Froggyland: A Wonder of the World

“Have you ever heard of Froggyland?” I have asked this question a million times in the past month, to friends, to students, to colleagues, to Tinder matches, to whosoever will listen to the ramblings of a madman (me). Have you, dear reader, ever heard of Froggyland? I thought not. It’s not a place you read about in the history textbooks. No wars were fought over it, no huddled masses ever sought refuge there. No kings were crowned in Froggyland, and therefore none were overthrown in bloody or bloodless revolution. Froggyland is Froggyland, simple as that.

Between the years of 1910 and 1920, in modern-day Croatia, a taxidermist named Ferenc Mere sought to create the most stunning work of art I have ever seen in my life. Over those ten years, he stuffed and mounted over 500 European frogs in the most astounding dioramas on this side of the planet. In these dioramas, Mere depicted the frogs engaging in the comings and goings of everyday human life, working menial tasks, going to school, doing laundry, playing sports, going to the circus, just about any human task Mere could imagine frogs doing. In the end, he was left with over 21 dioramas depicting 507 “frog-people,” though that is just the part of the collection preserved in near-perfect condition. It is estimated that Mere stuffed and mounted over 1,000 frogs over the course of his career. I mourn the frogs we will never see, lost to the unrelenting sands of time, but I treasure the 507 that are still around for us to adore.

I had the absolute privilege of beholding the dioramas of Froggyland in October of this year. I rang the Good Luck Bell and rubbed the Good Luck Frog, though all the good fortune I ever had, I fear, was used to make it to Split, Croatia to even get within proximity of Froggyland and its treasures. Even though I fell horrifically ill during my travels, I made it on the last day of my vacation to Croatia. There I was greeted by a museum attendant who told me I could not take pictures—only memories—of the frog dioramas. Understandable. Froggyland is one of the few remaining great mysteries of life. One must adventure many hours, perhaps even days, to reach that golden land. As such, I have no photographs of the frogs, though I did buy some magnets with photos of the frogs on them. So, yeah. I think they just wanted to sell more merchandise. In any case, it was well worth the 15 euros I spent on admission and the 100ish euros I spent on Froggyland merchandise for me and the family—treasures from the expedition, I call them, as I weep over my credit card bill.

“Steven, why the hell are you talking about this?” you may ask. “Why should we care about Froggyland? It sounds like an expensive tourist trap.” Dear reader, it is. But it is also of the utmost importance to preserve a sense of mythical wonder about places such as this. Where else would you find a monument to some passionate weirdo’s collection of dead frogs? Why wouldn’t you cross land, sea, and sky just to see such a place? If you don’t cultivate a sense of magic in this world which so desperately needs it, who will? If you don’t go into massive credit card debt to look at some frogs, what’s the point of living? I spoke to the museum attendant about the premise of the museum, how very few people come to Froggyland on a pilgrimage like I did; rather, they’re curious tourists who see a building called “FROGGYLAND” and simply have to check it out. This business model works perfectly for places such as the Icelandic Phallological Museum. Curiosity is the most human thing there is; don’t wait until you’re just passing by on a sidewalk to cultivate it.