Monday, December 31, 2007
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.
Friday, December 14, 2007
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
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
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)
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)
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, December 4, 2007
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."
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."
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