Smogovci: The Heartbeat of a Croatian Childhood

A Love Letter to the Family That Raised Us All

If you grew up in Croatia—or anywhere in Yugoslavia in the 1980s and 1990s—chances are that Smogovci were more than just a TV show or a book. They were family.

For those who don’t know, Smogovci is a beloved Croatian children’s book series written by Hrvoje Hitrec, later adapted into an iconic TV show that ran from 1982 to 1997. It was a story about us—about Zagreb’s working-class neighborhood of Peščenica, about kids who got into trouble, about families that fought and loved fiercely, about first crushes, schoolyard rivalries, and the unbreakable bonds that held everything together.

But Smogovci was more than entertainment. It was a mirror of our lives, a time capsule of Croatian childhood in Yugoslavia, and, for many of us, the reason we never stopped loving home—no matter how far we wandered.

Who Were the Smogovci?

For the uninitiated, Smogovci follows the Vragec family—a rowdy, loving, chaotic bunch of kids and their neighbors in the fictional Naselak, a part of Peščenica. The name itself comes from the smog that hung over industrial Zagreb, a metaphor for the grit and warmth of life in the city’s working-class districts.

The Vragec siblings—Dragec, Pero, Mazalo, Cobra, Štefek, and Buco—were not rich. Their father passed away and mother worked in Germany (a reality many Croatian families knew too well). But they had each other, their neighbors, and their unshakable loyalty.

The books and TV series captured everything: childhood mischief (stealing apples, skipping school, getting into fights), first loves (Dunja and Mazalo’s sweet romance), family struggles (money troubles, sibling rivalries, but also unbreakable love) and the passage of time (from innocent childhood in the early seasons to the brutal reality of war in the final one).

It was funny, heartbreaking, and so real that it felt like Hitrec had peeked into our own lives.

How Smogovci Shaped a Generation

1. The First Time: Seeing Ourselves on Screen

I first watched Smogovci when I was as young as Dado and Marina—just starting school, wide-eyed, and discovering the world. Back then, TV wasn’t just background noise; it was an event. We gathered around the screen, laughing at Štefek’s pranks, cringing at Cobra’s failed experiments, and dreaming of adventures like Pero’s football triumphs.

It was the first time I saw kids on TV who talked like me, lived like me, worried about the same things I did. School wasn’t some idealized place—it was boring, scary, exciting, just like mine. Family wasn’t perfect—it was messy, loud, and sometimes unfair, just like mine.

When Smogovci became lektira (required reading) in school, it was the only book the whole class actually read. Because it wasn’t just a story—it was our story.

2. The Second Time: Teenage Years and Goodbyes

Years later, I watched Smogovci again—this time as a teenager, the same age as Dunja and Mazalo. Now, I wasn’t just laughing at the jokes; it was the excitement of teenage emotions that kept me pinned to the screen.

Dunja and Mazalo’s love story wasn’t just cute—it was everything. The concerts, the stolen kisses, the way their families teased them but secretly rooted for them. And then came that episode—the wedding in the Vragecs’ backyard, the whole neighborhood celebrating, the feeling that no matter what, family would always be there.

I watched it right before leaving Croatia as an exchange student to the U.S. And I sobbed. Because that scene wasn’t just fiction—it was everything I was about to leave behind. The warmth, the noise, the love that didn’t need words. That episode summs up why I returned home and why I will never leave.

3. The Third Time: War and Growing Up Too Fast

The final season, Smogovci u Domovinskom ratu, was different. It wasn’t about childhood anymore—it was about survival.

I watched it in a student club at Filozofski fakultet, surrounded by friends, beer in hand, laughing through tears. Because by then, we all knew someone who hadn’t made it. We’d all lost something. And yet, there were the Vragecs—still together, still fighting, still a family.

That season hurt. But it also reminded us that even in war, even in loss, some things never break.

4. The Last Time: Passing It On

Years later, I introduced Smogovci to my own kids. We watched it on YouTube (because of course, nothing ever really disappears). This time, they were the age of Dado and Marina, giggling at the same silly pranks I once loved.

Now, my children are as old as Dunja and Mazalo were. The world feels dangerous again. And sometimes, I just want to go back—to the safety of those early Smogovci days, when the biggest worry was a failed math test or a stolen first kiss.

Smogovci are more than nostalgia. They are a lifeline: the smell of pašteta sandwiches in a school backpack, the sound of your mother yelling from the kitchen while the neighbors gossip over the fence, the feeling of belonging to something bigger—a family, a neighborhood, a country—even when you’re far away.

Hrvoje Hitrec didn’t just write a book. He gave us a home.

And no matter where life takes us, we can always go back to Naselak.

A Prayer for the Next Generation

In spite of the world increasingly becoming a more dangerous place, I hope my children never live through a Smogovci u Domovinskom ratu. I hope their world stays safe, their laughter loud, their hearts unbroken.

But if they ever need reminding of where they come from, of the love that holds us together no matter what—I’ll sit them down, press play, and let the Vragecs tell them.

Because some stories never end.

Some families never leave.

And some homes are forever.

(For those who want to revisit the magic, full episodes are available on YouTube. Just be ready for the tears.)