Coming Soon

I have a lot of blogging to do to catch everyone up on the business that has been my life in Belgrade. Believe me, I am keeping a list of things I want to blog about soon. I'll soon be adding blog entries on my trip to Velika Plana for a WiB seminar (in which I had to give a short speech about international solidarity and endure a question and answer session), my Christmas here in Belgrade, my lost in the city adventures, and much more. Soon, but not today.

A history lesson from the billboards of Belgrade

I have been seeing several different posters with US historical figures on them the last few days. You may ask yourself, in Belgrade? The answer is yes. In Belgrade.

I heard about them before I actually saw them. I had heard in the office last week that there were billboards posted throughout the city (and surrounding areas) with pictures of famous political and world leaders along with famous quotes from the corresponding leader (There are some with Washington, Lincoln, JFK, Churchill, and De Gaulle). At the bottom of each billboard (under the quote), in big letters (in Cyrillic, of course) it says Kosovo is Serbia! It is as if they are trying to pass it off like these famous leaders also made that statement.

I saw my first one 6 days ago. I have seen four different billboards (all the same ad, just different locations) with President Kennedy's picture and a quote from him. I've seen one of the billboards with George Washington on it.

It just goes to show another way in which history here is all about perspective and myth. History here can be whatever you want it to be. These billboards have taken some of the great Western democratic leaders and have manipulated their words for the Serbian government's own political purposes.

I'm posting a link for an article that discusses this more in depth (and gives some Serbian citizens' opinions on the Kosovo issue). That is all of my posting for now. Two in one day. Whew.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/Kosovo/Story/0,,2224886,00.html

My International Human Rights Day experience

Monday was International Human Rights Day; it was also the day that the final status of Kosovo was to be decided. Obviously, these talks failed (and everyone knew they were a failure before it was officially announced on December 10th). There was some speculation (and tension in the air) as to whether or not Kosovo would unilaterally declare independence on December 10th.

I woke up on Monday, and took the bus to class. When I arrived at the main square (where my bus drops me off so I can walk to class), I saw a small group of people gathered. Several were holding up signs; I had no doubts that it was Kosovo related -- I made sure to keep a hundred foot distance between me and this group. This was when I reminded myself that today could be a very eventful, interesting day and to make sure I keep the little US flag that sometimes seems to be tattooed to my head under wraps. (Somehow people here always know I am a foreigner without me even opening my mouth; it's like they have some sort of foreigner-radar. The US citizen part is less obvious and not always the first country guessed.)

WiB decided to mark International Human Rights Day by having a street performance at 6:30 pm in the main square of the city (Trg Republike). Our theme for the event was "We are not going back -- Stop Clericalisation!" The idea was to promote secularism through the coalition WiB belongs to (Coalition for a Secular State). So, WiB and other members (and organizations) of the coalition organized the events.

The street performance included a choir singing a locally written song that fit with the theme (the song talked about not going back). The choir would sing the song through and then stop for a portion of the performance and then sing it through again; this sequence continued six times before the performance ended with one last performance of the song. During the breaks (between the songs), an activist wearing a mask to represent various political figures and church officials came forward to be handed (by another activist) one of the printouts (the Manifest on Secularism that was written by the Coalition). They would then discard the pamphlet, by throwing it on the ground, ripping it up, or destroying it in some manner. There were six different masks; three represented specific politicians and church officials and three represented politicians and church officials in general. Each time the masked figure would come forward to receive a pamphlet two activists walked up behind them holding up a large sing displaying different phrases. Before I continue recounting the events that occurred that evening I will give a little background on why there is a need for a coalition of this sort in Serbia.

First, the Serbian Orthodox Church (SOC) is growing in its power here within Serbia. There isn't a strong presence of other churches within Serbia; there aren't very many Protestant churches in Belgrade. There is becoming more and more interference of the SOC into governmental affairs. They are trying to put their values into legislation. For instance, a law has been passed in which children in Serbian schools are to take a religious education or civil education course; the religious education course only teaches about the SOC and their values. Another reason WiB is concerned about this is the patriarchal structure of the SOC; they are calling for women to go back to traditional roles (housewife, mother) and urging them to complete their duty and bear more Serbian children. Many of the statements they make publicly and values they teach infringe on human rights (particularly women's rights). Also, the SOC has a murky past; certain SOC officials blessed the paramilitary and military soldiers before they would go to commit atrocities and war crimes during the recent conflicts. There is a strong connection between the SOC and nationalism within Serbia (and nationalism within Serbia has proven to be a dangerous thing).

Back to Monday's event
As previously mentioned the street performance was to begin at 6:30 pm. I was in the office on Monday sitting on the computer working on proofreading when I was informed that the animated discussion in the next room was a discussion about safety issues for the night. Apparently, a Serbian white supremist group (which is how they referred to themselves but they are essentially a fascist and nationalist group) had posted on their website when and where the WiB demonstration would occur and were calling for all of their members to show up to counter-demonstrate. We would have a police escort from the WiB office (as usual) and the police would also be present at the demonstration since we had a permit.

A little after six o'clock, we left the office as a group carrying our signs, megaphone, and other needed materials for the demonstration. We were escorted by about twenty-five policemen; there were ten or twelve of us (we would be met by the others at the square). It seemed a bit overdone to me (I was thinking, do we really need a two to one ratio?) However, when we arrived at the square and met the other activists (and the choir members) I was in for a big surprise. After taking one look around, I was very grateful that all of the police officers were there; I actually didn't even need to look -- I could just listen to all of the chanting and yelling.

Even more police officers were at the square waiting to help out (at least another 25). Our group of activists (30-60 of us; I admit to being really bad at numerical estimates of large groups) was surrounded by police officers. They formed a half circle around us (the choir was set up with their backs to the large statue in the square and the other activist were holding up signs while standing on both sides of the choir), leaving us some space for our performance. There were probably 20 or 30 police officers forming standing two or three feet apart from one another (in the half circle formation).

Another 25-35 police officers were surrounding the group of people demonstrating against us(this was a much tighter circle with the police officers being shoulder to shoulder). It was hard to estimate how many anti-demonstrators were there, but if I had to make an estimate I would say at least fifty. They were all much younger than I thought they would be; every single one I saw was male (Of course, I couldn't see them all very well since they were surrounded by the police and we were surrounded by the police so there may have been some females present. We were at least 30 feet away from them with the two police barriers/chains, and I admit to not making a big effort to get any closer to them). They were very loud. They were louder than we were and we had a massive sound system for our performance; we had a lot of trouble being heard over them. For the first time since my arrival I was truly grateful to not understand the language. A few of the other activists filled me in on some of the things they were yelling, but spared me most of the details. They sang extremely nationalistic songs (songs that were song during the wars), yelled at us, called us traitors, and chanted out the names of one of their heroes, a man who is wanted for war crimes at the Hague. Some of the people walking by would join them in yelling at us (although they would not join in the actual formation -- they would stand off to the side and yell their own individual slurs and threats). At one point, I heard one person yelling about the United States; I didn't ask anyone what exactly was said.

It was frustrating to try to be heard over them, to feel that we had to compete with them for the public attention (and the media's) so our message would be the one that was driven home to those passing by rather than theirs. I didn't really fear for my physical safety while were there (which was surprising), but I did feel some fear for the future of this country and what is to come. I felt stupid for my naivete over how bad the situation here is and my continued optimism that everything I had been reading in WiB's books (about their past experiences and accounts of the current situation) and the things Rachel had said were a passing phase. It re-emphasized to me the importance of what WiB is doing and the need for continued efforts to move the common people in a different direction.

When the performance was over, we waited as even more police officers arrived so we could be escorted back to the office (to then disperse to our various destinations). There was a discussion as to whether the police officers should escort us back to the office or to the Center for Cultural Decontamination (where almost all of us where heading for a gathering of solidarity for some journalists). It was decided the police would escort us to the office and we could either walk or catch a taxi to the Center from there (this was mainly decided since the police said they wouldn't be able to escort us to the Center). They brought in police officers in riot gear. I commented that it looked like Star Wars (for some reason the white helmets that seem to be a universal part of the riot police uniform always remind me of Star Wars and the Stormtroopers) and the activist next to me told me to get used to it. I think there was a language miscommunication somewhere along the line here so I then decided it was best to keep my thoughts and interpretations to myself, but my next thought was, "Welcome to Star Wars, Katie." The police officers then formed two shoulder to shoulder lines (one on each side with us in the middle) and walked with us to the office. They took us down a few back streets to get us out of the crowded area quicker; they cleared out the underground walkway/bypass (or at least for the most part) and there was a lot of walkie-talkie action. When we arrived at the office, about ten of them waited until everyone had gotten a taxi (or left via foot for the Center for Cultural Decontamination).

I then headed to the Center for Cultural Decontamination (CCD) via taxi with some other activists to listen to a panel session (several WiB activists were a speakers) to demonstrate solidarity with journalists (from a radio station) that were kicked out of a nearby town by the police. We were expressing our solidarity and concern for freedom of speech (The journalists kicked out were a part of an independent radio station and did not cooperate with the government in their content. Although there are other independent radio stations, newspapers, and journalists, I was told this group is notorious for being the most honest and for being the most critical of the government.) There were about a hundred people (or more) there for the panel and to show their support. Obviously, I didn't understand any of it but I got some abbreviated translations of each panelists speeches. What I did understand was that each panelist expressed fear at the current state of things, saying the situation was bad; several said the last year has been very bad. At the end of the panel session, little black buttons were handed out to everyone that said "I am not afraid!" Everyone put their buttons on and then we went intermingled and chatted while munching on the provided snacks (and drinking the beverages). I later left with some other WiB activists to get a bus back to the main square (and then to grab my bus home from there). It was a long day. I got back to my apartment around 11:00 pm to find the mess that was my apartment (since I was still in the unpacking/moving in/organizing stage).

And that was my International Human Rights Day experience.

One incredibly long entry that adds up to one incredibly busy Saturday

Where to start? Things here have been very hectic and don’t look like they will slow down anytime soon. First, I have officially moved into my new apartment. It is wonderful to have peace, quiet and privacy. Of course, the moving process has been anything but peaceful or quiet.

On Saturday, my landlord called me and told me they were in the center of town running some errands and could pick me up in forty-five minutes or an hour to take me to the apartment. This was wonderful news since it meant that I would have assistance in lugging all of the stuff I have accumulated since my arrival (the amount has doubled since I inherited all of the stuff that wouldn’t fit into Rachel’s bags for the trip home – which was a lot). Well, in fact, I had so much stuff that we didn’t even have room to bring it all (it was a rather small car and already filled with an electric oven and a large board – I don’t have THAT much stuff). So, I brought everything I needed for the first two or three nights with intentions to come back that evening and bring the rest (via taxi). Well, I didn’t make it back to the office to get the rest of my stuff. I spent the rest of the evening basking in the glory that is one’s own apartment…and trying to unpack, organize, and clean up the explosion that occurred when I opened my two suitcases (and backpack and laptop case and…and….). I also went to the grocery store and got some essentials: bread, cheese, milk, fruit, eggs, yogurt (here you drink it instead of eat it), juice, sugar, pasta, jam, butter, avjar (a delicious vegetable spread), cereal, and some cooking utensils (a can opener, a strainer, a spatula, a whisk, and some mixing bowls).

By the time I had finished grocery shopping, lugging my massive amounts of groceries back to the apartment, and putting away said groceries it was ten o’clock. I had already told Erica, the intern that I would hang out with her that evening since she was planning on leaving early the following morning for Budapest. After a day in Budapest, she would be going back to Zagreb (Croatia) to finish out her semester and then back to the US. This would be my last chance to say goodbye.

I got on the bus to go to the center of town (successful navigation!) and I arrived at The 3 Black Cats (the hostel where she is staying) an hour later due to one very crowded bus, and some very traffic jammed streets. We hung out at her hostel for the first thirty or forty minutes until one of Erica’s friends got off duty (The friend we were waiting for was actually one of the workers at the hostel. Unfortunately, I don’t know that I ever was introduced to her and by my sly powers of deduction I gathered that it started with the letter M; my lack of familiarity with Serbian names stinted my ability to deduct the entire name). Erica had several destinations in mind for us throughout the night; she had obviously gone out on the weekends a lot more than I have since my arrival (and she has been in Belgrade for about 2 weeks less than I have).
We started by going to a small pub in the Bohemian District of Belgrade. I must say the place definitely had character. The owner of the pub had just converted a part of his house into a pub. It was one large room with several tables (but not enough). When we first walked into the place, there was a pile of wood stacked by the door to help keep the place heated. The walls were decorated with various antiques and old photographs. The owner sat in his living room watching the television as people sat in the adjoining room drinking, talking, and singing. People would yell into the living room if they needed something. In the brief time we were there, the owner only came out of the living room once. He looked slightly annoyed to be called away from his television program. When he finished serving the customers, he returned to his living room and shut the door so that he could continue watching his program in privacy. The vast majority of the customers were young males (in their 20s or 30s), but there were also a few women. They were loudly singing (or perhaps just yelling the lyrics without making any real effort to stay in tune) songs the entire time we were there (a maximum of thirty minutes). Some of the customers even stood up on the benches to sing; one girl stood up on the bench and then briefly hung from the rafters as she sang. Although I didn’t understand the words to the songs or recognize them, I am fairly certain they were nationalistic songs. I did not broadcast my status as the WiB volunteer; Erica introduced me to several of her friends and I stuck with the “I’m here volunteering for two years” statement followed by “I’m sorry. It’s so loud in here. I just can’t hear you. Did you ask where? I’m volunteering here, in Belgrade. “ Suffice it say, thirty minutes of men (and a few women) loudly singing nationalistic songs in a drunken slur did not fit my idea of a good time. However, it was very humorous. Erica’s friend, M, (from the hostel) and I both had to work at maintaining straight faces while we were there.

Second stop: Some random club in Belgrade. I have no idea where it was or what it was called. I obviously was not overcome with an overwhelming need to memorize the location (or name) in order to return. The reason we came to this club was to listen to Erica’s friend DJ; his disc jockeying skills also did not make a lasting impression (or at least not a positive one). The thing that did make an impression on me at this club was the balding, middle-aged drunk man who seemed to have no shame in dancing in a fashion that seemed to be a combination of styles emulating Beyonce, Elvis, Steve Urkel, and well, me (with my two left feet). It didn’t help that he stood on the four steps that were the passageway between the two levels of the room (the upper level where the café/bar were located and the lower level where there were some tables and some standing room for other ambitious dancers). I quit counting the number of times he started to fall over after it hit ten. The man also saw fit to sing along to the songs as loud as he could possibly manage. This was made all the more interesting by the fact that all of the songs were in English (except one that was in Spanish) and the man got really excited when he recognized a song (which was almost every song). He then tried to sing the lyrics he remembered regardless of whether or not he was singing them at the right time (he was not) or knew the correct lyrics (this was about 50/50). It was really funny to also see lots of other people singing along to the rock songs in their Serbian accented English.

Erica, M (the hostel worker), and I never found a seat nor got a drink. I was disappointed since one of the great things about Belgrade clubs and night venues is that you can get whatever you would like to drink without having to go to a different setting to find something that suits everyone’s tastes (coffee, pop, juice, alcoholic beverages, or in my case, hot chocolate was the drink I was planning on ordering). We danced a little but mainly we laughed at the other people dancing. There were all kinds of interesting dance moves being pulled out on the dance floor by various persons.

We left this club after about an hour and decided to head to another. First, we had to stop at the lobby of a hotel to pick up some people. Apparently, the lobby of this hotel is also a great place to hang out (according to sources that after seeing the place I have decided I will never heed their advice on places to go). After we made a pit stop at the hotel lobby, we started towards the next club. We got to the club, realized we would have to pay to get in, and then Erica and I decided that we were actually really tired and wanted to wrap the night up. Unfortunately, the last bus heading back to my new apartment had left the square twenty minutes ago. There wouldn’t be another bus until 4:30 am (about 2 hours away) and a taxi could cost over fifteen dollars. M suggested that I sleep at the hostel. This sounded like a great idea….except all the beds were reserved by paying customers. M said that I should just head back to the hostel anyway and that whoever was on duty would help us figure out a solution (an air mattress was mentioned).

Erica and I parted ways with M and others and headed towards the hostel. We arrived at the hostel only to walk in on the hostel worker and her boyfriend making out. Awkward. It was then decided that I could sleep in one of the beds of the two British people who were not due until six (in the morning) and get up before six and head out. We walked into the bedroom with a plan. Unfortunately, the Italian had forgotten to put his pajama bottoms on so our first sight upon opening the door was his backside with only a t-shirt, his tighty-whiteys (white underwear), and white socks. Erica and I had to briefly retreat from the room to suppress our laughter and our stomach reflexes.

I felt uncomfortable sleeping in someone else’s bed and decided to do the honorable thing and sleep on the floor; Erica let me borrow one of her pillows. My good intentions didn’t last too long; the floor was cold and the bed was not. I got on the bed and slept fitfully for another two hours and then thought I heard someone arrive and jumped onto the floor (only to wake Erica up in my scurry) to appear as if I had been sleeping there the entire time. Luckily, it was imagination so a few minutes later I moved back into the bed. At six in the morning, I woke up, tried to make the bed look fresh, and walked out to catch my bus. I was able to quickly grab a bus. I was extremely grateful that I had waited until six instead of leaving with the first bus (at 4:30 am) so I had that extra bit of light when I got off one stop too early (not quite successful navigating). I quickly realized this (just as the bus was pulling away) and stood in the cold waiting for the next bus. I arrived at my apartment just after seven o’clock only to roll into bed for those last few hours of sleep of my first “night” at my apartment.


On the next episode of "The Life of Katie": Katie's own personal narrative about the events of December 10th, International Human Rights Day. Tune in for an exciting story of policemen, street performances, discussions, and that ever constant confused hunger.
Airdate: Unknown (it depends on when Katie gets the time -- she will be taking her first excursion with WiB through the Serbian countryside for a workshop on solidarity)

A girl's gotta eat

This evening I was told I would be joining several of the activists in attending an important dinner. I was told I needed to put on something more "elegant". It was not mentioned when exactly we would be leaving for this dinner, so I chose to immediately rifle through my bags in an attempt to find something that was both elegant and clean. It was a good thing I chose to immediately begin the search since by it took me about ten minutes to produce enough elegant, fresh-smelling items to create an outfit; this left me ten minutes to get dressed (Although I was unaware that we would be leaving so quickly after I reemerged since I was unaware of a departure time.).

So at this point you may be asking yourself, what was this important dinner? Believe me, I was wondering as well. When I arrived I was finally informed it was actually a 15th anniversary celebration for Humanitarian Law Center, a NGO in Belgrade. Not a dinner. It was more like a cocktail party (but not quite so dressy) in that there were drinks (a variety of unknown alcoholic beverages, water, wine, and orange juice), various finger foods (pickles wrapped in beef, cheeses, nuts, olives, beef and cheese spread cubes, bread, miniature fruit tarts, and various small candies). The servers walked around with the trays held high in the air and people would grab things off of the trays as they pleased. Unfortunately, I was seated at a u-shaped table deeply hindering my ability to grab things as I pleased. Every once in a while a server would stop at our table and let the tray briefly linger so we could quickly grab what we wished. However, mainly I just watched as the servers whisked by with various trays of unknown, appetizing delicacies.

As we sat in at our u-shaped booth, several speeches were made by founding members of the organization as well as by more current workers. They spoke about the early days of the organization and the obstacles they encountered as they tried to fulfill their mission. The organization was started by a woman (who recruited others to join her in her efforts) to document the war crimes. She (and the other members of the organization) spoke to refugees, victims, and witnesses in an effort to record their stories. According to my sources (aka the English speaking activists at WiB), she is a very publicly hated by the majority of Serbia. Her calls for the war criminals to be delivered to the Hague and for persons to be punished for the war crimes is very unpopular among the common Serbian (since the war criminals are still viewed by many here as national heroes). Of course, all of the speeches made throughout the evening were made in Serbian. My sources told me I was not missing much since they were basically anecdotes of the beginning years, depressing tales of their work, and speeches praising the founder and other workers. About twenty minutes into the speeches, I was given a headset (to listen to the English translation of the speeches). After listening for the first ten minutes, I agreed with the earlier assessment of the speeches (although there were a few speeches that were interesting -- mainly those who chose to actually talk about their experiences and the work rather than praising other members of the organization or saying how tired they were when they actively working to document the crimes). Any desire to listen to the speeches (particularly the interesting ones) was blocked by the nuisance of having the headset consistently malfunction. The headset would be working for a minute and I would be able to hear the translation perfectly and then all of a sudden it would break to start again ten seconds later (meaning I missed important elements of the speech making it much harder to follow the narrative of the story). This continued for about fifteen minutes until the headset quit working altogether.

It was interesting to note that for all of my good intentions of listening to the speeches (via the headset) there were many others present who did not even pretend to make an effort at listening. Instead almost everyone was carrying on conversations; many people were standing (There weren't enough seats for everyone and like most cocktail parties a huge part of the party is the mingling.) and walking around and stopping to talk to whomever they wished for however long they desired.

So instead of listening to the speeches, a few of my WiB colleagues would point out various people and the crowd and explain who they were: a famous journalist who has had several assassination attempts on his life; the owners and founders of B92 (a famous radio station that was openly critical of Milosevic and now is also a television station); a famous activist who's activist husband was assassinated while she was sitting right next to him; someone very involved in the war crime tribunals; an American ambassador (who had his own security escort, which was really odd since nobody else had one); directors of various NGOs in Belgrade; etc.

The best part of this celebration was that when I left the event I received free gifts (as a poor volunteer I love free stuff). Each person was given a handbag, a mug, and a notebook (all with the organization's 15th anniversary logo plastered on the front). I was keenly disappointed to be given a bright orange handbag when dark green and red were also being handed out. However, since it was free and I am such a great person, I decided not to complain. It had nothing to do with the fact that I can't even speak enough Serbian to order a simple sandwich making communicating that I want a different color handbag a hopeless matter.

So, I walked away from the event with a bright orange handbag and an empty stomach. As I walked out of the building (which unfortunately I must admit took me two elevator rides, and one walk down the stairs, to figure out where the exit was located), I realized that I did not know the exact way back to the office. I knew that I was somewhere between the WiB office and my language school since we had mainly taken the same route I take to class (with only one turn off-course). After quickly figuring how to get back, I decided the best course of action was to find myself a croissant for dinner. After all, a girl's gotta eat.

A brief update

The hunt is over. I have now found an apartment. I hope to move into the apartment on Thursday or Friday. It's not perfect, but it's home.

In other news, we had a woman from Russia join our Serbian language class. She just started (and we are in our fourth week) and she is better than all of us combined. Apparently, Serbian and Russian are very similiar. Only Russian has 6 cases instead of 7 cases. Making Russia look like a very good place to live right about now.

However, in order to keep up with the Russian (ok, impossible task -- I'm aiming for having some clue as to what her and the professor are talking about) I now am trying to spend even more time studying for class meaning that's all she wrote (for now).

P.S.
I might add that it is very difficult to study Serbian when there is a massive choir practice going on in the next room. On Sunday evening, as I was trying to have an intensive study session I was assailed by the sounds of ten to fifteen voices raised in a joyful song. Of course, I have no idea what they are actually saying (which might be a hint as to how badly I need to be studying), but it sounded great. In fact, one of the songs they practiced was actually two or three words said over and over. Someone kindly handed me a copy of the lyrics (they were in Cyrillic), but it is very unhelpful to have the lyrics (even if I can now read them in the Cyrillic alphabet) if you have no idea what the actual words mean. They are practicing for the December 10th (Human Rights Day) performance; they will be peforming as a portion of the various street actions WiB is organizing for the day. There were also two teenage girls at the office painting large signs to be used on December 10th (They returned this evening just as I was pulling out my books for another study session). So admist the hum of activity in the office, there I was sitting with my notes and my schoolbook trying to memorize the new vocabulary words and understand new grammatical concepts. Interestingly enough, some people did not get the hint that I don't speak or understand Serbian even though I had a large book in front of me that said Serbian for Foreigners posted boldly on the front (in both Serbian and English). I still got asked several questions at which at first I blankly stared at them and then realized I needed to seize this moment to practice. So, I pulled out the ever handy phrase, "Ne govorim srpski" (I don't speak Serbian). Unfortunately, this phrase was from five lessons ago and not the new vocabulary I was having trouble committing to memory. Oh well...I mean, what better excuse for not studying can a girl come up with in class other than, "I was just so caught up in appreciating the rich, beautiful music of Serbia to study."

And now for your inter-class entertainment we present....

My language school, The Institute for Foreign Languages Belgrade (or ИНСТИТУТ ЗА СТРАНЕ ЈЕЗИΚΕ БЕОГРАД in Serbian) not only offers language courses, but also has a cafe. It is really just a small kitchen and the main lobby, but they offer cappuccino, coffee, orange juice, and eleven different varieties of tea. And they offer these beverages at an incredibly low rate. It's so cheap that I'm unsure if they make a profit. I can get a glass of steaming tea for 10 dinara (about twenty US cents). Most of the students buy a beverage both before the first class and during the ten minute break between the two classes (We have two forty-five minute class sessions a day with a ten minute break in between them).

Yesterday's ten minute break saw an expansion of the services offered by the institute for our educational enjoyment. They offered some short films to watch as we sipped on our steaming beverages between class sessions. The short films were brought in by a student to be shared. However, this was not just any student. It was Luka.

Luka came into our class at the end of last week about fifteen minutes late. He was escorted in by an administrative personnel. It was a good thing the woman was able to escort him since he almost fell over twice upon entering the classroom. He finally made it to a seat (without incident) and sat down struggling to catch his breath. Fortunately for us, he did not stay long. He was deemed to be too advanced for our class. He was obviously drugged and was still too advanced for our class. Talk about a blow to the self-esteem.

Apparently, Luka had recently had an operation on his throat. My understanding of the situation is limited. It is unclear to me whether or not he is needing to relearn how to pronounce words and to speak properly, or if he is learning Serbian for the first time. Whatever the reason, we were all very glad he didn't stay in the class. It was very difficult for all of to hold our good-natured chuckles until he left the room. A glazed-eyed, stoned language student is very amusing. Even if you don't understand what he is saying.

Later that same day (during the intermission between classes) Luka started a conversation with me. He had lived in the United States for seven years and wanted to know where I was from. It was just as funny to interact with him in English as it was in Serbian. After that initial conversation, I made sure to avoid him in the lobby, halls, and the stairway.

Avoidance only works for so long. Especially if your professors insist on everyone sitting down and watching the short films of the person you are trying to avoid. We watched two of Luka's movies. The first was a claymation (in the style of Wallace and Gromit) autobiography of Luka's life. It consisted of him walking in a park, showing up at his sister's apartment to find his sister and her boyfriend kissing ("They were very much in love. Luka was lonely."), going to his other sister's apartment and seeing how in love she was with her husband ("They were very much in love. Luka was lonely."), finding a girlfriend (Michelle), Luka being excited to be able to introduce his girlfriend to his sisters' and their prospective men, and Michelle breaking up with Luka because he told her she needed to lose weight ("Have you ever thought of losing some weight? It seems like it would be a very good idea."). The story ended with claymation Luka being lonely again. I must say the claymation was actually very good, but the script (which was posted on a black screen in between the short scenes of the claymation figures walking and kissing) was not Academy Award winning.

The second short film was titled, "Even the gods get bored". It was not claymation, but had "real" actors. It consisted of a man dressed up a superhero outfit on a chair saying, "It's a good thing there are call girls. " Then a girl ringing the doorbell and showing up in a skimpy Wonder Woman outfit and doing a pole dance. The first character then said, "Are you sure Superman won't mind?" Wonder Woman answered, "Oh, he's out of the picture. The only person we have to worry about is...." Then their was a big boom at the door. The screen went black.

It was a mild form of torture to sit through these films and try not to laugh. Let's just suffice it to say that I avoided the lobby during the break today in an effort to avoid being forced to watch another Luka production.

Fashion, Food, and Apartment Hunting

fashion
Rachel warned me that people here wear the weirdest outfits and I would see some interesting outfits. When I told her that she was overreacting and that so far everyone seemed to dress fairly normal (with a few outlier), her reply was wait until the weather is warmer. I guess there is not much you can mess up when it comes to wearing a winter coat, boots, and other winter wear. Rachel told me her favorite (aka the most outrageous) Belgrade fashion was a woman she saw wearing the boxer-short underwear as shorts with a camisole walking the busy streets of Belgrade. Oh yes, and the woman was wearing high heels (Although, what shoes would look good with that outfit?)

Well, today I had my first encounter with the "true" fashion sense of Belgrade. Today was a warm day, especially considering we just had several days of snow. As I was making my way to class, I saw a woman wearing black pantyhose with black shorts, a black shirt, a long, black wool dress coat, and metallic silver cowboy boots. Let me just say, this combination is not attractive. Most of the elements are fine by themselves (Well, I'm not sure where anyone would wear the metallic silver cowboy boots and be fashionable), but when mixed together...well it was a fashion faux pas. I've decided when warmer weather comes around I will need to carry my camera around with me at all times so I can add a fashion do and a fashion don't section to my blog.

food
I went to a delicious little pub (restaurant) with Kristin (the BVS director) the other night. It was traditional Balkan food. The name of the restaurant was ? The food we ended up getting was very tasty, but there were definitely some options on the menu that made my stomach churn. They had translated the menu into English, but they obviously did it without anyone advising them on how to make the dishes sound more appetizing. Some of the translations included: a young male bull's sex organs, bowels, and some other animal organ dish (I believe it was liver). I did not want to eat any meat entrees that evening after reading the menu. I had a delicious Serbian salad with cheese and bread with cheese (which was the equivalent of square cheese sticks). I also had an excellent dessert, tufahije. It is an apple stuffed with walnuts and baked until it is very soft and juicy. It is then topped with whipped cream. It was delicious.

I'm still looking for a place to live. I have several people at the office who are helping me search. Today I sat with someone at the office and we called several of the places listed in the housing/apartment ads. Most of the places listed could only be contacted through the use of an agency (which costs a lot of money). There was one owner who actually was renting without the use of an agency, but she did not want to rent to an American.

apartment hunting
For now, I am still living at the office. I am hoping to move out as soon as possible. It is nice to have somewhere to live, but very frustrating to not be able to unpack, to not have free use of a kitchen, and to never have time alone. Also, random people come into my "bedroom" (which is really just a storage room with a small bed in it) throughout the day. There have been times when I have come back from class to have see my suitcase partially open (which is was not partially open when I left for class), the windows open, the doors to the balcony open, or the bed completely remade (apparently, the light brown side of the reversible comforter is preferable to some people). There is always someone at the office/apartment. This weekend the other activist who has been living here (for the last two years) has gone home for the weekend, but I am still not alone. Two other activists are staying here for the weekend. The adventures that come with the different apartment guests are endless. They include a woman running around topless, a drunk man appearing at eleven at night and not leaving until after one o'clock (impeding my ability to sleep since I was sleeping in the common area that night), couples making loud kissing noises (which is really annoying), parties, dancing, music, laughter, late night visitors (mainly to use the free Internet), and early morning visitors. Usually I have a room in the back to escape to (there were a few days in which someone else was staying there), but it is not fun to feel confined to one small, cold room. There is no end to the surprises and the chaos. Once again, I should reiterate that I appreciate having somewhere to live and that of course, the random people and their behavior amuses me (in perhaps a perverse manner).

Things I have learned to say in Srpski (Serbian)

Here is a list of the random things I have learned to say in srpski (Serbian):

1. My name is Katie (Ja sam Katie).
2. This is my watch (Ovo je moj sat).
3. This is my book (Ovo je moja knjiga).
4. This is my pen (Ovo je moje pero).
5. That is your watch (To je tvoj sat).
6. That is his book (To je njegova knjiga).
7. That is her pen (To je njeno pero).
8. I am studying Serbian (Ucim srpski).
9. Good morning (Dobro jutro).
10. Good afternoon (Dobar dan).
11. Good night (Laku noc).
12. Are you a student? (Da li si student?)
13. Yes, I am a student (Da, ja sam studentkinja).
14. I am American (Ja sam Amerikanka).*
15. We are friends (Mi smo drugovi).

Unfortunately, there are several vital accent marks missing throughout these translations since I have not yet figured out how to enter them in. I have learned that Serbian nouns change their endings based upon whether or not it is male singular or male plural, female singular or female plural, gender neutral singular or gender neutral plural. They also change their endings if you are using them in a sentence that involves location. For instance, the Serbian name for Belgrade is Beograd, but when I say I work in Belgrade I change the word to Beogradu. Apparently, there is a completely separate ending if you are ask someone if they are going somewhere (but this is too advanced for us to worry about right now).

Things I wish I knew to say in Serbian:

1. Numbers
2. Names for various foods and how to order them.
3. I want/I need
4. Vocabulary for directions
5. I don't speak Serbian.
6. I don't understand.
7. Excuse me (as in please move).
8. Sorry (as in oops I didn't mean to run right into you).
9. The names of the streets (particularly those for the office and school)
10. Do you speak English?
11. I don't like....(fill in the blank with various foods, smells, etc.)
12. Please stop making out in the office and making lip smacking sounds because it is annoying.

*Apparently, people here use the word America interchangeably with USA and American as the equivalent of US citizen (as they do in many other countries from my experience). In fact, when I asked specifically the word for US in class I was told by one professor it was unimportant. The next day's professor was kind enough to teach me the word for US, but still said I should just use America/American.

Sarajevo

Sarajevo was beautiful. It was cold and snowy, but beautiful. We took a short tour of the city. We saw the various architectural styles (influenced by the different empires present in the city throughout the history) and the more famous buildings. We visited several mosques and tried to enter one, but were unable to enter since it was the call to prayer was just about to begin. We saw the infamous library (from which many irreplaceable books were burned during the war), but we did not enter. Our guides informed us some about the current debate in regards to the future of the building. Apparently, there is a political debate (and a debate among the citizens) as to whether or not the library should be restored. It is currently in the same condition it was left after the war (burn marks, bullet marks, and a general postwar look). Some people think it should be restored since it is a symbol of Sarajevo, but others think it should remain as it is as a symbol and a constant reminder of the war and the past.

Our tour of the city was shortened by the cold snow and the fact that several of the other BVSers did not bring proper footwear (several were wearing mary janes or an equivalent in which their socks were exposed to the snow and slush). I was lucky to be wearing my boots. We all stopped in a cafe for coffee, hot chocolate, and tea. I personally had two hot chocolates; others chose to mix it up by getting a coffee and a hot chocolate or a espresso and a coffee. Each of our drinks came with a complimentary chocolate.

We went out to dinner that evening with a local NGO worker (he was previously connected to the Quaker organization with Sarajevo). He was very interesting and gave us some his own personal opinions about the current situation in Sarajevo. On Friday morning (before we returned on the bus to Belgrade), we listened to another speaker who is the coordinator of the Mennonite Central Committee's activities in the Balkans. He shared with us his personal experience of the war. He was within the region during the war working with refugees and various aid organizations. He also shared with us about his current work, and his thoughts on the political situation in Bosnia-Herzegovina (he boiled it down to they are at a political standstill), Kosovo, and Serbia. It was very interesting to hear what he had to say.

Overall, I recommend a visit to Sarajevo to everyone who comes through the city. It was a beautiful city and I look forward to visiting it again. It will be nice to visit when I have more time to see the different parts of the city. I'm sure I will be going back again within the next two years to visit Tory, the BVSer who was placed in Sarajevo.

In other news, I added a second portion on to the bus ride blog entry. Check it out if desired.

Bus Rides Part II

There are many more bus ride adventure stories to be told. The bus ride back from Sarajevo will have to be shared. Look for that to come in the following week...it will most likely be added to the first Bus Rides entry through a careful editing of that blog entry.

However, today's bus ride adventure began with a trip to Rachel's apartment to help her clean before leaving. I ended up spending most of my time making trips from her apartment to the WiB office with stuff I inherited from her (books, dishes, loose change, and a Serbian-English dictionary). However, I also needed to go register with the police again since I had exited the country to go to Sarajevo (I also had to go the police station to let them know I was leaving so they could take me off their massive list of foreigners in Belgrade). Since Rachel was focusing on packing and cleaning, it became my mission to make it to the bus stop where I meet the man who registers me. It seemed like a simple enough mission. If only.

2:45 pm --It began with Rachel dropping Katie off at the corner of a street to catch a bus to get to the bus stop. She is wearing a pair of sneakers and warm Smartwool socks. She wonders if she would have worn her boots, but thinks she will be fine since she won't be doing too much walking. Her sneakers can generally go through several puddles without any worries or uncomfortable wetness. There were two possible buses she could take to her destination -- number 6 or number 7. Unfortunately, number 6 arrives on one side of the six lane street while number seven arrives on the other side of the seven lane street. So, she had to try her luck and pick a corner in hopes that she would pick the one with the first bus to arrive. She did not. To be honest, Katie picked the corner of which she could see the tram stopped about 5o yards away from the actual bus stop. She thought they were taking a short break to switch drivers. She waited for about ten minutes at this corner on the break to end. She then realized that it was not a short break, but a permanent stop since the tram was empty. During the time it took her to figure this out two number seven buses had passed by on the other street corner (She might add they were one after another so my opportunity to cross the street after she saw one was not a long enough one to make the second bus). Rachel had told her that she had the option of crossing the six lanes of traffic if she wanted in order to catch the bus. The idea of running out in the middle of the busy street in the slush and snow did not seem like a good idea to her; it didn't seem like a good idea to any of the other pedestrians who also waited for the pedestrian crossing lights.

2:53 pm -- Katie crossed over to the other street corner after the realization that tram number 6 was permanently stopped on the tram tracks making any other number six arrivals unlikely.

3:00 pm -- Katie is still waiting in the wet, cold snow/rain/slush for a number seven bus. Katie is starting to get a little nervous about timing. Rachel has said before to her that everyone in Serbia runs late. She never calls ahead to say she is running late unless she knows she will be at least fifteen minutes late. Katie is trying to keep this advice in mind.

3:15 pm -- Tram number seven arrives. Katie boards this tram. She feels more confident in her ability to arrive at the destination. She just needs to keep her eyes focused to the left and looking out for the large Lilly store on the corner. She reminds herself over and over, "Get off at the stop after the Lilly store on the corner. Get off at the stop after the Lilly store on the corner. The Lilly store will be on the left. The Lilly store will be on the left."

3:18 pm -- Some older woman in a fur coat and fur hat asks Katie a question in Serbian. Katie stares at her in confusion and nods her head no. A young man then answers the woman's question (in Serbian, of course). Little did Katie know that this information was perhaps vital to the success of her trip.

3:19 pm -- The tram stops at the first stop since Katie's boarding of the tram. Everyone exits the tram as the tram operator stands up and yells something. Katie stands up and stands by the door in utter confusion as the bus driver instructs a middle-aged woman about something (in Serbian). Katie exits the tram. She begins to worry about how she will ever arrive at her destination since she does not even know the actual street names of her destination. She attempts to ask someone (in English, of course) what is going on, but is stared at and then roundly ignored.

3:22 pm -- Katie paces back and forth at the bus stop. She sees a bus with the number six pulling up to the bus stop. She decides to take a chance that bus number six uses the same route as tram number six. She jumps onto bus number six punching yet another all-purpose (tram, trolley, and bus) ticket as she enters. She finds a seat on the left side to keep an eye out for the promised Lilly corner store.

3:27 pm -- Bus number stops at a bus stop, starts to pull out, and finds itself stuck in the snow. The passengers all hold their breath in anticipation as to whether or not the bus will be able to get out of the snow if the bus driver pushes down on the gas enough. This strategy does not seem to be working. Katie is hoping that it works even though her past experiences with snows and wheels have shown that pushing the gas harder and harder several times is a very poor strategy.

3:29 pm -- The strategy doesn't work. Everyone exits the bus. Katie is thoroughly frustrated and very, very cold. She starts following the other passengers who are walking. She hopes she is following them to a bus station. She turns around to see that another number six bus is pulling up behind the first one (which is still stuck in the snow) and has graciously stopped to let the ten or twelve people (who stayed by the bus rather than walked) onto the bus. Katie turns around, runs full speed down the block without care to snow piles and slush puddles to catch this bus. She arrives just as the bus pulls away to be standing next to an elderly woman who is also trying to get on the bus. (The elderly woman had been standing waiting for the bus, but was having trouble making it through the slush and snow). Katie stares in frustration as the bus continues down the street. She then turns and walks back up the block she had just run down with soaking feet. Her toes are not very happy. She walks to what she believes may or may not be a bus station. She waits for another bus.

3:39 pm -- Another number six bus arrives. Katie boards this bus with an anxious eye on her watch and a naive hope that things will start to go easily. Silly Katie.

3:45 pm -- Katie sees the Lilly drug store on the corner. She jumps up, scoots past the grandmother sitting beside her, and stands behind several men (one of which also just stood up). She thinks she sees the man she is meeting through the shoulders, heads and hats; she is feeling a slight sense of victory. Katie gets in some sort of line or clump to get off the bus. By the time she realizes the men are not actually moving, she starts to push her way through. (This is a time when she realizes the words Excuse me in Serbian would be very helpful). She reaches the door just as it is closing; the fingers that were starting to go out the door are quickly drawn back. She tries to get the bus driver's attention to stop the bus and reopen the doors, but to no avail. She feels a rising wave of frustration and desperation as she watches her destination slowly fade away.

3:50 pm -- Katie exits the bus at what is the first stop since her destination passed. She runs full speed through the shin deep snow in an effort to catch the man. She also splashes through several puddles. Her feet have stopped crying out in pain and are now numb. But there is a nice, watery, squishy sound going on when she walks. She arrives at her destination point to not find her guide to the police station. A feeling of defeat washes over her. She is now unsure of what to do. She decides the only option is getting on the bus again to take her back to her original starting point. She waits with numb feet and painfully cold legs in the cold.

3:55 pm -- Katie gets on another number six bus. She rides the bus for about ten minutes only to have the bus stop and everyone exit the bus. Katie also exits the bus, but for what reason she does not know. She sees another number six bus sitting right in front of this bus and realizes this must be some sort of end of the line stop. She follows a few other passengers onto this bus. She sits for a minute or two before the bus pulls out and she is headed on her way back to her destination. She did not make it register with the police, but she has until tomorrow evening (then her 72 hours will expire). She is frustrated, but excited to be heading to somewhere warm where she can put on dry socks, pants, and shoes and can wring her socks out over the sink and empty her shoes of the water.

4:03 pm -- The bus gets stuck in the snow. By now, you all know the drill. Katie then walks the streets in utter confusion. She walks to what appears to be the nearest bus stop and waits for 3 or 4 minutes. Several buses come by (None of which are the numbers she needs, or it would be more accurate to say the numbers which she knows she can take and arrive somewhere remotely near her destination.) then Katie makes the startling realization that she could have passed a vital bus stop and she does not even know how far the bus goes before it would be turning onto the street where she started. She does not know the name of the street where she started. She then realizes that her feet are probably going to be frostbitten if she doesn't start moving and try to keep warm. She keeps walking. She walks for ten more minutes before she realizes she needs to find a way back to warmth, but this is a problem since she also doesn't know the name of the street where the office is located. She arrives at the conclusion that she must take a taxi to the only landmark she knows that is near the office from which she plans to walk to the office. She debates whether or not it is worth the precious dinars for a taxi to keep all ten of her toes. She decides it might be worth it. She then must find a taxi. This proves to be another challenge since the first few taxis to pass are already in use. She finds a free taxi, but quickly realizes it is stuck in the snow. She keeps walking. She had learned the previous day that one of the tricks to city living is to avoid getting to close to the street when cars are driving fast in the snow and water. This proves difficult while also trying to be seen by passing taxis. A most lovely taxi driver stops. Katie steps into the taxi, asks for Hotel Moskow, and listens to the lovely background music. In the ten minute drive, Katie realizes she is having serious doubts about this whole Serbian adventure lifestyle. The beauty of Indiana is calling her. She arrives at Hotel Moskow, pays the taxi driver a small chunk of the dinars in her wallet. (The equivalent of 3 and a half euros -- not bad, but still not something to part easily with in the world of a lowly volunteer.) Katie tries to walk as quickly as possible to the office to change into dry socks, pants, and shoes.

4:30 pm She arrives at the office. She changes her socks, pants, and shoes. She wrings her socks out in the sink and wonders when they will ever dry. She is grateful that she was wearing her Smartwool hiking socks rather than regular socks and briefly wonders how many toes she would be missing if she had been wearing regular socks. She calls Rachel to inform her of the mishap. She asks Rachel to call the man she was to meet and apologize for her and explain the situation. She promises Rachel to come back to help clean the apartment (cart more inherited things to the office) after an hour or two, when she warms up. She jumps into bed under the covers and tries to get warm by putting on numerous socks, sweaters and blankets.

Much later, Katie walks to Rachel's without mishap, talks to Rachel (and hears about Rachel's own horrors that occurred while Katie was away -- which mainly consisted of a conversation with M, the landlady) and hears Rachel's advice of looking on the positive side for the small things that go well. Katie decides the small, good things that happened that day were the following: she arrived at Rachel's apartment a few minutes ago with dry socks and shoes (boots); she did not get bit, kicked, or hit by any person or animal; and she now knows how to travel back and forth from the WiB office to an apartment which she will no longer be moving into and will probably never visit after today.

Bus rides

On Wednesday morning, Rachel and I took a bus to Sarajevo. It was a seven hour bus ride. I slept fitfully throughout a good portion of the bus ride. We stopped at many small towns along the way. As we drove throughout Serbia and Bosnia-Herzegovina, I saw lots of small towns and countryside. We took several hairpin turns in a large bus on snowy mountains. Not the most secure feeling. As we drove through Republika Srpska (the Serb part of Bosnia-Herzegovina), I noticed a lot of signs in Cyrillic. I kept thinking I was still in Serbia. Rachel informed me that Republika Srpska was actually more adamant and vigilant about using the Cyrillic alphabet than people in Serbia. When we arrived in Sarajevo, we wanted to get off in the center of the city. However, we were unable to get off in the center of the city. We had to go all the way through Sarajevo to the Serb side of Sarajevo (which is actually a small town/suburb of Sarajevo). Several people also seemed to want to get out of the bus in the center of the city; they stood up in the aisles and waited for the doors to be opened. Rachel made the comment that our bus ride went out of the way to drive through anywhere Serbian (adding more tortuous time to the extensive journey). I will add more soon about our adventures in Sarajevo and the return bus ride. I am now going to help Rachel clean out her flat before she leaves tonight.

Part 2 of Sarajevo bus rides:

The bus ride back to Belgrade from Sarajevo was just as interesting as the one there. It started off in a flurry of excitement. First, Rachel and I left the Kairos Center (where we had stayed during our retreat) to change some money. We both needed to change some of the euros Kristin gave us into Bosnian money to buy our bus tickets home (We also needed to purchase tickets for the ride to the Serbian part of Sarajevo to catch a bus back to Belgrade). Unfortunately, the bank we chose (the closest bank) only had one cashier working for exchanging money and making withdrawals. The man in front of us decided to withdraw more than 10,000 euros from his account creating a scurry of activity in the bank. There were questions as the whether the bank had enough money, and what steps needed to be taken before giving him the money. Needless to say, the process of exchanging money took us much longer than we anticipated. So then we bought our bus tickets for the ride to the Serbian part of Sarajevo (where we could go to the Serbian bus station to purchase a ticket to go to Belgrade). We were able to get a bus almost immediately to take us to the other side of town. The only problem was the bus was packed. VERY crowded....making getting on the bus with a backpack a difficult task. I was also carrying my purse (which was actually a messenger bag that was stuffed full). However, we succeeded in getting in and were able to avoid getting smashed by the door that bumped up against my backpack as it closed. We were unable to even make it to the ticket puncher to get our tickets punched. (All of the buses, trolleys and trams in both Belgrade and Sarajevo have several special ticket punchers located throughout the bus...one close to each door. You must put your ticket in this device and pull a lever in order to get it punched. Each bus has a unique number combination that is punched.)

Several bus stops later we were still standing with our stuff without room to maneuver as people entered and exited the bus. We were definitely not a hit with the townspeople. Eventually a seat opened up. A young lady who had just entered the bus successfully pushed her way through to the seat. We continued standing awkwardly. Another seat opened and I was able to sit down. Rachel got to sit down about two bus stops later. The bus started to slowly empty more and more. We got to one bus stop away from our desired destination and two officers came onto the bus. Everyone in the bus quickly exited out of the bus (in the opposite direction of the door the officers had just entered. Everyone except Rachel, the lady sitting across from me, and me. They came to check our tickets (to make sure they were punched properly and we weren't riding without paying).

As mentioned before, we did not have our tickets punched and to make matters worse I had dropped my ticket somewhere in the process of getting elbowed in the face (twice), kicked in the shin, pushed, shoved, and manhandled. I had been holding it in my hand along with a plastic bag (of our snacks for the long return journey) and had not been able to put it in my pocket since I did not have room to move an inch. I realized I had lost/dropped my ticket when I sat down but was helpless to do anything about it. I figured the chances of getting checked were not that great and I really didn't have any other options (by this time we were starting to worry about making our bus).

The officers questioned Rachel as to why her ticket was not punched. The other officer asked the woman across from me for her ticket. She just nodded her head no. The officer asked her a few questions and she pulled out a card to show him. I am assuming that it was a bus pass of some sort, or perhaps her phone number. The officer then moved to question me; I was frantically searching through the plastic bag in hopes the ticket had fallen in there. It hadn't. Since we were in a hurry, Rachel said we would just have to pay him rather than look further or try to explain the situation. I ended up having to use some of my much needed Bosnian money (I had only gotten enough for the return tickets). I think the rapid transaction worked against me, particularly since he and I both did not have exact amounts or change. I ended up paying him a hefty sum which was the equivalent of 25 euros. I received some sort of paper stating I had paid a fine. In my opinion, this was not a fair trade. I was hoping to return from Sarajevo with a different type of souvenir.

Rachel and I quickly exited the bus and began running full speed up a snowy hill to catch our bus. We were now running fifteen minutes late for the bus. Rachel informed me earlier that amazingly buses usually left the station on time or only a few minutes after their scheduled time. I was also keenly aware that if we missed this bus (the 3 o'clock bus), we would need to wait until 11pm to catch the next bus. Not a happy thought. So we ran full speed up the hill, hauling our luggage with us (as previously mentioned I had a backpack and a messenger bag). We saw two buses coming down the hill. Rachel and I ran out in the middle of the street, watched the first bus pass, crossed over to the other side of the street, and ran beside the second bus (our desired bus) in an effort to get the driver to stop. The bus stopped. We got on the bus and attempted to collect our breath.

The bus attendant came back to collect our money for our tickets. (Both on the way to Sarajevo and the return journey there was a bus attendant who collected the money or tickets from anyone who came onto the bus at one of the many bus stops between the original departure and the final destination. The bus attendant also became the bus driver about halfway through the journey when the bus driver and attendant switch roles.) Rachel explained that I did not have enough Bosnian money for the ticket and worked out a deal for me in which I was able to pay in Serbian dinars. This left me with some Bosnian money in my wallet. The fine was not quite as large an amount as the bus ticket would have been. It was only about two-thirds of the amount of the bus ticket. I'm sure I will use this money in one of my many anticipated travels to Bosnia (through WiB or my own personal explorations), but it would have been preferable not to have such a large amount of Bosnian money left over.

About three hours into the journey the bus attendant went through the aisle with candy. Everyone was able to have a free piece of fruit flavored hard candy with a soft, fruit flavored center. I picked a nice cherry flavor. Obviously, this bus was trying to provide better customer service than other bus lines by offering a free piece of candy. To add the icing to the cake, we were later treated to a movie (this bus had two televisions in it). I thought I was in luck when the movie was first put in and the credits were in English. Well, I was wrong. The movie was titled Death Train (not what you want to be watching when you are riding a bus in the dark with hairpin turns in a foreign country). The movie was awful. I could not actually hear it (the volume was turned very low since there were Serbian subtitles), but dialogue was not necessary to follow the plot. The plot involved some sort of military person who became a monk as some sort of penance for his fellow soldier (and friend) dying while they were in action. He felt some sort of guilt and responsibility, but it was unclear how exactly it was his fault and how being a monk was helpful. The villains stole a virus and hijacked a train that his monk just happened to be traveling on with a young, single mother and her son. There were lots of slow motion scenes for unnecessarily dramatic action. My favorite part was when they had an action shot in slow motion of two girls running away from the villains' speeding SUV because the SUV was going so fast it was going to splash water upon them. They were not running in fear of gunfire, an explosion, but from the six foot high splash of water. Oh, the horror of it all.

Most of my fellow passengers seemed just as disenchanted with this film. Most of those sitting near me spent time napping or listening to music. The two Serbian soldiers (who got on somewhere in Bosnia) may have enjoyed the film, but I cannot actually vouch for that since they were at the very front of the bus and I was at the very back of the bus (giving me zero interaction with them, thankfully).

Humphrey Bogart...and other matters.

Sunday evening I went to see the movie Becoming Jane (about Jane Austen) with Rachel. I have found that it is actually pretty easy to find U.S. movies here in English (it seems subtitles are more common than dubbing thankfully). They may be released here several months later, but eventually they will come (or at least some of them). This was the second time I had been to this theater; I went with Rachel to see a movie there on Friday evening. In this movie theater, the screening rooms are not labeled by numbers but each is named after a classic movie star (Humphrey Bogart, Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, etc.). We were in the Humphrey Bogart room again. This is the smallest of the screening rooms. There are about fifty seats in the room; it has four or five rows of eight seats across. In order to make things more exciting and infinitely more complicated, you are assigned a seat when you buy a ticket. After you are directed towards the correct screening room, a man guarding the door checks your ticket and directs you to the correct seat. Well, the four of us (two of Rachel's friends, who are swiftly becoming my friends, joined us) sat down in the wrong seats. We were to be sitting in seats five, six, seven and eight. We sat in seats two, three, four, and five. This was easily fixed by the four of us moving down one seat so that were instead seated in seats one, two, three and four. Still not the correctly assigned seats, but everyone seemed happy. I was even more grateful that nobody put up a fuss when another couple arrived to sit in the row behind us. This couple had reserved their seats in advance (You can call several days in advance to reserve your preferred seats if you pay extra). Unfortunately, someone was already sitting in their seats. The movie had not yet started but the previews had started five or ten minutes ago. The two people who had knowingly (unlike us innocent foreigners) sat in the wrong seats refused to move up to their correct seats. (Since this particular room is so tiny and the screen so large sitting in one of the first two rows is very undesirable.) Then the employee who guards the door and directs the customers to their seats came in to see what all the commotion was about and why there will still people standing. The mother and daughter duo who were sitting in the incorrect seats then proceeded to tell the employee that they would not move and it was the couple's fault for arriving fifteen minutes late. The couple then stated that they had paid extra and would prefer to sit there. The mother then ranted and raved at the employee for several minutes but did not actually move. The employee (a suave, twenty something man who seemed to be working there more for the social interactions with his fellow employees and customers) balked and went to go get a supervisor. The supervisor came in, listened to the same spiel from the mother, stopped the movie (the previews), turned on the lights, and commenced to tell the woman she could move or leave. She again began to go into another tirade for a few minutes; during this time the woman in the couple said she would be willing to sit in the other seats. However, the supervisor made sure the woman and her daughter moved so they could have their reserved seats (which they paid extra to receive). The woman and her daughter decided that instead of moving up to their assigned seats they would sit on the bar stools that were placed on the steps. The movie was then able to begin again. In my humble opinion, this is a moral lesson on why assigned seating in movie theaters should not exist.

In other news, I had my first official class today. There were four of us (students) for the first twenty minutes and then there were three. One guy got pulled out and promoted several levels; he was able to hold a long conversation with the teacher in Serbian. The other two students are both older adults (over forty years old) and are already more advanced than I. The woman has been living in Serbia for two years, but just now decided to take lessons. She wasn't sure how long she would be here and whether it would be worth taking lessons until she just recently found out her husband's job is a permanent position. The man is from Australia (but is Italian making him Italian Australian) and took several lessons before coming to Serbia. He told me that he had been regularly meeting with someone for several hours a week for about a year before he recently arrived for practice. Their most important advantage lies in that they are both married to Serbians and thus have their own personal tutor. I have decided that people who are married or living with native Serbians have an unfair advantage and should be put in a separate class.

We spent today's class learning the alphabet(s) and practicing pronunciation. This was done by our teacher saying several words in Serbian and us (or I should say me) trying and failing to repeat them. I have not yet trained my ears to hear the difference between several of the letters. There are thirty letters in the Serbian alphabets; I have to learn both the Cyrillic alphabet and the Latin alphabet. We will meet five times a week for two forty-five minute sessions with a five minute break in between the two sessions. Sadly, I will be missing three of the days this week since I will be in Sarajevo. After being the most faithful student in attendance (by showing up twice last week to find no other students), I will become the least faithful.

I also found a possible apartment. It is a 20-25 minute bus ride from the center of town, but is in a nice, quiet part of Belgrade. It is a small studio apartment (meaning everything is in one big open room, or in this case in one small open room). The bed is a futon bed which is my couch for the day. It comes with a desk, a refrigerator, a stove, an oven, a washer (for clothes not dishes), a bureau/dresser, and some cabinets. If I were to rent this apartment, I would also have a small balcony. It has nice wooden floors and is in a new building. Although it is far from the center of town (where the WiB office and my language school are located), it still has all the necessities nearby (a post office, a BIG grocery store, a green market, and a commonly frequented bus stop). I haven't signed anything, but so far it is looking to be very promising.

Apartments, Letters, and Politics

Last night I went to Rachel's to eat dinner. She made some excellent Indian food. I was very impressed considering her oven looks like a microwave with a stove on top. While I was there my goal was to talk to Rachel's landlord to work out details for me to move in. The last two BVS volunteers have lived in this apartment (a grand total of 4 years). The apartment is fairly small with one large bedroom, a bathroom, a small kitchen/dining area (a table crammed in the corner of the kitchen area), and a storage room with a bed in it. (The room is actually not considered part of the apartment via the lease, but has been used by past BVSers for hosting visitors.) I would say the main common living space is the small table in the kitchen area. It is a rectangular table with two booth chairs. It is actually about the same size as a four person booth at a restaurant. The other thing that should be noted in the description of this apartment is the fact that most of the landlord's belongings remain in the apartment. This takes the form of bookshelves full of her books, porcelain figurines and knickknacks, all of kitchenware and utensils (which is actually a bonus), and most cabinets filled with her random belongings. The storage room is also full of her stuff. When the landlord left to live in Arizona, she mainly took her clothes; all other belongings were left in the apartment.

The landlady, whom I will refer to as M, has been living in Arizona the last four years with her sister. She came back about a week before I arrived for a 3 month visit. Rachel was given seven hours notice about her arrival. (It actually would have been about 30 hours notice but Rachel hadn't checked her email until about seven hours before M arrived.) When she came back she told Rachel she would be staying with her for a week or two. She then planned to get a hotel or stay with friends. She said she needed that time to get some things fixed up in the apartment (the walls are cracking, there are plumbing issues, etc.). M made several comments to Rachel about how things in the apartment had deteriorated from the state she had left them in. Apparently, she thought that upon her return everything would be just as sparkling new as when she left four years ago.

Anyway, here it is three weeks later and M is still living there. She told Rachel the other night that after looking into hotels it was too expensive and she would just be staying there until she returned to the U.S. (In January!). So, I was informed a few days ago that the first few months of my stay in the apartment would be extra cozy with M joining me (She is actually been sleeping on the bed in the storage room, but shares the kitchen and bathroom with Rachel.) Her unanticipated presence for the next few months was not the greatest news in my mind, but no other alternatives were available. However, paying full rent for the months she remained did not seem reasonable to me. M also mentioned to Rachel that she planned on raising the rent. BVS had been getting a very good deal on the apartment, particularly for its location (It's in the center of town. A fifteen minute walk from the WiB office.). They got a discount (this meant the rent was not raised from the rate the previous volunteer was paying) on the rent two years ago since Rachel signed a lease agreeing to stay there for her entire two year term.

Obviously, there were several issues I planned to discuss last night with M (finding out the new rent price, discussing a fair rate for while she was staying, figuring out how to divide the electric, water, and phone bills while she remained, etc.). After sitting down with her at the table (while Rachel washed the dishes), I began the discussion by asking her how much she was planning to charge for rent. Her new rent price would be raising the previous cost by a hundred euros! She wanted to go from charging 150 euros per month to 250 euros per month. All discussions of division of bills (while she remained) flew out of my head. I knew Kristin (the BVS Europe Coordinator) would not agree to this price. I tried to wheel and deal my way into a new price by agreeing to a two year lease, playing the poor volunteer card, and telling her flat out that this price would not work. She was adamant about her new price. M stated her nephew would be moving here next month and she had been looking for an apartment for him and realized her price was way too low. The place she found him would be three hundred euros a month and was located on the outskirts of town rather than the center. She said with the raise in rent prices in Belgrade and the repairs she would need to do in the apartment she could not go any lower. I was expecting her to raise it to 200 euros and to try to get her to lower it by even a mere 10 euros to 190 euros a month.

I no longer have a plan as to where I will be living. However, I already have some leads. Several of Rachel's friends (and my new friends) have already offered to help find me a place if I have not found one before Rachel leaves. In fact, one of them knows of an apartment that is opening up next week for a reasonable price (under 200 euros). It is not located in the center of town and would require that I took a twenty minute bus ride each morning and evening, but is supposed to be a spacious, new apartment. I'm sure it will be an interesting adventure (and headache) to find somewhere to live. Several other BVSers located in the Balkans have moved numerous times during their term. One has moved so many times in her three years that she has a specific taxi company that she calls who also assists her in the moving process (carrying all of her luggage). My hope is that I will not be one of the legendary nomadic volunteers, but will only have to move once or twice during my tenure here.

In other news, I am anxious to learn the language. So far my attempts have only been met with failure. I signed up for a language course last Tuesday and was told that a new class would be starting the next day. I was the only student to show up. Class was cancelled. They said they would call everyone and we would try again on Friday. I showed up...nobody else did....class was cancelled. Round three takes place on Monday. Until then I have my sturdy Teach Yourself Serbian book and mp3 files (that I inherited from Rachel). I am still on the first lesson...trying to learn the Cyrillic and Latin alphabets and their sounds. I now have ten out of thirty letters down (or at least my version of what I believe them to be). For instance, I now know that the letter H (from the Serbian Latin alphabet) is actually written as the letter X in Cyrillic. But there is another letter in the Serbian Latin alphabet whose corresponding Cyrillic letter looks to me like a lowercase letter H. Are you confused? Well, I am. I am infinitely confused. I think I will be living in a constant state of confusion here. Or at least for a while.

Finally, I have been trying to get a feel for the political nature of Serbia especially after reading various news articles before my arrival here about the upcoming Kosovo decision in the national (U.S.) news. Unfortunately, my understanding and observations are deeply hindered by the language barrier. Although things at WiB always seem to have a political nature to them, I am curious to know more about the common people's (or the general population's) opinions and positions. Here are the few limited observations I have thus far...starting with the fact that there are many posters hanging in the pedestrian underpass which state, "It was, It is, and It will be Serbian" with a map of Kosovo on them. Interestingly, these posters are posted both in English and Serbian (Hence, the only reason I understand them.). They also do not say who put them up or is sponsoring them. There is a website listed, but no actual political party or nationalist organization listed on the poster.

The second observation comes from the limited conversations I have had with the few people I have met here since my arrival who speak English (both in and out of WiB). Several of them have mentioned that even though they hope for a change in the political situation, they don't actually believe it will happen anytime soon. They do not foresee a change in the nationalistic stance of the government anytime soon. As to whether that is their pessimistic view or a realistic view, I do not know. I'm sure only time will tell.

Another interesting observation lies in the economic situation within Belgrade (and the rest of Serbia from what I'm told). I have met several young people who are unemployed and are in a constant search for a job. I have been told that it is impossible to live in Belgrade alone; the rent cannot be paid on one salary alone. There is a volunteer at WiB who is currently living in the office due to economic restraints. There is another visiting from outside of Belgrade who is here on a mission to find a job. Her family is financially dependent upon her. Her mother is severely ill and cannot work, her father is dead, and her younger brother is still in elementary school. Therefore, it has fallen upon her to find a job. If you walk down the streets of Belgrade, you will see tons of people gathered at windows. At one point there were so many people gathered around one window that I thought for sure something exciting must be going on (an in store robbery or an amazingly insane sale), but all fourteen of the people were gathered around the one window to window shop. It is the common form of entertainment in Belgrade. Nobody can afford to buy anything, so they window shop. I must say the window displays are much more exciting than the ones back home (or at least in Indianapolis), but it is still not my preferred method of shopping. It leaves me to wonder who is actually buying the goods within the store that allow them to stay open. I have seen very few people actually walking around with shopping bags on the main thoroughfare. There is an endless array of shops, but no actual buyers. The main shopping street even has little stands set up where people can buy bags of popcorn to eat as they window shop. It is the original Belgrade form of entertainment.

The final observation is the interesting way in which the stability/instability of the Kosovo situation is related to the stability/instability of the Bosnian situation. Here is a link to an interesting article about this link if you are interested in reading more about the situation: http://www.birn.eu.com/en/110/10/5478/

Okay, that is all for now from me. I am headed to Sarajevo next week on Wednesday for a few days for the BVS Balkans Annual Regional Retreat. I'm looking forward to seeing the city and reuniting with Tory and Katie (my travel companions in Geneva and on the train until we parted in Zagreb).

New York, New York

Last night's fun did not stop with the bank. It continued with a trip to a jazz cafe with Rachel and a WiB activist, Nena (pronounced Nay-na). Nena is a spry sixty-eight years old. Rachel and I met her outside of her apartment. We then took a bus across the bridge to Zemun, a suburb of Belgrade. (I was told it used to be considered its own town, but now it is a part of Belgrade. Further research shows that it is actually one of the 17 municipalities that make up the City of Belgrade.) Zemun was historically a part of the Austro-Hungarian empire, whereas the other part of Belgrade was part of the Ottoman empire. Therefore, the architecture in Zemun is noticeably different. It suits my tastes much better than the architecture of gray, bland Belgrade. Nena grew up in Zemun and was able to point out some of the buildings where her friends had lived as she was growing up. Nena's friends were waiting for us at the cafe; they had saved us a table. The jazz band is made up of a random collection of musicians. They play every Tuesday evening at this cafe. Whoever shows up plays. Last night we had a pianist, three drummers (they took turns playing the drum set and the bongos), a man playing the banjo, a man playing the guitar, a trombone player, a clarinet, a trumpet, and a bass. All of the musicians were older men. Two were retired musicians (the trumpet and the trombone players), several were retired, and some had professional jobs (one was a psychologist and one a urologist). A saxophonist later joined the band after sitting in the table next to us for the first hour and a half. He pulled his instrument out from under the table and everyone immediately began clapping. Nena (who speaks very little English) warned Rachel and I that a lot of crazy grandmas would get up and dance around the room. Which they did. There were also several elderly couples dancing. It was more hilarious to watch Nena laughing at them dancing than to actually laugh at their dancing. There were only a few of them that were outlandish dancers. There was also some drunk old man who danced with one of Nena's friends. He also kept getting Rachel and I to dance with him. I found the best strategy was to avoid eye contact with him so that he would then focus his attentions on persuading Rachel to dance. Unfortunately, he really needed to zip his fly making his dramatic gestures (some of which included trying to kiss our hands, kneeling on one knee, and numerous others) all the more hilarious. The music was wonderful. They were obviously very talented musicians. The best part was the enjoyment they got from playing their instruments and playing together. None of them were getting paid so all of them were there out of their love for the music. The evening ended with a bizarre twist of a short, stocky man singing a song in Italian and a song in English (which everyone in the cafe singing along, or at least singing their own version of what the they thought the words should sound like). After he had finished the second song, the president of the musicians club got up to announce that he would be singing one extra song that night in honor of the American guests (Rachel and I). So he ended up belting out New York, New York with everyone in the cafe once again singing along in their badly accented English. I am looking forward to joining Nena again in the future. However, a return trip might have to be delayed for several months until I can learn enough Serbian to be able to interact with her without Rachel as our mediator/personal translator.

Morrison?

Yesterday I went with Rachel to set up a bank account. We went to the same bank she uses; it is close to the apartment where I will be living. She said it is also a great bank because everyone there speaks English. When we went in the afternoon there was a very long line. We decided to come back later when the line would be shorter (Rachel said there was hardly ever a long line.). We headed back to the bank about an hour before it closes. Rachel said it would be a quick, easy process; they asked her for her address in the states, her cell phone number, and to see her passport. Unfortunately, the line was long again. Since we had plans later in the evening, Rachel went to get us a snack and I waited in line. I waited in line for twenty or thirty minutes before it was my finally my turn. Or so I thought. This older woman who had been sitting there since I first walked in the door suddenly jumped up to be next. I had thought she was waiting for a relative or friend since she had let the previous six people in front of me go before her. So, the next bank employee was mine. As fate would have it, she did not speak English. Even though everyone Rachel has ever encountered at this bank in her two years of living here has spoken English. She went to get someone else to help me. The second woman spoke English and understood me (as long as I talked very slowly), but was unable to open an account for me. She did not have the proper authority. She then moved me to a comfy, plush chair to sit and wait for the appropriate personnel to assist me. Ten minutes later a tall, blond approached me and told me to follow her. I then followed her through a password encrypted door to a hallway/stairway. Judging by the foreboding lighting, I knew I did not want to go downstairs. Luckily, we went through yet another password encrypted door. I then proceeded to open a bank account. If only the excitement stopped there. This process took at least twenty minutes; most of this time I was left alone at her desk while she ran around asking people to translate words for her, finding the proper documents, and making copies of all the official documents. Unlike Rachel's experience two years ago, I was required to give my U.S. address, my Belgrade address, my U.S. telephone number, and my Belgrade cell phone number. She also asked for my father's name. I asked her twice if she wanted the first name to which she responded yes. She had me write it down for her. So for a reason I do not understand, my bank account is listed under the name Katie Elizabeth (Morrison) Mahuron. I was given an identification card to bring to the bank each time I came to make a withdrawal, asked to sign several documents (all in Serbian), and given a printout with the needed information for BVS to wire my monthly stipend to me. Of course, the name on my bank identification card is my name with my father's first name in parentheses. When I asked her if she understood that this was my father's first name that was listed in parentheses on my bank identification card, she then proceeded to tell me, "Yes, your name is here. Your bank account number, here." Helpful? No, I think not.

Taste of the town

Since arriving in Belgrade I have had some difficulty understanding the normal feeding schedule. Therefore, one day I ended up eating two lunches. I grabbed one with Rachel (my predecessor) after running errands and before returning to the office only to realize when we got back to the office that a mini feast was taking place. Of course, we were required to sit down and participate. Since I am still living in the office bedroom/storage room for another two weeks (until Rachel vacates her apartment), I do not have much control over my meals. There is a small kitchen in the office, but there is little food. There is also always someone in the office who I do not want to witness my freakishly horrid cooking skills.

In the eight days since I have been here, I have also had two days with only two meals and one day with only one meal. Going to bed hungry is an interesting feeling. In the last few days I have taken my stomach's happiness into my own hands. I have taken evening "walks" which included going to the mini mart and stopping at street vendors for food. This way I am guaranteed an evening meal (a guaranteed breakfast is a work in progress). The last few evenings have been interesting eating experiences. I end up pointing at food items and hoping that the vendor understands what exactly I want. One evening I got a delicious piece of cheese pizza, the next evening at the same vendor I got an interesting variety of pizza. After taking the first bite I realized there was some type of hidden meat on the pizza. The second bite provided the answer: a large round slice of bologna was under the cheese. I believe the look of disgust on my face was mistaken for a look of disapproval to the two teenagers making out by the bus stop. Needless to say, the bologna slice had to go.

I also had my first encounter with kajmak, a uniquely Serbian food. I am told it cannot be found anywhere else in the world. It is illegal to import into the United States, but I have read of people sneaking it in to the U.S. in jars of Nivea lotion or cream (on the requests of Serbian friends and relatives living in the U.S.). It is made with the stuff that is taken off the milk to make it low fat. Apparently, it's considered the best part of the milk. It has a consistency that is something in between hummus and brie cheese. I had some on pita bread and was pleasantly surprised by this phenomena. I promise to try to smuggle some back upon my return in two years.

Perhaps my favorite culinary experience since arriving in Serbia is hot chocolate. It is very thick, almost like pudding (especially towards the end). I am told that some cafes make it so that the entire cup is as thick as pudding. It was rich, and soothing on a cold, rainy day. I am eager to have more. I am not as eager to have more Serbian coffee which is modeled off of the Turkish coffee. I admit to being biased since I am not a huge coffee fan back home either. However, the coffee is made by pouring boiling water over coffee grounds. There are free floating coffee grounds within the coffee and tradition calls for drinking them at the very end. I will defer a final opinion on this matter to someone who enjoys coffee -- the first to come visit and offer their opinion will be posted on the blog.

Tonight I tried ice cream in order to acquiesce the demands of my online commentators (aka the Library Lady). They keep it in silver containers (very similar to the ones that cafeteria food is dished out of) and it looks delicious. There are real nuts, pieces of fruit, and chocolate bits in the ice cream. It looks more like mousse than ice cream. I ended up getting a mixed berry flavor with frozen cherries and blackberries in the ice cream. The ice cream itself was a consistency that mingled somewhere between ice cream, gelato, frozen yogurt, and a slushy. I think it will be more appealing on hot, humid summer days.