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.

Things that don't exist in Serbia...

1. Dryers -- This means all laundry must air dry. I'm sure this is great for the environment but I'm not so sure this is great for me. This means you must take into consideration the time needed for air drying when you are getting close to your last pair of socks. It also means all of your underwear has that stiff air dried jeans feeling.

2. Shower curtains -- This means all showers create a minor flood in the bathroom. This is viewed as perfectly normal. Everyone just keeps an extra towel beside the shower to wipe up all the water when you are finished showering.

3. No smoking sections -- Everyone here smokes and they smoke everywhere. I am already getting used to all of my clothes and possessions smelling like smoke. Apparently there are random crackdowns on smoking (particularly around the computers) in the WiB office. So far, I have not seen this but I have been forewarned. Just when I think I am completely adapted to this aspect someone blows smoke into my face just as my mouth is open to take another bite of my pizza. It adds a whole new meaning to exotic food flavors.

4. Convenience stores -- Everything is in small stores and stands. Each store specializes in one or two products. There aren't any ma and pop stores that carry a little bit of everything or any Walmarts, Targets or Kmarts that carry lots of everything. This means I have no idea where I would find the basic things such as batteries, dish soap, toilet paper, etc.

I'm sure more of these little discoveries will be added as time passes.