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Top 5 sights on the road less travelled – Zagreb

Beyond Ban Jelačić: 5 Hidden Gems That Define the Real Zagreb

Zagreb. The name conjures images of the iconic red roofs of the Upper Town, the vibrant café culture of the Lower Town, and the mandatory selfies by the Funicular. It’s a beautifully manageable European capital, often praised for its charm and easy walkability.

But for the seasoned traveller—the one who seeks the unvarnished truth of a city—the real magic often lies where the tourist map runs thin.

If you’ve already checked off the Museum of Broken Relationships and sipped your coffee on Cvjetni Trg, it’s time to venture deeper. We’ve compiled the five essential experiences that will take you off the beaten path and into the authentic heart of Zagreb.

1. Descend into History: The Grič Tunnel

While many tourists stick to the surface, locals know that a fascinating, slightly eerie piece of history lies just beneath the cobblestones of the Upper Town.

The Grič Tunnel is a 350-meter-long passage originally constructed during World War II as an air-raid shelter. For decades, it was mostly forgotten, dark, and damp. Today, it has been beautifully renovated and repurposed as a public walkway, linking Radićeva Street (near the main square) to the other side of Grič Hill (near Mesnička Street).

It’s often used for fashion shows, art installations, and even the spectacular Advent in Zagreb Christmas market features sections here. But even on a quiet Tuesday afternoon, walking through its vast, vaulted halls offers a cool, dramatic escape and a poignant reminder of Zagreb’s turbulent past.

  • Why it’s RLT (Road Less Travelled): Many tourists assume it’s a construction site or just a side alley, missing the entrance entirely.
  • Insider Tip: While there are several entrances, try the one on Radićeva Street for the full dramatic walk-through experience.

2. A Silent Architectural Masterpiece: Mirogoj Cemetery

Admittedly, the word “cemetery” might not immediately sound like a key tourist destination, but Mirogoj is unlike any other burial ground. Designed in 1876 by the famed architect Hermann Bollé, Mirogoj is less a cemetery and more an open-air art gallery and park.

What defines the space are the massive, sweeping neo-Renaissance arcades clad in green ivy, housing the tombs of Croatia’s most influential figures, from writers and artists to politicians. The central dome and the rows of elegant statues create an atmosphere of serene, melancholy beauty.

This is a space that speaks volumes about Croatian history, artistry, and respect for the departed. It’s quiet, reflective, and stunningly photogenic—a short bus ride from the city centre, but a world away from the city noise.

  • Why it’s RLT (Road Less Travelled): It requires a slight detour (Bus 106 from Kaptol), discouraging day-trippers focused solely on the centre.
  • Best Time to Visit: Early morning or late afternoon, when the sun casts dramatic shadows across the ivy-covered arcades.

3. The Unassuming Heart of Local Life: Trešnjevka Market

To truly feel the pulse of local Zagreb life, you need to leave the polished centre and head west to the bustling district of Trešnjevka. While Dolac Market is mandatory viewing, Trešnjevački plac (Trešnjevka Market) is where real Zagreb families shop.

This market is large, chaotic, affordable, and incredibly authentic. You won’t just find your typical kumice (market grandmothers) selling produce; you’ll find everything from hardware stalls and used clothing to cheap, traditional dining halls (gableci) serving hearty lunch deals.

Wander the indoor stalls filled with vintage clothing and household trinkets, or browse the outdoor stands overflowing with local cheeses, fresh meats, and flowers. This is the perfect place to grab a ridiculously inexpensive lunch and observe the daily rhythm of the city’s working class.

  • Why it’s RLT (Road Less Travelled): Located outside the traditional tourist triangle, it requires using the tram system (Trams 3, 9, 12).
  • What to Try: Look for a gablec (daily lunch) sign—usually a simple, filling meal like goulash or stuffed peppers for under €7.

4. Find the Inventors’ Spirit: The Technical Museum Nikola Tesla

While art and history museums abound in Zagreb, the Technical Museum often gets overlooked in favor of flashier attractions. This is a mistake, especially for those interested in science, industry, and the incredible contributions of Croatian minds.

Named after the world-famous inventor Nikola Tesla, this museum is a fantastic throwback, filled with retro industrial machinery, firefighting equipment, and displays dedicated to engineering breakthroughs. Highlights include a full-scale coal mine model (which you can walk through!), vintage trams, and a dedicated room honouring Tesla himself.

It’s hands-on, slightly dusty in a charming way, and a beautiful testament to Croatia’s industrial history and inventive spirit.

  • Why it’s RLT (Road Less Travelled): It isn’t located directly in the central museum quadrant, requiring a short tram ride south of the main train station.
  • Must-See: Check the schedule for the planetarium shows. They are highly rated and offer an excellent break from walking.

5. Escape to the Peak: Medvednica Nature Park

If you feel the need for fresh mountain air and stunning city views that rival those from Lotrščak Tower, hop on a bus or drive toward the northern edge of the city and ascend the Medvednica mountain range.

Medvednica, with its highest peak, Sljeme, is Zagreb’s essential backyard playground. It offers miles of hiking/biking trails, the historic Medvedgrad (a medieval fortified town), and, most importantly, numerous traditional mountain huts (planinarski domovi) serving classic, hearty Croatian mountain food.

Spend a day hiking to one of the lookouts, explore the Veternica cave, or just drive up for lunch at the top. The views are spectacular, and the atmosphere is entirely different from the busy city below.

  • Why it’s RLT (Road Less Travelled): Requires dedicated travel time and is not a quick walk-by attraction.
  • What to Try: Order štrukli (baked cheese pastry) at a mountain hut after a long walk—it’s the ultimate Croatian comfort food, and it tastes better high up in the woods.

The Reward of the Detour

Zagreb is a city built on layers of history, culture, and architecture. While the central squares offer undeniable beauty, the true reward comes when you step off the main path.

These five spots provide a window into the life that sustains the city, whether that’s the silent dignity of a historic park, the daily bustle of a working market, or the rugged landscape that surrounds it.

So, put away the polished guidebook, grab a tram, and go discover the real, complex, and captivating Zagreb.

Skeletons in the closet, and doppelgangers

A story called “Mistaken Identity”

…

How many of us have skeletons in the closet that we know nothing about? The skeletons we know about generally stay there, but those we do not, well, they have a habit of coming out of left field when we least expect it.

In this case, when you see your photo on a TV screen with the accompanying text that says you are wanted by every law enforcement agency in Europe, you’re in a state of shock, only to be compounded by those same police, armed and menacing, kicking the door down.

I’d been thinking about this premise for a while after I discovered my mother had a boyfriend before she married my father, a boyfriend who was, by all accounts, the man who was the love of her life.

Then, in terms of coming up with an idea for a story, what if she had a child by him that we didn’t know about, which might mean I had a half brother or sister I knew nothing about. It’s not an uncommon occurrence from what I’ve been researching.

There are many ways of putting a spin on this story.

Then, in the back of my mind, I remembered a story an acquaintance at work was once telling us over morning tea, that a friend of a friend had a mother who had a twin sister and that each of the sisters had a son by the same father, without each knowing of the father’s actions, both growing up without the other having any knowledge of their half brother, only to meet by accident on the other side of the world.

It was an encounter that in the scheme of things might never have happened, and each would have remained oblivious of the other.

For one sister, the relationship was over before she discovered she was pregnant, and therefore had not told the man he was a father. It was no surprise the relationship foundered when she discovered he was also having a relationship with her sister, a discovery that caused her to cut all ties with both of them and never speak to either from that day.

It’s a story with more twists and turns than a country lane!

And a great idea for a story.

That story is called ‘Mistaken Identity’.

Writing a book in 365 days – 311

Day 311

Exploring our dreams

…

Unlocking the Night: Exploring the Mystical and the Mundane in Our Dreams

The moment our conscious minds drift into slumber, a new world unfurls. A world where gravity is optional, where the familiar can morph into the surreal, and where echoes of our waking lives mingle with the utterly bizarre. Dreams. They’ve captivated, puzzled, and inspired humanity for millennia, sparking endless debate about their true nature. Are they celestial messages whispered from beyond, or simply the chaotic rumblings of our own sleeping brains?

For many, dreams are indeed magical journeys. They offer an escape from the mundane, transporting us to fantastical landscapes, reuniting us with lost loved ones, or allowing us to fly through star-dusted skies. These are the dreams that linger, leaving us with a sense of wonder and a touch of longing for the ephemeral reality we briefly inhabited. They can feel profoundly significant, imbued with a wisdom or a warning that feels almost otherworldly. Think of the ancient interpretations, where dreams were seen as direct communications from deities or omens of the future. This perspective imbues our dreamscapes with a powerful, almost spiritual, aura.

On the other hand, the realm of psychology offers a compelling alternative: dreams as eruptions of the subconscious. Freud famously theorised that dreams are the “royal road to the unconscious,” a space where repressed desires, unresolved conflicts, and hidden anxieties can manifest in symbolic form. From this viewpoint, those fleeting images and nonsensical narratives are not random but are rather the deeply buried parts of ourselves fighting for attention. That recurring dream of being chased might not be a premonition of danger, but a symbolic representation of avoidance in our waking life. Understanding these subconscious eruptions can be a powerful tool for self-discovery and personal growth.

But how do we bridge these two seemingly disparate interpretations? And more importantly, how do we glean meaning from the often elusive tapestry of our dreams? For a growing number of individuals, the answer lies in a simple yet profound practice: keeping a dream journal.

The act of writing down your dreams, no matter how fragmented or strange they may seem, is an incredibly potent way to engage with your nocturnal adventures. It’s like catching fireflies in a jar – you’re capturing fleeting moments of light and then examining them more closely in the quiet of the morning.

Here’s why a dream journal can be so transformative:

  • Enhanced Recall: Dreams are notoriously fleeting. The moment you wake up, the images begin to fade. By immediately jotting down what you remember, you’re preserving these valuable fragments before they vanish into the ether. Even a few keywords or a fleeting image can trigger fuller memories later.
  • Pattern Recognition: Over time, you’ll start to notice recurring themes, symbols, and emotions in your dreams. This is where the real magic of a journal unfolds. Are you frequently encountering water? Are there specific people who keep appearing? These patterns can offer profound insights into your current emotional state, your subconscious concerns, and even your deepest aspirations.
  • Symbol Interpretation: While some dream symbols are universal, many are deeply personal. By seeing your symbols laid out in your journal, you can begin to decipher their unique meaning to you. What does that specific colour, that peculiar object, or that strange location represent in your personal lexicon?
  • Bridging the Gap: A dream journal can act as a bridge between the magical and the mundane. You can still appreciate the fantastical journeys while simultaneously seeking the underlying psychological messages. It allows for both wonder and introspection.
  • Boosting Creativity: Many artists, writers, and musicians draw inspiration directly from their dreams. A well-maintained dream journal can be a treasure trove of unique ideas, unexpected plot twists, and evocative imagery, fueling your creative endeavours.

Whether you view your dreams as whimsical escapades or as vital messages from your inner self, the practice of keeping a dream journal offers a tangible way to connect with this mysterious and often overlooked aspect of your existence. So, next time you wake with a phantom sensation or a lingering image, grab a notebook and pen. You might just be on the verge of unlocking a hidden world within yourself.

What are your thoughts on dreams? Do you keep a dream journal? Share your experiences in the comments below!

An excerpt from “Amnesia”, a work in progress

I remembered a bang.

I remembered the car slewing sideways.

I remember another bang, and then it was lights out.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw the sky.

Or I could be underwater.

Everything was blurred.

I tried to focus but I couldn’t. My eyes were full of water.

What happened?

Why was I lying down?

Where was I?

I cast my mind back, trying to remember.

It was a blank.

What, when, who, why and where, are questions I should easily be able to answer. These are questions any normal person could answer.

I tried to move. Bad, bad mistake.

I did not realise the scream I heard was my own. Just before my body shut down.

“My God! What happened?”

I could hear, not see. I was moving, lying down, looking up.

I was blind. Everything was black.

“Car accident; hit a tree, sent the passenger flying through the windscreen. Pity to poor bastard didn’t get the message that seat belts save lives.”

Was I that poor bastard?

“Report?” A new voice, male, authoritative.

“Multiple lacerations, broken collar bone, broken arm in three places, both legs broken below the knees, one badly. We are not sure of internal injuries, but ruptured spleen, cracked ribs and pierced right lung are fairly evident, x-rays will confirm that and anything else.”

“What isn’t broken?”

“His neck.”

“Then I would have to say we are looking at the luckiest man on the planet.”

I heard the shuffling of pages.

“OR1 ready?”

“Yes. On standby since we were first advised.”

“Good. Let’s see if we can weave some magic.”

Magic.

It was the first word that popped into my head when I surfaced from the bottom of the lake. That first breath, after holding it for so long, was sublime, and, in reality, agonising.

Magic, because it seemed like I’d spent a long time underwater.

Or somewhere.

I tried to speak but couldn’t. The words were just in my head.

Was it night or was it day?

Was it hot, or was it cold?

Where was I?

Around me, it felt cool.

It was incredibly quiet. No noise except for the hissing of air through an air-conditioning vent. Or that was the sound of pure silence.  And with it the revelation that silence was not silent. It was noisy.

I didn’t try to move.

Instinctively, somehow, I knew not to.

A previous unpleasant experience?

I heard what sounded like a door opening, and noticeably quiet footsteps slowly came into the room. They stopped. I could hear breathing, slightly laboured, a sound I’d heard before.

My grandfather.

He had smoked all his life until he was diagnosed with lung cancer. But for years before that he had emphysema. The person in the room was on their way, down the same path. I could smell the smoke.

I wanted to tell whoever it was the hazards of smoking.

I couldn’t.

I heard a metallic clanging sound from the end of the bed. A moment later the clicking of a pen, then writing.

“You are in a hospital.” A female voice suddenly said. “You’ve been in a bad accident. You cannot talk, or move, all you can do, for the moment, is listen to me. I am a nurse. You have been here for 45 days and just came out of a medically induced coma. There is nothing to be afraid of.”

She had a very soothing voice.

Her fingers stroked the back of my hand.

“Everything is fine.”

Define fine, I thought. I wanted to ask her what ‘fine’ meant.

“Just count backwards from 10.”

Why?

I didn’t reach seven.

Over the next ten days, that voice became my lifeline to sanity. Every morning, I longed to hear it, if only for the few moments she was in the room, those few waking moments when I believed she, and someone else who never spoke, were doing tests. I knew it had to be someone else because I could smell the essence of lavender. My grandmother had worn a similar scent.

It rose above the disinfectant.

She was another doctor, not the one who had been there the day I arrived. Not the one who had used some ‘magic’ and kept me alive.

It was then, in those moments before she put me under again, that I thought, what if I was paralysed? It would explain a lot. A chill went through me.

The next morning, she was back.

“My name is Winifred. We don’t know what your name is, not yet. In a few days, you will be better, and you will be able to ask us questions. You were in an accident, and you were very severely injured, but I can assure you there will be no lasting damage.”

More tests, and then when I expected the lights to go out, they didn’t. Not for a few minutes more. This was how I would be integrated back into the world. A little bit at a time.

The next morning, she came later than usual, and I’d been awake for a few minutes. “You have bandages over your eyes and face. You had bad lacerations to your face, and glass in your eyes. We will know more when the bandages come off in a few days. Your face will take longer to heal. It was necessary to do some plastic surgery.”

Lacerations, glass in my eyes, car accidents, plastic surgery. By logical deduction, I knew I was the poor bastard thrown through the windscreen. It was a fleeting memory from the day I was admitted.

How could that happen?

That was the first of many startling revelations. The second was the fact I could not remember the crash. Equally shocking, in that same moment was the fact I could not remember before the crash either, or only vague memories after.

But the most shattering of all these revelations was the one where I realised, I could not remember my name.

I tried to calm down, sensing a rising panic.

I was just disoriented, I told myself. After 45 days in an induced coma, it had messed with my mind, and it was only a temporary lapse. Yes, that’s what it was, a temporary lapse. I will remember tomorrow. Or the next day.

Sleep was a blessed relief.

The next day I didn’t wake up feeling nauseous. I think they’d lowered the pain medication. I’d heard that morphine could have that effect. Then, how could I know that but not who I am?

Now I knew Winifred the nurse was preparing me for something unbelievably bad. She was upbeat, and soothing, giving me a new piece of information each morning. This morning, “You do not need to be afraid. Everything is going to be fine. The doctor tells me you are going to recover with little scarring. You will need some physiotherapy to recover from your physical injuries, but that’s in the future. We need to let you mend a little bit more before then.”

So, I was not going to be able to leap out of bed and walk out of the hospital any time soon. I don’t suppose I’d ever leapt out of bed, except as a young boy. I suspect I’d sustained a few broken bones. I guess learning to walk again was the least of my problems.

But there was something else. I picked it up in the timbre of her voice, a hesitation, or reluctance. It sent another chill through me.

This time I was left awake for an hour before she returned.

This time sleep was restless.

Scenes were playing in my mind, nothing I recognised, and nothing lasting longer than a glimpse. Me. Others, people I didn’t know. Or I knew them and couldn’t remember them.

Until they disappeared, slowly like the glowing dot in the centre of the computer screen, before finally fading to black.

The morning the bandages were to come off she came in early and woke me. I had another restless night, the images becoming clearer, but nothing recognisable.

“This morning the doctor will be removing the bandages over your eyes. Don’t expect an immediate effect. Your sight may come back quickly, or it may come back slowly, but we believe it will come back.”

I wanted to believe I was not expecting anything, but I was. It was human nature. I did not want to be blind as well as paralysed. I had to have at least one reason to live.

I dozed again until I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I could smell the lavender; the other doctor was back. And I knew the hand on my shoulder was Winifred’s. She told me not to be frightened.

I was amazed to realise at that moment, I wasn’t.

I heard the scissors cutting the bandages.

I felt the bandage being removed, and the pressure coming off my eyes. I could feel the pads covering both eyes.

Then a moment when nothing happened.

Then the pads are gently lifted and removed.

Nothing.

I blinked my eyes, once, twice. Nothing.

“Just hold on a moment,” Winifred said. A few seconds later I could feel a cool towel wiping my face, and then gently wiping my eyes. There was ointment or something else in them.

Then a flash. Well, not a flash, but like when a light is turned on and off. A moment later, it was brighter, not the inky blackness of before, but a shade of grey.

She wiped my eyes again.

I blinked a few more times, and then the light returned, and it was like looking through water, at distorted and blurry objects in the distance.

I blinked again, and she wiped my eyes again.

Blurry objects took shape. A face looking down on me, an elderly lady with a kindly face, surely Winifred, who was smiling. And on the opposite side of the bed, the doctor, a Chinese woman of indescribable beauty.

I nodded.

“You can see?”

I nodded again.

“Clearly?”

I nodded.

“Very good. We will just draw the curtains now. We don’t want to overdo it. Tomorrow we will be taking off the bandages on your face. Then, it will be the next milestone. Talking.”

I couldn’t wait.

When morning came, I found myself afraid. Winifred had mentioned scarring, there were bandages on my face. I knew, but wasn’t quite sure how I knew, I wasn’t the most handsome of men before the accident, so this might be an improvement.

I was not sure why I didn’t think it would be the case.

They came at mid-morning, the nurse, Winifred, and the doctor, the exquisite Chinese. She was the distraction, taking my mind off the reality of what I was about to see.

Another doctor came into the room before the bandages were removed, and he was introduced as the plastic surgeon who had ‘repaired’ the ravages of the accident. It had been no easy job, but, with a degree of egotism, he did say he was one of the best in the world.

I found it hard to believe, if he were, that he would be at a small country hospital.

“Now just remember, what you might see now is not how you will look in a few months.”

Warning enough.

The Chinese doctor started removing the bandages. She did it slowly and made sure it did not hurt. My skin was very tender, and I suspect still bruised, either from the accident or the surgery, I didn’t know.

Then it was done.

The plastic surgeon gave his work a thorough examination and seemed pleased with his work. “Coming along nicely,” he said to the other doctor. He issued some instructions on how to manage the skin, nodded to me, and I thanked him before he left.

I noticed Winifred had a mirror in her hand and was reticent in using it. “As I said,” she said noticing me looking at the mirror, “what you see now will not be the result. The doctor said it was going to heal with little scarring. You have been extremely fortunate he was available. Are you ready?”

I nodded.

She showed me.

I tried not to be reviled at the red and purple mess that used to be my face. At a guess, I would have to say he had to put it all back together again, but not knowing what I looked like before, I had no benchmark. All I had was a snippet of memory that told me I was not the tall, dark, and handsome type.

And I still could not talk. There was a reason, he had worked in that area too. Just breathing hurt. I think I would save up anything I had to say for another day. I could not even smile. Or frown. Or grimace.

“We’ll leave you for a while. Everyone needs a little time to get used to the change. I suspect you are not sure if there has been an improvement in last year’s model. Well, time will tell.”

A new face?

I could not remember the old one.

My memory still hadn’t returned.

…

©  Charles Heath  2024

In a word: Spark

So, as far as I’m concerned the word ‘spark’ is something that is created by a fire, and can create havoc.

But…

Another meaning is that a ‘spark’ is created by a ‘spark plug’ in order to force the pistons of an engine to drive the crankshaft

This leads to…

There is no spark in this relationship, so perhaps it’s going nowhere.  No, we’re not looking for a fiery spark, but a small amount of very intense feeling

Spark?

I was watching God Friended Me last night and I’m sure like many others we were waiting to see that spark that would change their relationship from the friend zone, to something else.

And…

I think it was there.  Of course, we’ll have to wait till next week to find out.

As for the word spark, well there several different meanings, one of which I am familiar with when I was young.

Being called a ‘bright spark’

Depending on who used that remark, it could either mean you were clever or you were a smart ass, which I suspect was the reference to me.

Then, moving on

Saying something inflammatory ‘sparked’ the crowd into action.  A single remark can be equated to a literal ‘spark’ that can ignite a reaction.

A lynching perhaps?

And what about, once upon a time, a ship’s radio officer, he was called ‘sparks’ or ‘sparkie’, also a name that sometimes refers to an electrician.

I can see plenty of uses for this word in a story.

“The Devil You Don’t”, she was the girl you would not take home to your mother!

Now only $0.99 at https://amzn.to/2Xyh1ow

…

John Pennington’s life is in the doldrums. Looking for new opportunities, and prevaricating about getting married, the only joy on the horizon was an upcoming visit to his grandmother in Sorrento, Italy.

Suddenly he is left at the check-in counter with a message on his phone telling him the marriage is off, and the relationship is over.

If only he hadn’t promised a friend he would do a favour for him in Rome.

At the first stop, Geneva, he has a chance encounter with Zoe, an intriguing woman who captures his imagination from the moment she boards the Savoire, and his life ventures into uncharted territory in more ways than one.

That ‘favour’ for his friend suddenly becomes a life-changing event, and when Zoe, the woman who he knows is too good to be true, reappears, danger and death follow.

Shot at, lied to, seduced, and drawn into a world where nothing is what it seems, John is dragged into an adrenaline-charged undertaking, where he may have been wiser to stay with the ‘devil you know’ rather than opt for the ‘devil you don’t’.

newdevilcvr6

NANOWRIMO – November 2025 – Day 23

…

The Third Son of a Duke

…

Not getting off at Port Said, but going on to Alexandria to disembark with the other people involved in the war.

He is to be met on the wharf, and after disembarkation, that person could be any one of hundreds swarming towards the trains, officers barking orders and people going in all directions.

Confusion and chaos.

Then a voice comes out of the chaos.  A Staff Sergeant with a booming voice.

Orders.

Handed over, get on the train to Cairo, on your way, son….

He was just another soldier.

He goes to Cairo, reading the contents of a letter that’s marked read this first…

From his father

Then, read this second

Instructions on where to go in Cairo.

Cloak and dagger, seemingly, but he suspected it was anything but.

…

2230 words, for a total of 37175 words.

Writing about writing a book – Research

Day 27 – The story behind the network evolution using the very first IBM PC’s

Title: From Monolithic Isolation to Distributed Connectivity: The Genesis of Networked Computing in the Early IBM PC Era (1981–1985)

Abstract

The introduction of the IBM Personal Computer (PC) in 1981 fundamentally altered the landscape of corporate and personal computing. Initially conceived as a powerful, yet standalone, desktop appliance, the PC was often relegated to the role of a ‘dumb terminal’ for accessing centralised mainframe resources. This paper analyses the pivotal transition from this monolithic architecture to a distributed networking paradigm during the early 1980s. We examine the initial proprietary offerings, such as IBM’s PC Network and Token Ring, and the critical role played by pioneers like 3Com and Novell in establishing the Local Area Network (LAN) using dedicated servers and structured cabling. Furthermore, the paper details the parallel evolution of remote connectivity, tracing the significance of asynchronous communication, which began at speeds of 300 baud, facilitating inter-city data exchange essential for the nascent connected world, all before the commercialisation of the Internet protocol suite.

1. Introduction: The Standalone PC and the Centralised Model

The IBM PC (Model 5150) was positioned primarily as an individual productivity tool. Its architecture was self-contained, relying on local storage (floppy disks or, later, small hard drives) and running the MS-DOS operating system. In the corporate environment of the early 1980s, the predominant computing model was centralised, anchored by IBM mainframes (e.g., the System/370) or powerful minicomputers.

1.1 The PC as a Terminal Emulator

Despite its processing power, the PC’s initial function within large organisations was often one of subordination. To leverage existing infrastructure and data, the PC had to emulate legacy terminal devices. Although the prompt references the less common VT50 protocol, the historical necessity was to emulate terminals built by Digital Equipment Corporation (DEC) (e.g., VT52 and VT100 series) or IBM’s own proprietary 3270 synchronous terminals.

Using specialised hardware (e.g., communications adapter cards) and software, the PC operated as a passive gateway, sending keystrokes and receiving screen updates over serial lines. In this configuration, the PC was effectively isolated; it could not share resources directly with other PCs, and its local processing power was secondary to the mainframe’s central control. This era represented the PC’s embryonic phase—powerful hardware trapped within a legacy, non-networked framework.

2. The Paradigm Shift: Distributed Computing and the LAN

The inherent inefficiency of the isolated PC model—characterised by redundant peripheral purchases (printers, expensive storage) and difficulty in sharing data—catalysed the demand for dedicated local area networking (LANs). A network solution had to address file sharing, print spooling, and, crucially, provide a robust alternative to mainframe dependency.

2.1 IBM’s Initial Network Strategy: Proprietary Solutions

IBM entered the networking market with caution, often favouring proprietary technologies that leveraged its dominant position.

The IBM PC Network (1984): IBM’s first official foray into PC networking was based on broadband coaxial cable and utilised CSMA/CD (Carrier Sense Multiple Access with Collision Detection), similar in concept to Ethernet but incompatible with existing Ethernet standards. While functional, the PC Network was costly, cumbersome to install, and offered relatively slow speeds (2 Mbps). It failed to gain widespread adoption outside of niche corporate environments.

Token Ring (1985): Recognising the limitations of the PC Network, IBM aggressively pushed the Token Ring architecture. Token Ring utilised a deterministic, token-passing access method, which IBM claimed offered superior reliability and predictability under heavy load compared to the probabilistic nature of collision-based systems like Ethernet. Token Ring required specialized cabling (shielded twisted-pair, STP) and expensive Multi-Station Access Units (MAUs). Although technologically robust and adopted heavily by large enterprises loyal to the IBM brand, it faced significant market challenges.

2.2 The Rise of Open Standards and Dedicated Servers

While IBM focused on proprietary solutions, the market rapidly embraced alternatives that offered lower cost, greater simplicity, and interoperability. This required a fundamental architectural shift: the realisation of the dedicated file server.

3Com and Ethernet: Founded by Robert Metcalfe (co-inventor of Ethernet), 3Com was instrumental in standardising and commercialising Ethernet for the PC platform. Ethernet utilised cheaper coaxial cabling (initially thinnet, 10BASE2) and later unshielded twisted-pair (UTP), operating at a competitive 10 Mbps. 3Com manufactured the critical component: the Network Interface Card (NIC). The proliferation of affordable NICs allowed any PC to become a network node.

Novell NetWare: The technical infrastructure (NICs and cabling) required an operating system layer to manage the distributed resources. Novell NetWare, released in the early 1980s, became the indispensable operating system for these early LANs. NetWare’s innovation was its high-performance file service, running on a dedicated PC server. This architecture formalised the necessary components of a modern LAN:

  1. Dedicated Server: A powerful PC running server-specific software (e.g., NetWare, not standard DOS) responsible solely for managing shared files, applications, and printers.
  2. Structured Cabling: Physical media (coax or twisted-pair) installed throughout the office, replacing haphazard point-to-point connections.
  3. Client-Server Model: Client PCs (workstations) running DOS or Windows accessed services managed by the server, executing application logic locally but storing data centrally.

This explosion of distributed networking empowered departments to manage their own data and resources, leading to a profound decentralisation of IT previously unthinkable in the mainframe era.

3. Bridging the Distance: Asynchronous Communication and the Modem

While LANs solved the within-building connectivity challenge, a parallel technological wave addressed inter-site and remote access needs: asynchronous, dial-up communication via modems.

3.1 The 300 Baud Revolution

In the early 1980s, the standard for personal computer remote access was the 300 baud (bits per second) modem. This speed allowed for extremely slow data transfer, taking approximately 10 seconds to transmit a standard 4,000-character screen of text. While seemingly primitive, the 300 baud modem represented a crucial technological breakthrough:

  • POTS Utilisation: It converted digital computer signals into analogue audio tones that could travel reliably over the existing Public Switched Telephone Network (PSTN), meaning remote access did not require expensive, dedicated leased lines.
  • Accessibility: Modems, standardised via protocols like Bell 103, made connectivity affordable and location-independent for small businesses and hobbyists.

3.2 Early Remote Connectivity: Servers, BBS, and File Transfer

The primary uses for these early remote connections defined the precursor environment to the modern Internet:

  • Bulletin Board Systems (BBS): Individuals ran server software on their home or office PCs, allowing others to dial in to exchange messages, share rudimentary file libraries, and engage in early forms of online community (e.g., using protocols like XMODEM or YMODEM for error-checked file transfers). The BBS represented a decentralised network of independent servers.
  • Corporate Remote Access: Businesses used modems to connect branch offices to central minicomputers or to allow remote employees (or travelling sales staff) to check email or synchronise small data files.
  • Early Service Providers: Companies established commercial proprietary networks (e.g., CompuServe, The Source) that users accessed via dial-up modems, providing news, weather, and basic email services.

These slow, point-to-point connections established the critical principle of wide-area data sharing, laying the conceptual groundwork for the necessity of standardised, high-speed protocols that TCP/IP would eventually provide.

4. Conclusion: The Foundation of Modern Networking

The period between 1981 and 1985 marks one of the most significant architectural shifts in computing history. The IBM PC, initially a standalone device, forced organisations to move past the bottlenecks and costs associated with monolithic, terminal-based computing.

While IBM attempted to dictate the networking standard with proprietary solutions like Token Ring, the market decisively favoured open, affordable alternatives pioneered by companies like 3Com (Ethernet hardware) and Novell (NetWare server software). This established the fundamental architecture of the modern office: distributed processing, dedicated file servers, and structured cabling (LANs). Simultaneously, the humble modem and its 300 baud pace provided the necessary remote-access capability, demonstrating the value of asynchronous wide-area connectivity.

This early 1980s transformation—the shift from centralised control to decentralised, networked resources—was not merely a technical upgrade; it was a socio-economic revolution that democratized data access and paved the way for the high-speed, interoperable infrastructure upon which the global Internet would later be built.

References

(Note: As a simulated academic paper, specific citations are generalised, but would typically include historical corporate documentation, technical standards papers, and contemporary computing periodicals.)

Clark, D. D., Lambert, M. L., & Falk, E. N. (1988). The IBM PC and the Token Ring Network: A Technical Perspective. IBM Systems Journal.

Metcalfe, R. M., & Boggs, D. R. (1976). Ethernet: Distributed packet switching for local computer networks. Communications of the ACM, 19(7), 395-404.

Petersen, M. (1995). The Novell Story: How NetWare Built an Empire. Business History Review.

Quarterman, J. S. (1990). The Matrix: Computer Networks and Conferencing Systems Worldwide. Digital Press.

Wallace, R. (1984). The History and Future of the Modem. Byte Magazine.

The cinema of my dreams – I never wanted to go to Africa – Episode 46

Our hero knows he’s in serious trouble.

The problem is, there are familiar faces and a question of who is a friend and who is foe made all the more difficult because of the enemy, if it was the enemy, simply because it didn’t look or sound or act like the enemy.

Now, it appears, his problems stem from another operation he participated in, and because of it, he has now been roped into what might be called a suicide mission.

…

It took longer, as everything does when you’re in a hurry.
 
The plane was loaded, the fuel truck had just disconnected the final hose, and was leaving the field, and Davies was firing up the engines.
 
Everyone was on board and strapped in.  I gave my thanks to the Colonel and shut the door before joining Davies in the cockpit.
 
Looking at her cool, calm demeanor gave me confidence.  If anyone could get us out of here in one piece, she could.
 
I put the headphones on and put on the seat belt, just as she revved the engines, saw the wave from the ground crewman who removed the wheel chocks, and we started moving.
 
15 minutes to spare.  Would it be enough?
 
The Colonel had said that it was possible the helicopter might be one of those belonging to the air force and might have missiles that could shoot us down.  Not a good thought.  At the very least it would have a cannon, and if the bullets hit us, it could make an awful mess of the fuselage.
 
He didn’t have any good news though.
 
I was hoping it would just be a commercial helicopter with a couple of thugs with handguns shooting at us.
 
At the top of the runway, she didn’t waste time going to full throttle, and we started rumbling down the runway.  Unfortunately, the wind had changed and to take off we had to initially fly towards Congo airspace before turning towards our destination.
 
Then we lifted off and started gaining altitude.
 
Then I heard Davies mutter, “Fuck.”
 
Trouble.  I saw what elicited the curse.  The helicopter, heading towards us.
 
“Military,” she added.
 
Not that I had any idea what I was looking for, but it didn’t seem to have rockets, but it did have a cannon barrel under the fuselage.
 
“Brace yourself,” she said.  “We’re about to get on the roller coaster.”
 
Still climbing we were getting closer, and I could just see the cannon move.  If it was shooting rounds, they didn’t hit us, not from such a distance, but they were getting closer because we were still flying towards them.
 
Then, suddenly, she turned the planes to the right and down, a plunge so quick that my stomach was in my mouth.  I hate to think what it would be like for those in the back.
 
Aside from the fact my hearing was blocked by the headphones, I could still hear several mini-explosions coming from behind me.
 
Another curse, rather longer this time, from Davies and she twisted the plane back in the opposite direction, and heading around towards the airfield again, much lower down this time, with the helicopter in hot pursuit.
 
Now we couldn’t see it, but it would have a good view of our engines and tail.
 
If any of the bullets hit, we’d be in big trouble.
 
I was bracing myself for disaster.
 
Davies was coaxing the plane upwards, but it seemed sluggish.
 
Nothing happened.
 
“Gun’s jammed.” She said.  “If you don’t maintain your equipment…”
 
That statement was cut off by a huge explosion and turning as far as I could in my seat I just saw the remnants of a firewall, what was once a helicopter.
 
“Ground to air rocket.  The Colonel must have some interesting toys at his disposal.”  Davies sounded very relieved.
 
I started breathing again.
 
“Are we damaged?”  It was a valid question.  The plane seemed like it was flying awkwardly.
 
“I’d say so., Those explosions.  Cannon fire hitting the fuselage.  Probably took out some controls, or failing that, since there’s still maneuverability, probably just a few holes creating drag.”
 
She was a matter of fact like, but that was more because she was fighting the controls to keep us moving in the right direction.
 
Away from trouble.
 
“Go check it out,” she said.
 
At the head of the cabin, I saw the problem, a row of neat holes carved from one window through to halfway along the fuselage, going down.  We’d be lucky if one of the bullets hadn’t struck one of the wires that drove the flaps/
 
There was a hell of a noise from the air coming in through the holes.  
 
By the second window, slumped forward, was Shurl.  There was blood and blood spatter on the floor.  Monroe came up to me and yelled in my ear.
 
“Damned good flying, and only one casualty.  We were incredibly lucky.  Shurl wasn’t quick enough to get on the floor.  Other than that, we’re still in the air, and I’m guessing someone shot the helo down?”
 
“Ground to air missile.  Any sooner, that would have been us.  Try and sit back, rest, and enjoy the in-flight service.  Oh, and a prayer or two might help.”

© Charles Heath 2020-2021

Writing a book in 365 days – 310

Day 310

Don’t preach, discover the truth

…

The Writer’s Quest: Not Preaching, But Discovering Truth

Milan Kundera, the literary titan behind “The Unbearable Lightness of Being,” posited a profound idea about the writer’s role: “To be a writer does not mean to preach the truth, it means to discover the truth.” This statement, seemingly simple, carries immense weight. It shifts our perception of literature from a didactic tool, a podium from which to dispense wisdom, to a more intricate, exploratory, and frankly, more human endeavor.

Think about the writers we truly admire. Are they the ones who confidently declare absolutes, who arrive with ready-made answers to life’s complex questions? Or are they the ones who delve into the murky depths of human experience, who ask the uncomfortable questions, who present us with characters grappling with dilemmas, whose narratives leave us with more to ponder than to accept? Kundera’s assertion points squarely to the latter.

The Perils of Preaching:

When a writer aims to “preach the truth,” they often fall into the trap of pronouncements and dogma. This can lead to a literature that feels rigid, self-righteous, and ultimately, less engaging. The reader, instead of being invited into a shared exploration, is positioned as a passive recipient, expected to nod in agreement. This approach can alienate, rather than connect, because it presumes a singular, universally applicable truth, which, as any honest observer of life knows, is a rare commodity.

Furthermore, the act of preaching implies certainty. But life, in its most compelling and resonant forms, is rarely certain. It’s a tapestry woven with doubt, ambiguity, and the constant negotiation between conflicting desires and circumstances. A writer who preaches a singular truth risks flattening this rich complexity, presenting a sanitized and incomplete version of reality.

The Power of Discovery:

Kundera’s alternative, “to discover the truth,” is an invitation to a journey. It acknowledges that truth is not a static object to be unearthed and displayed, but a fluid, multifaceted entity that can be approached from myriad angles. The writer, in this paradigm, becomes an explorer, venturing into the uncharted territories of the human psyche, societal structures, and the very fabric of existence.

This discovery process is inherently collaborative. The writer offers a map, a collection of observations, a series of carefully crafted questions, and the reader embarks alongside them. Through the act of reading, we engage with the writer’s discoveries, testing them against our own experiences, questioning them, and in doing so, forming our own understanding, our own truths.

What This Discovery Looks Like in Practice:

  • Embracing Ambiguity: Great literature often thrives on ambiguity. Characters are rarely all good or all bad. Situations are rarely clear-cut. The writer, through their art, allows these shades of gray to exist, inviting us to grapple with the moral and emotional complexities they represent. Think of the moral quandaries faced by characters in Dostoevsky or the existential struggles in Camus.
  • Asking Profound Questions: Instead of providing answers, the writer poses questions that resonate deeply. They might explore the nature of love, the weight of memory, the impact of power, or the search for meaning. These questions, presented through narrative and character, become prompts for our own introspection.
  • Illuminating the Human Condition: By focusing on the often-mundane yet profound experiences of individuals, writers can illuminate universal truths about what it means to be human. The act of observing and articulating these experiences, with honesty and nuance, is a form of discovery.
  • Challenging Assumptions: Effective writers don’t just reflect the world; they interrogate it. They use their stories to challenge our preconceived notions, to reveal hidden biases, and to offer fresh perspectives that might otherwise remain unseen.

In essence, Kundera’s statement liberates the writer. It frees them from the burden of certainty and empowers them to embrace the messy, beautiful, and often bewildering process of understanding. It reminds us that the true magic of literature lies not in being told what to believe, but in being guided to discover it for ourselves, thread by intricate thread, word by evocative word. And in that shared act of discovery, we find a deeper, more authentic connection to the stories we read and to each other.