great! You’ve got everything sorted!”
Exactly!!! We go to the ticket scanner. He brings the scanner closer… and then:
Beep! Invalid ticket!
Try again…
Beep! Invalid ticket!
I start sweating.
“Sir, please try again — something must be wrong with the scanner.”
“Let me see… Beep! Invalid ticket! Your ticket is no good, girl — it’s for yesterday! Come on, people, who else needs to get on the bus?!” And he moves on. He leaves me anesthetized, frozen, floating in some strange bubble between reality and sleep. Biba and I look at each other. She says:
“What does he mean by ‘yesterday’?! Did you buy a ticket for Saturday?!”
We look at the ticket — and yes. Saturday. The driver was right.
What now?! No big deal, I think.
“Sir, can I buy a ticket from you?”
“This isn’t city transport, girl! You can only buy tickets online. And now you can’t even do that — it’s past 20:00, the system won’t allow you to buy for this ride!”
No. No!! NOOOOO!!!
Wait — is this really happening?! Biba says:
“Look — maybe there’s another bus!” We search the app like lunatics — and there is another bus. From a different platform. Via Maribor. Leaving in two minutes!!
“How much is it?” Biba asks.
“€50!!!”
“Uuuuu… GO!!!”
“I’m buying it… I have to get home tonight!” Click… Click… Click! And so I bought the dumb ticket for an even dumber €50. But the bus leaves in one minute. Where is that platform?!
We run across neighboring platforms — nothing. No bus. Every other bus exists — just not mine. Biba says:
“Maybe it already left.” I surrender to that sentence. It must have left.
I stand there, breathless, upset, miserable — in the middle of the station — while my original bus slowly starts driving away. Biba runs toward it and stops it. I follow her like a child following her mother. But she is my true savior.
“Please, Sir, take her with you,” she says, batting her eyelashes at the driver.
“We can’t, ma’am — she doesn’t have a ticket! What about that other ticket you bought?”
“Well… I can’t find that bus…”
“You mean you bought the wrong ticket AGAIN?!”
“Yes…” I swallow a lump.
“So what are you going to do now?”
“I don’t know…” A tear appears. “My children are waiting for me in Trieste…
And the dog.”
If he doesn’t feel sorry for the children, maybe he’ll feel sorry for the dog.
Then he says, “Look… you don’t have a ticket for this ride. If you get on, you’re an illegal immigrant. We’re both taking a big risk.”
“Oh, please, Sir… I’ll hide. No one will know!” Like a small child — I don’t even know which movie I stole that line from. But when things are critical, you pull out all weapons. They look at each other. The other one shrugs.
“Alright. You’ll ride with us to the border — maybe we’ll catch that other bus you have a ticket for and transfer you.” I felt like goods for exchange — but what can you do? I think:
Just let me get on the bus — once I’m in, I’m not getting off. I’ll pretend I’m asleep.
I completely forgot that the other bus goes to a different border via Maribor. The drivers were bluffing. I didn’t realize it at all. Biba winks at me. We hug, and I get on the bus. Second row. And I begin to relax.
Adrenaline slowly fades as we leave Zagreb. I stop imagining what would’ve happened if I hadn’t gotten on any bus at all. I’m here now. I’m going home. Children are waiting. And the dog. As my mind clears, I realize we won’t catch any other bus at any border. And we don’t have to. Because I’m already on the only right bus — the one I don’t have a ticket for. For all the others, I do. We pass the border without stopping. See? All that drama for nothing.

After the border, the first stop is a gas station rest area. The bus slows down and turns into the parking lot. Oh no! As always, the driver announces through the microphone:
“Dear passengers, a short 15-minute break.” Learned by heart — like a Boeing pilot. All that’s missing is a flight attendant pointing out emergency exits. I am not leaving the bus! Then suddenly he turns to me:
“Come out with us for a moment.”
“Okay. I get off. Two drivers and me. They talk to each other as if I’m not there:
“So… what now?”
“Well… we didn’t catch that bus she has a ticket for.”
“No, we didn’t… so what do we do?”
“We can’t leave her here in the middle of nowhere.”
“No, we can’t… and you know what?”
“What?”
“We’re taking a big risk with a stowaway.”
“Yes… a huge risk.” I stay quiet. Then one turns to me:
“So, what do we do now?”
“I don’t know… what do we do now?”
“I know,” says the other.
“What?”
“You treat us.” As if I hadn’t been standing there the whole time.
“Alright… I’ll treat you.” I knew very well they didn’t mean coffee. Or beer. And I didn’t want to walk away from the bus.
“Wait here, I’ll be right back.” I get on the bus — no idea how much cash I have. I doubt you can swipe a card for this kind of treat. I open my wallet. €50 bills. Only €50 bills!!! My brain shuts down. I get off the bus, hand one of them the bill with actual physical pain in my heart. He doesn’t even look at how much I gave him. And I can’t even say:
“Can you give me the change?” I should have. I turn around and walk back to my seat like a student returning to her desk after the teacher just destroyed her.
Oh God! Now I won’t even sleep.

How much did this trip from Zagreb to Trieste actually cost me?!

For the remaining 3.5 hours, I tried to think about anything — literally anything — except that. I didn’t sleep for a second.
We arrived in Trieste on time. I took my bag and waved to the driver. The second driver greets me warmly and says:
“You know, when you said your children were waiting for you — that really moved us.” I’m sure he checked how generous I had been.
“I know. You’re good souls. Have a safe trip.”
“Dammit!!!” I mutter while walking toward the taxi.
Taxi?! With what money, girl?! Luckily, taxis in Trieste accept cards.

I arrived home exactly as planned — back when I bought that €25 ticket online from my warm living room armchair. Which I already thought was too expensive. But the most important thing is — I’m home. With my children. And the dog. And at no point did I end up as goods for exchange.
Before falling asleep, I tried to find something positive in this adventure.
The only thing was that I clearly did my part to keep the Croatian — if not global — economy turning. That thought made me feel better. A significant contribution.

I fell asleep proudly, deciding that next time I might try flying — just to see if I can make it cheaper.

Life is Beautiful! ❤️