on non-violence and war criminals

Time races on and July is almost at an end. My best intentions to write about the conference I participated in late June have of course been pushed aside again and again. A week from now I will be in Belgrade, beginning a series of adventures that will last almost a full month. For now though it is just a chilly gray day in Sarajevo and I have been afforded some time to sit, and write and think.

It is actually a free day in the middle of an intensive week-long course I am taking here in Sarajevo on Peace Activism and Non-violence. All participants are residents of the countries of the former Yugoslavia- and only 4 of us are temporarily so, the rest are citizens of the region. We are divided into three sections, each with a different topic, led by a different instructor. I am in the only English section entitled "What can we learn from Peace Movements? Lessons of the Past for the Present and Future" led by the wonderful Brian Phillips. We still have three more days of class and I wish we had more.

First off, Brian is one of those brilliant people that is capable of teaching in a way that makes you want to leap out of your chair and get involved in whatever it is that he is talking about. He has also proved to be an excellent mediator of conversation- encouraging some and shushing others when needed (and in the Balkans, discussion often requires shushing since most prefer shouting). Yesterday he ended class by telling a story about a time he was at a meeting of peace activists in Finland. The man speaking was a bit frustrated and saying that the Finnish government was not taking them seriously. He grumpily declared, "They just think we're all a bunch of gay hippies!" which was then followed by a long pregnant silence, which is apparently characteristic to the Finnish way of speech. Brian's friend who was sitting next to him, turned to him and said with gravity, "But Brian. You are a gay hippie." Brian found the entire scenario highly entertaining and chose to share it with us in recognition of how people are stereotyped, labeled, etc.- for better or for worse.

Beyond Brian, there is the course content itself which is completely amazing. We began with the lives and work of Gandhi and MLK, Jr. Yesterday we discussed subsequent peace movements/activists in the States including the work of Dorothy Day, the Catonsville 9, and others throughout the 20th century. If you have not seen the documentary The Good War and Those who Refused to Fight It I would recommend getting your hands on a copy immediately. Does anyone know if it's in the church library? It definitely should be- there's a CoB shout out. We've also watched the 1982 biography of Gandhi and have read some amazing stories of present day activists in the UK, Palestine and Israel, and Columbia. In short, the people, ideas and methods we are learning about are so beautiful and truly have me captivated.

The final element of the course which I am particularly appreciative of are my classmates. I am almost certain I am the youngest member of the course, and one of four who is not originally from the region. While most of the people surrounding me bring rich experiences to contribute to class discussions, I come primarily with an open mind to learn from what they have to share. Stories from the war, stories from various non-violent campaigns and marches, research they have done, criticism and anger they have encountered- their tales range from frightening to inspiring, heart-breaking to hopeful.

Coinciding quite symbolically with our week of discussions on peace building, the Bosnian Serb war criminal Radovan Karadzic was arrested on Monday night, after almost 13 years in hiding. His capture is a crucial step towards (the chance for) reconciliation in the region. Reactions among our group are mixed and for many here in Sarajevo emotions are running high. I thought the words of one woman, Snezena, were quite poignant. She said, "I can not be happy about this, I did not feel a sudden burst of joy. It is like I have been sitting watching someone die for the last 13 years and now he has finally died. I have spend all my emotions, and now I am numb. I can feel relief, but I do not feel happy." Many are expressing apprehension over what is to come next- will Karadzic's trial be constructive? What new pain will be exposed or old pain unearthed?

For now, no one has the answers to these questions. And even within our group of 17 gathered together based on a shared interest in peace activism, the variation of opinion and the vehemence with which feelings were expressed were great. Even with Karadzic in hand, there are still no easy answers here.


One of my very good Bosnian-American friends is about to go back to the states after being here in Sarajevo for the past year conducting research. She is a passionate and intelligent woman, whose friendship I value greatly. Her immediate family was able Bosnia at the start of the war when she was still quite young although she still has relatives here. I am always shocked by the amount of anger she shows regarding any subject connected to Serbs or the war. It seems disproportionate to me when I consider the more tempered attitudes expressed by other Bosnians who were either present in Sarajevo during the siege or experienced direct violence during that time. While most may not be ready to embrace Serb nationalists or former members of the JNA, they recognize that there is much they must accept and forgive so healing may ultimately occur. As the two of us discussed Karadzic's arrest and the actions of the Serb government, much of what I heard her say still seemed to be only language of hate. I am not a confrontational person- and here where I am an outsider in all recent events I am loathe to pass judgement on how a person should act or feel. I only managed to casually ask if she had perhaps seen the film of Gandhi's life, in a vague attempt to steer the conversation in a more accepting direction. She responded that, not only had she seen the film, her professors in college had allowed her make-up some of her own Peace Studies courses where she had read extensively about the lives and beliefs of Gandhi and King. I was floored. As an intelligent woman (who is now seeking her PhD), she had studied these ideas after expressing an explicit interest in them and then completely and utterly missed the entire point.

vruće mi je

I wish I could come up with something more creative for my title, but what I have written is Bosnian (Serbian, Croatian, Macedonian, and Montenegran...) for "It is hot!" Right now I am sitting in my office and this is about all I can think about. If I were sitting at home it would be about the same. I'm not sure if I remember what it is like to NOT be sweating. Sometimes it is a little nicer at night but my loft with its 2 little skylights doesn't allow for so much fresh air to enter. The heat seems to have pushed everyone to new levels of laziness here- myself included. I attended an amazing conference last week but am struggling to return to any form of productivity here at my office. But anyway- better to write about things besides the heat in an attempt to distract myself.

I had planned to write a detailed account of my travels in the Netherlands, although now time has gotten away from me an the memories are not as fresh. So a few anecdotes and reflections can suffice.

What will always stand out about the trip was the house we stayed in. It was absolutely gorgeous- and absolutely massive. About 20 of us were accomodated there very comfortably- the use of the house (or I suppose I should say estate) was donated by a man who has had it in his family for many generations and grew up there himself. There was a mini forest out back, a soccer field on one side, horse pastures out front, and a pond... a sun porch where we could bask each morning while drinking coffee... enough space in the dining room for all the musicians to rehearse together. We were not in Amsterdam, but in a tiny town called Heemstede which is located right next to Haarlem. The small town atmosphere was perfect though- each morning I went for a run in the surrounding neighborhoods and parks on a plethora of footpaths (running adjacent to the roads AND bicylcle paths of course). It was the closest I have been to home both physically and culturally since October. It was comforting to be in a place with such a sense of order, but also bizarre because I hadn't realized it was a feeling I missed. I got to meet Solomon who is my BVS counter-part at the MwB office in Alkmaar. It's so strange to consider how vastly different our experiences in BVS have been. A part of me felt twinges wishing I was there instead- but I know ultimately Sarajevo is the right place for me.

The concert Winds of Change performed in with the Netherlands Blazers Ensemble (the entire purpose of our trip) was so beautiful. The rehearsal the day before inspired the Bosnian musicians like nothing I have ever seen- and the concert itself was amazing. It was entitled "Balkan Wedding" and actually entailed 3 couples getting married on stage by the mayor of Amsterdam in between songs. The second couple was 2 women- an excellent experience for the Bosnians because homosexuality is still rarely accepted in the Balkans.

Meanwhile, in our group, traditional (and by that I mean western circa 1950s) gender roles still prevailed. Bosnians are not so progressive as I may have perhaps mentioned before. At the house the girls did most of the cleaning and dishwishing to keep the place nice- and any uncertainties about housekeeping were brought to me. This was in fact part of my job (keeping general order) and not so bothersome. However, I was completely floored when one day around lunch-time one of the musicians asked me to make him a sandwich. I straight-up laughed in his face and said, "American girls don't do that." The sad thing is he asked one of the female musicians to do it for him the next day- and she did. Oh well, I think all of the other males present managed to prepare food for themselves without issue.

My only major regret of the trip was the lack of time we got to spend in Amsterdam. Friday was our final day and completely free. We headed into the city supposedly to occupy oursevles but then one of the group leaders became paranoid about legal liability (despite the fact all but 2 of the musicians are over 18) and probably would have made us all sit together in one place for the entire day if he had had his way. We finally did manage to peel off into small groups, but still with strict instructions not to go anywhere alone. This was a huge disappointment for me because solitary exploration is perhaps my favorite way to experience a city... and would have been especially nice after a week of so much togetherness. But this just means I will have to return sometime.

The experience as a whole was a beautiful one- for the Bosnians to have the opportunity to travel to the Netherlands, stay in such nice accomodations, and perform in concert with a world-renowned ensemble was the experience of a lifetime. I believe it inspired them above and beyond what I was able to experience. Hopefully it has also set a precedent for future travels.

All this said I was more than happy to return to Sarajevo. Being the only non-native speaker of Bosnian in a group for a week was exhausting. I am still not at a point where I am comfortable saying anything beyond basic phrases (although I think I've progressed even since the trip) though I do understand a lot. Autonomy was also a glorious thing- going where you wanted, when you wanted by whatever means you wanted. Even though we got back late Sunday night, I went immediately to my friend Emira's to talk. What a relief.

And since then the rest of May and all of June have passed without anyone lifting a finger to request otherwise. I'm not sure where the time went really. I now share a lovely lovely apartment with a lovely lovely roommate. It is the nicest place I have gotten to live (while still costing no more than the single room I was forced to share with 2 cats in my original situation) and Bronwyn and I get along very well. We had a house-warming party the first weekend we were there together per request (er, demand) of Bronwyn's boyfriend and a Spanish EVSer (European Volunteer Service), Gerardo. It was a resounding success, complete with music, drinks, food, and conversation spanning such essential topics as Eurosong and proper lime-cutting technique.

June also held a visit to Mostar and the Croatian coast. I travelled first to Mostar by train and spent a few days there with Katie who I hadn't seen since the beginning of March. In the time that elapsed in between, she has learned to speak Bosnian/Croatian extremely well. I am extremely jealous, but also recognize her success is proportiate to the hard work she has put into it. I must motivate myself to follow her example. While I was with her a short film festival was taking place at Abrašević (her BVS placement) and so we were able to help out some with general organizing as well as food preparation for the pariticipants. There were people from all over- including French, Germans, Croatians, and Serbians. It was great to talk to people and learn their stories. The films were great too- some funny, some confusing, some educational, some heart-breaking. We also helped Katie's neighbor with a mini art workshop for children she was leading at a local shopping center.

Come Friday, my friends Alex and Margit arrived in Mostar from Sarajevo and we continued the rest of the way to the coast in Alex's mini-van (which he brought from the U.S. and has also been of service in Malawi). We arrived in Split just in time for the Croatia/Turkey game in the EuroCup quarter finals. The excitement was palpable; we were quickly swept up by it as well. One Croatian said to us, "So you're cheering for Croatia?" we said yes, but we really didn't have much choice in the matter. He laughingly agreed, saying, "Yes, its either that or the hospital." Yes, not much choice indeed...

Sadly, the game ended in defeat for our hosts after double overtime and a shoot-out. While this put a damper on the general atmosphere, I was secretly hoping for a Turkish victory so I wasn't too dissappointed. I think this outcome was probably better for Mostar as well, where riot police had been set from Sarajevo to stand watch over the East/West boundary of the town. The East (Muslim) side was staunchly behind Turkey, while the West side is Croatian. No one was going to be able to cross from one side to the other once the game started. I think the feelings on the East/Muslim/Turkey-supporting side were running slightly less high than those on the opposite bank and they were probably less destructive victors. Of course, the West-siders might have been perfectly gracious had victory been theirs as well- but I suspect otherwise.

Our Saturday adventure on the coast included a ferry ride to the island of Brač, and a drive to it's nicest beach- Zlatni Rat. We stayed in the water as long as we possibly could... it was amazing. Turqoise water, pebbly beach, mountains behind us, sailboats and kite-surfers around us. Truly an amazing experience. I would go back in a heart-beat. When we finally peeled oursevles off our towels we had that lazy content tiredness that stems from a great day in the sun... we got some food at a nearby restaurant and sauntered back to the mini-van and then to the ferry. Back in Split we took advantage of the cool evening air to explore the ruins of Diocletian's Palace which compose the core of the old town. Darkness made it all feel mysterious and exciting- like we were discovering secret passages as opposed to paths frequented daily by tourists. Our adventure, capped off with some gelato, was the perfect end to the day.

Sunday held the drive home, but peppered with some excellent breaks along the way. We visited another beach as we drove back down the coast, and the town of Makarska for a last seafood lunch. We also had stops for coastline photo-ops and the purchasing of figs from a road-side stand. Once again though, I was grateful to return home from travel.

My final June adventure was a conference I attended last week here in Sarajevo. It was a last minute surprise that I found out about through our office in the Netherlands. However, after sending emails to them and to Belgium confirming my participation, I found out the co-organizer of the conference was none other than SEE-YN (South East Europe Youth Network) which occupies the office next door to MwB. So it's quite a small world and yet it seems you must often go on the longest, most complicated routes to end up hanging out with your neighbors. But I will write more about this adventure another time (but hopefully within the week rather than a month from now) because it is the 4th of July and I have been offered the opportunity to celebrate! That said, I would still appreciate it if you would enjoy some fireworks and crabs for me today!

what happened to May?

Suddenly it is almost June- I'm not quite sure how it happened, but it did. Perhaps it has something to do with the fact that this past month has been jam-packed with activities. So much so that it makes me tired just to think about writing about all of it. Here is the breakdown of my recent whereabouts in a nutshell:

May 1st-5th: Celebrating European Labor Day, my birthday, bidding farewell to my lovely roommate Lauren, and packing up all my possessions to vacate our apartment.

May 5th-11th: Organizing the Winds of Change Concert Tour "From Paris to Skopje" which was just 2 concerts in Sarajevo- but they still required plenty of work. (while taking up temporary residence on my friend Emira's couch)

May 11th-16th: Feeling horribly ill with some GI track bug, hoped to get better with rest & relaxation but ultimately had to go to the hospital, finally felt better by Friday night though. (Moved to my new place, sharing it with the previous tenant a lovely British woman, Emma)

May 18th-25th: Traveled to the Netherlands with the Winds of Change by bus, to perform in concert with the very prestigious Netherlands Blazers Ensemble for their concert "Balkan Wedding"

May 25th-Now: Finally enjoying a week to relax and sort through everything that has happened. Emma has departed from Sarajevo, my new roommate Bronwyn will move in sometime this week- we can begin to make this place really feel like ours.

So yes, it's been intense. I would be very content to do absolutely nothing at all this week. However, there's evaluating to be done at work, next steps to consider for Winds of Change, lessons to be learned, things to do for the aparment, etc. etc. etc. Oh wow, and here I am wanting to take a nap again...

The other current issue is that summer has suddenly made an early entrance. The past couple days have all been in the 80s and there isn't any sign that things will cool off again anytime soon. This came without warning and my body is none too happy about it. I was already feeling sluggish- and the heat is only adding extra weight to my limbs. I don't mind this sort of weather usually, so luckily it is only a matter of time until I adjust, but we'll see just how much time. A lake, river, or some other body of water would offer a welcome reprieve... too bad the Miljacka is small and smelly.

I'd like to crack open the nutshell version of events offered earlier just a bit, to offer a few anecdotes and details about this whirlwind of a month. Even if I don't get them all in right now, hopefully more will be added over the next week or so.

Many people helped to make my birthday festivities very happy indeed- including my parents, Janna Scott, and Emily Brown who arranged for me to receive flowers here which were all beautiful and very much appreciated. I also went out for several tasty meals with various friends- including a great group of undergrad girls who were here in Sarajevo for a month as part of their Balkan semester abroad. I was really impressed by them- to choose this region for an Under-graduate study abroad experience is very brave in my opinion, and they were also doing really intense research comparable to the work of some grad students. I enjoyed their presence too as a reminder of my study abroad experience and friends- and because it was nice to be the oldest member of a group for a change rather than the youngest. Being with them felt very natural and familiar: American college undergrads, now here is something I know. No un-stated cultural differences to determine, no traumatic pasts or grudges held to tip-toe around. A breath of fresh air indeed.

I must take a moment too, to relate the story of Rachel's (one member of the group) host-family in Zagreb. Once again, this reminded me of some of the qualms my study abroad group experienced in Barcelona- but perhaps on a more serious scale. She was with an older couple who fed her ridiculous quantities of food- so much in fact that on one occasion she was unable to keep it all down. She had been presented with entire large pizzas for her consumption in one sitting- which she had dealt with by throwing some out the window. The couple had photographs of students they had hosted in the past which they proudly presented to her, describing each student in terms of how much they could eat. Their degree of approval for each student was directly proportional to the quantity that the student could eat. “This is John. He could eat 20 palincinke- he was a great student.”, “This was Susie, she could only eat 2 palincinke- she was ok” (code for “she was no good at all”). Rachel apparently didn’t want to be deemed mediocre based on poor eating performance. I’m not sure what vomiting did to her approval rating. Her experience though is not untypical for any guest coming into a Balkan home. As a visitor you deserve the best and absolutely must get a taste of everything - preferably an extremely large taste and seconds too. Just when you think you've eaten all the dinner you can handle, your host produces some monstrosity of a dessert out of no where. I experienced this first-hand when I went with Emira and Bronwyn to visit Emira's Aunt in Osijek, Croatia at the beginning of February. It is quite difficult learning to manuever your way through meal time in a way that is polite but does not leave you wanting to explode. (Actually it is impossible.)

So enough about eating and the trials of Rachel- on to the Winds of Change concerts. Our 2 international musicians, Willem van Merwijk and Jaume Gavilan Agullo were set to arrive on Monday, May 5th. The first mishap of the week came though when I got a call on Monday morning from Jaume saying he had missed his flight because he had forgotten to bring his passport to the airport. So there was a bit of reshuffling and recoordinating with MwB Int to schedule him a new flight. But then Willem, who had been able to catch the flight enjoyed another whole set of problems due to delayed flights. Neither of them ended up arriving exactly as planned. The week contained various additional blunders, but we did make it through to the concerts on Thursday and Saturday evening which were both beautiful if small. People's interest here in Sarajevo still has yet to be proplerly sparked in terms of work that is new, fresh, and innovative. Instead there is an emphasis on the traditional and the rules of theory- and professional musicians are treated with very minimal respect. So our group is certainly of a pioneering sort, and at this point it is still an uphill battle... but our subsequent trip to the Netherlands offered a ray of sunlight, illuminating what the (distant) future might hold.

Besides the production of two concerts, the week was also a good one because of Willem and Jaume's presence. They came for a week in December too when I had only just arrived, and I regard them as wonderful friends. Both have a certain energy and zest which I associate with musicians and perhaps other artists and performers as well. Spending time with them is always great, and I also value the fresh opinions they can give about MwB's work here Sarajevo. Often they are able to confirm thoughts and suspicions I have already had- which is nice, because sometimes here I start to think that maybe I am crazy. Unfortunately the combined time and energy it took for all of the planning, concerts, and hanging out probably were what caused me to get sick the following week...

It struck on Sunday night but I assumed I would recover with a little extra sleep and fluids. Unfortunately come Tuesday morning (the mental deadline I had set for diving back into life) I felt just as bad, if not worse than I had the day before. Still bent on letting my body fix itself, I continued to wait things out until Wednesday afternoon when my illness took on a disturbing new development and I decided to take action. Unfortunately here, if you do not have a regular clinic you attend, there is a rather complex and bureaucratic system for obtaining healthcare (but it's cheap!). This involved first going to the emergency room where they write you some sort of entrance slip for the hospital- which is on the other side of town. Then you go to the hospital, there's an initial admittance room where they ask some questions and then you get sent all over the entire complex for about 3 hours seeing different doctors and having different tests done. It was thorough I must say- although who knew that for GI track complaints one needed to have an X-Ray done? I also had an ultrasound, blood taken, many questions asked, blood pressure, and even a bit more. Thankfully Emira came along to translate and Bronwyn was there for awhile as well to provide peace of mind. By the end Emira was more familiar with my bodily functions than anyone would ever want to be. Final diagnosis- food poisoning, which I'm not sure I even agree with. But whatever- they gave me medicine, and eventually it fixed me, and that is what is important. Friday still involved a lot of sleep, and Saturday a lot of packing and more sleep. Sunday however, we departed for the Netherlands...

Prague and such

So. Prague. Everything about the city proved tricky- including getting there. Rachael explained to me how to get to the bus station, but upon arrival it seemed that there was no "Orange ways" bus company in existence. Luckily, through basic eaves-dropping I managed to find another group of people who were also trying to catch the same bus. They had an outside source of information and apparently the company departs not from the bus station, but the parking lot across from it. Phew... crisis averted. The drive was long but the bus was nice and comfy- and they served free coffee and hot chocolate! Plus we were actually driving on a highway as opposed to twisty mountain roads- also something I had not done since leaving home. As we travelled further north, snow fell intermittently outside. I crossed my fingers for nice weather once I got to the city.

The bus arrived around 1:30 and I had planned on walking from the station to the hostel- it didn't look too far on the map Rachael and I had studied. I also had directions which I had printed from the hostels website but they were entirely by methods of public transportation, which involved both the metro and the tram. Leaving the bus station I was immediately confused and decided to backtrack and use the hostel's directions. This got me across the river, from there I was determined to walk the rest of the way rather than hop on the tram. Once again, I ended up lost and tried asking several people for directions. No luck. Finally a little old lady at a tram stop motioned for me to get on the tram with her. Entirely through pointing and hand gestures, she directed me to get off 2 stops after her. Finally, I made it to the hostel- and thankfully it was amazing. I was meeting Kate Schaeffer and two of her friends she is studying abroad with in Spain. I knew Kate would not arrive until the evening, but one of her friends, Lauren, had was already there. The two of us ended up talking for awhile and decided to venture forth and explore. This once again proved difficult.

Actually, pretty much everything about navigating Prague seemed to work against us. In Budapest, I had Rachael to point me in the right direction, to explain the metro lines, to provide maps and tour books. Also, there was the Danube which ran north-south, dividing the city neatly into Buda and Pest. All of this was great for orienting yourself- it was almost impossible to get lost. In Prague this was not the case. There is also a river, the Vltava, but it makes several twists and turns, complicating things greatly. Lauren and I knew we needed to cross the river to get to Old Town. Unfortuntely we crossed the river in the wrong direction. As we walked we thought we were heading south- instead we were heading north. After correcting this error, we elected to get on the metro to ensure no further mix-ups. So, we finally arrived in the Old Town, but still there was nothing I could get a handle on in order to orient myself. The streets were winding, narrow, and a complete mish-mash. Lauren knew her way at least a little, so she led us to the main square. Unfortunately, the square isn't even actually a square- also irregular and very unhelpful as far as I was concerned. This "square" though did have an Easter Market of its own on offer to my great satisfaction.
We ultimately elected to take shelter from the cold (which we had been wondering in for almost 3 hours at this point) at a traditional Czech restaurant. Unfortunately, we chose one which was more or less a tourist trap offering only mediocre food. We were still pleased enough though, and afterwards visited a place which had live music- and had allowed the people next to us to bring their dog in to sit with them. We were dreading the trip back to the hostel because our dinner had made us drowsy and the weather had become frigid. But we finally ventured out to catch a tram that would get us home. Arriving back in our room, I was overjoyed to see Kate had gotten in safely. She and my brother have been friends for what seems like forever, and she has always been full of energy and spunk- definitely a person from home I was more than happy to be meeting up with. Michelle was her 2nd friend, who had also arrived with her. Kate had many good stories to share about her time thus far in Spain, and was equally curious about Bosnia. We had plenty to discuss as we got ready for bed- and even more when our 5th roommate arrived late. She turned out to be a Scottish woman wrapping up a trip to visit a friend who lived in the city. She offered a few recommendations of things to do/see as we all drifted off to sleep.

The next morning we pulled ourselves together very slowly and finally arrived back in the Old Town Square around 1. However, at this point a freak squall of snow flurries commenced and we needed to take shelter immediately. We found the Museum of Czech Cubism not too far off and it turned out to be a lovely little place. It was situated in the House of the Black Madonna which is itself an historical piece of Czech Cubist Architecture. Personally, I'm not so much a fan of Cubism, but the architecture had some appeal somehow. The collection in the museum itself included paintings, sculpture, pottery, and furniture. The in-depth explanations of each piece, written both in Czech and English, were both informative and grammatically sound. It was yet another reminder that I was no longer in the Balkans. (I kept having the urge to turn to someone and say, "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto.") There were extensive biographies of all the artists involved in the movement and pieces of African art to offer examples of what Cubists had drawn inspiration from. Some of the pieces were great, but the furniture was downright disturbing. So harsh and angular- it looked like something that might grow teeth and come after me.

When we finished, the snow outside appeared to have subsided so we made our way down the river (a part of it that was straight) to see the Dancing Tower, a piece of really fascinating modern architecture. The weather was still holding up so we planned to go begin exploring the castle. En route though things took a nasty turn and we decided to run for cover in a cozy coffee shop. Once things cleared up we made our second attempt for the castle- which involved finding our way back to the river which proved tricky. We made it in the end, crossed the Charles Bridge, and found a tower/museum to visit. There were some good exhibits of historical artifacts and photographs, and from the top we had an excellent view.

For dinner- La Cantina, a Mexican place we had scoped out well ahead of time. It was amazing- we had chips, salsa, and amazing guac to start- for the main course I had enchiladas. I think we all stuffed ourselves to the point of discomfort- but we could not let any of it go to waste, it was so spicy and delicious. We returned to our hostel afterwards even though it was still early- but it was cold enough outside we were content to hang out in our room, talk, and enjoy one another's company.

On Wednesday, we managed to get going a little earlier. We made our way to the castle first thing, but another snow squall struck and we were forced to take shelter- in a Starbucks. Starbucks in Prague feels the same as Starbucks anywhere in the States. We sat, sipped our Caramel Macchiatos and listened to Phantom Planet. I recognize that this somewhat defeats the purpose of travel, just as eating Mexican did. But after being away from home for 5 months, I can't help but relish these things. The snow finally seemed to have let up, so we headed out- and up. The castle was situated high on a hill which we proceeded to climb. At the top of the hill we were just in time to see the 12 o'clock changing of the guard which is quite a big to-do. Lots of drumming and trumpeting, a procession, etc. From there we entered the castle and made a circuit within the walls- Lauren and Michelle waited to go inside the Cathedral while Kate and I decided to check out the Castle Art Gallery. We saw a few Rembrandts but were disappointed in our search for a Titian which the guidebook had promised. (I had become obsessed with Lauren's copy of Lonely Planet's Prague. I consulted it at least once every half hour.) We met with Lauren and Michelle outside long enough to say good-bye to Lauren who had to go catch her flight. Kate, Michelle, and I all went together from there to the Story of Prague Castle Museum which had a bunch of great exhibits but also happened to be freezing. One exhibit covered how the castle was heated throughout history- we expected some sort of physical experience or demonstration of warmth. Sadly we had no such luck.

From here we descended from the castle, back down to the river to return to the Easter Markets. This also entailed a lot of general exploring as the streets around the main square still completely mystified me with their unexpected twists and turns. We had selected a traditional restaurant for dinner (courtesy of Lonely Planet) which we also thought it might be a good idea to find ahead of time, based on the confusing nature of said streets. I was also deteremined to find an H&M at which to make a few purchases on my last day surrounded by the commercialization of the Western World. These various destinations allowed us to wander for awhile and just appreciate the city around us. At the Market we managed to catch a performance of a local dance school for young girls. It bore serious resemblence to pretty much any recital you might manage to catch in the States- more of the jazz/hip-hop variety than say tap or ballet. Kate was ready to jump up on stage with them I think- perhaps bust a move or 2.

When we went to dinner, finding the restaurant still proved slightly tricky even though we had already located it once before. We were lucky there were only three of us because apparently the place was popular- it is run by the premier Czech brewery, Pilsner Urquell. The guide book didn't let us down either- the food and atmosphere were equally great, and we spent a lovely 3 hours enjoying both. It was definitely a satisfying way to spend our last night.

As further evidence of how little I still understood about navigating Prague, I managed to have us get on a tram going in the wrong direction in attempting to get back to the hostel. We rode to the end, were kicked off into the cold for awhile while the #5 turned around and then allowed to re-board. I felt only slightly less stupid upon noticing 2 other travelers had made the exact same mistake. (Prague is confusing darnit!)

We were more than grateful to finally get back to the hostel, and spent awhile packing up for the next morning. I was going to be catching a flight from the airport at 10, and Kate and Michelle were getting a train to Vienna a little later. (Incidentally "Vienna" in Bosnian/Serbian/Croatian is "Beć", still trying to figure that one out...) Even though this would all require waking up fairly early, we spent a good amount of time talking before turning off the lights.

I was off quickly in the morning, and said goodbye to Kate before I left. My adventure to the airport was an interesting one which involved taking the tram to a major bus station, going under the highway and finding my way to a little outpost for the airport bus. In the process I managed to lose a glove, tip over a container of straws while buying coffee subsequently angering the sales woman, and get lost several times. Needless to say I was happy to finally arrive at the proper check-in desk.

My flights home were pure luxury- I was given 2 drinks and a sandwich on both. No one was sitting next to me, and I alternated between finishing up Atonement and browsing a copy of the Economist I had purchased. I was determined to enjoy the experience to the fullest since purchasing the ticket was a major splurge- for it and the rest of my "Easter Break" I dipped into some of my savings from the waitressing I did this summer. However arriving in Sarajevo at 2 in the afternoon on Sunday, rather than at 2 the next day (which is where a train or bus would've put me) was definitely worth it.

The weather was bright and sunny, making my "homecoming" feel quite festive and cheerful. Sarajevo seemed quaint and familiar after my time away. It was good to know I could communicate with people around me again- even if on a rudimentary level.

It is funny to think a place can feel so comfortable after being away for a week. I don't think I could've told you before then that I would be so happy to get back. But it was reassuring to feel so much fondness for the place right on sight.

some travels

A week or so ago, at the end of March, I had the opportunity to leave the Balkans for a bit for the first time since I arrived in October. Or, I guess I should say I created the opportunity.


The occasion for my trip was more or less Easter- the holiday deserved some sort of excitement. And seeing as Sarajevo is primarily Muslim, it was not going to be the place to find said excitement. I have a fellow BVSer in Budapest and another friend, Kate, who is studying abroad this semester also happened to be on spring break at the time. By contacting the two of them I slowly formed the following itinerary: go to Budapest from Thrusday, March 20th until the morning of Monday the 24th; then take a bus to Prague and stay until Thursday, exploring with Kate and her friends. All told I would be gone a week- and it ended up being quite perfect.



I took the train to Budapest- it leaves Sarajevo at 7am and arrives in Budapest at more or less 7pm. Despite all my lofty intentions to spend that time language studying, I ended up devouring most of Atonement instead. My fabulous hostess, Rachael, came to meet me at the trainstation. We dropped my things off at her beautiful apartment and then headed out for dinner. I was able to indulge in an amaaazing Tex-Mex burrito, the likes of which I had not even allowed myself to dream of since leaving the States.



Actually, everything felt pretty surreal when I first arrived in Budapest- maybe it was just knowing I was in the EU. Crossing the border was suddenly a big deal. Slightly tipsy, giggling officials were replaced by stern-faced inspectors. No longer did I have to beg them for a stamp in my passport- instead every page was scrutinized carefully. With a black light. I was also back to being in a world where I understood absolutely nothing- Hungarian is an insane language that bears no relation to anything I am familiar with. Everything in Budapest felt so new, so urban, so chic. I almost started dancing with excitement to be riding on a metro system! The river at night, lined with illuminated buildings, seemed to be architectural perfection. We went to a pub/club of sorts to meet up with a large group of Rachael's friends. Many of them are Americans, in Budapest to teach English, but there was one Hungarian thrown in, as well as a Dutch girl. (She apologized, saying that many of her Hungarian friends were away for Easter Holidays.) Being surrounded by such a large group of people my own age was also novel- I've grown used to my slightly older crowd of graduate students. (I realize this may seem to be splitting hairs- hanging out with 22 yr olds vs. 26-8 yr olds, but honestly think about how much people change during this period of their lives. As a 22 yr old, marriage is not even on my radar, this is not the case for someone in their late 2os.) The bar itself even thrilled me. It was huge. It had an alternative edgy sort of vibe. The ceilings were low, there were unexpected corners and passages, plants and greenery seemed to be everywhere, the lighting was dim, the music was good, and yet there were still little nooks for escaping the crowds to just chat with the friends you came with. In case you can't tell, I was completely delighted with Budapest.



We returned to Rachael's on the early side, so as not to interfere with activities for the next day. Upon getting up I spent time browsing through her collection of guidebooks in order to properly plan my attack for the next few days. I decided to cross the river and head up the hill for the castle and old town which are one of the city's main attractions. This allowed for lots of walking and a detour to St. Stephen's Basilica as I made my way there. The weather was brisk, but sunny- perfect for exploring. I elected to visit the Castle Museum which offers an extensive look at Budapest's history. After that I walked around the hilltop and visited the popular look-out spot Fisherman's Bastion. I decided to make an attempt to see a performance at the Opera House that evening. I arrived there shortly before 7 when performances typically start, only to find that I was 2 hours late for the start of a Wagner performance that was continue for another 3 hours. The Opera no longer being an option, I returned to the street where I stumbled upon the Operetta instead. I was still in time for the 7 o'clock performance that evening which just so happened to be "The Happy Widow." I didn't actually find this out until after I left and was able to show my ticket stub to Racheal's friend Esther, who kindly translated. Being unfamiliar with the story line even in English, I was completely at a loss in Hungarian, but contented myself with enjoying the music, dancing and costumes.



After the performance, I joined Rachael and her friends at a coffee house that is run by the church Racheal attends. It was all in a basement and had a fun, laid back atmosphere with people strumming on guitars and playing impromtu rounds of poker. We opted to return to Racheal's place afterwards with her friends Victor (Hungarian) and Leon (Dutch) to huddle around Racheal's lap-top for a few episodes of "Friends."



Saturday, I made my way to the famed Baths which are fed by natural sulpher springs. All told I spent about 3 hours there- while I felt amazingly relaxed and blissed out for the rest of the day, it took my feet and fingers some time to lose their prune-like appearance. I managed to meet some interesting people too. First a group of Australians (plus 1 New Zealander) who were on their springbreak from teaching English in Poland. They, like all other internationals, were eager to hear my take on the U.S. Presidential race (Hillary or Obama?!), George W. Bush, and also on Sarajevo. I learned that Poland was still cold and snowy- something the Australians did not particularly appreciate anymore. Hearing my voice and my accent attracted the attention of two Hungarian siblings- a girl, 15, and a boy, 12. They spent eight years living in the suburbs of D.C. while their parents were working for the Hungarian government there. Hence, they had perfect mid-Atlantic American accents which sounded more or less exactly like mine. It sounded like they missed the States and were eager to go back for visits whenever the opportunity presented itself. They also were very proud of their English and pleased to have the chance to use it speaking with me. However, what I liked most about them was watching them interact. Their age difference was only a little greater than that of mine and Dru's, so in my mind it may as well have been us. She would correct him, then he would tell her- no, no she was wrong about this or that. All done in that slightly terse and restrained way that says if they weren't in public there would be more than minor verbal sparring taking place. Ha, I suppose I miss my brother a lot if even watching other siblings argue makes me want to see him.

After finally admitting to myself I had soaked long enough in the baths, I sluggishly made my way back to Rachael's. We went to go walk around for a bit, poked our noses in the massive 4 Seasons Hotel (which I think looks like something Gaudi would have created), and wound up at an Easter market. Now I am still trying to understand these markets and all the places one can ever expect to find them. Initially I knew of them as a Christmas phenomenon which I had experienced in Vienna and heard rumors of their existence in Germany. Well apparently other holidays qualify too because here they were in Budapest and then Prague too for Easter. They are probably designed to appeal to tourists exactly like myself. And must admit I couldn't love them more. They are like glorified craft shows with a major emphasis on food. (oh no, I just admitted to enjoying something resembling a craft show- I'm at risk of becoming my mother!) All kind of little booths are clustered around- some selling jewelry, other pottery, others clothing. The food encompasses all the is "traditional" for the region- baked funnels of bread covering in sugar (the original funnel cake?), goulash, kielbasa, various other forms of meat, latkes, hot punch, and plenty more. Rachael and opted for 2 steaming cups of spiced wine, a kielbasa and langos (pronounced "langosh")- fried dough covered in sour cream, garlic and cheese. Sounds really healthy, huh?

There was an hilarious moment as we were enjoying all this that a group of Americans walked by, some of them eying the food. Then one of them, a middle aged gentleman, asks in a tone loud enough to be heard by all within a 15 foot radius, "Why would we wanna eat now? We just ate a Burger King half an hour ago!" The man single-handedly confirmed every American stereo-type held by anyone present to hear his remark. Maybe he only specifically addressed certain prejudices- that we are loud, or that we have no real appreciation for anything beyond a fast food hamburger- but if these are true, then what's to stop Europeans from believing everything else they have heard about the average American as well? I am exaggerating, yes. But as one highly conscious of how I reflect upon my country, I sometimes wish others would be a bit more prudent too.

Feeling stuffed, but quite content, Rachael and I made our way up to Fisherman's Bastion to enjoy the view at night. It is hard to do justice to the beauty of the buildings along the river with words alone- you should probably google it right now while you are reading this. Hopefully there are some good night-time images. Anyway we then went down to a Belgian pub to meet up with Leon and Beth. They had just had the unfortunate experience of going attending what they though was an evening Easter service, but instead was a gathering of Jehovah's Witnesses. There had been a lot of hell-fire, guilt, and brimstone. They were not happy. We tried to calm them down though, they ordered some food, and we all enjoyed some really really yummy Belgian beer (which is definitely not available anywhere in Sarajevo).

One again, tried to make it an earlier night though. Because Sunday morning was the most important reason of all for getting up- a sunrise Easter service. This entailed waking up at 4am- so getting a good night's sleep was a lost cause. We awoke and made our way to meet everyone at the base on one of the many hills around the river. In the half light we all trudged up, and came to an amazing lookout over the river with a Cross situated on the hill just a little below where we stood. A pastor led the service in English with translation into Hungarian. We started with guitar music and singing- songs that could have been from the Early Service at home, except for the minor detail that they were in Hungarian. The scriptures covering Jesus' rise from the dead were read and translated, a brief message was shared, and more singing followed. While we held our service, more and more people gathered below us to stand at the cross- individuals, I assume, coming to pay their respects on Easter morning.

Sadly, it was overcast so instead of bearing witness to the sunrise we had only a gradual awareness of more light. One woman afterwards pointed out though that this held a message for Easter. The Marys came to Jesus' tomb, but he was not there. They were upset by this and did not understand the significance until he stood before them. We too came in search of the sun, but were disappointed by its absence. However, we were ultimately aware of its presence as the city and river below became visible. Jesus and the sun rose before we even had the chance to realize it.

Afterwards we went back to a house owned by WYWAM (not quite sure if I have those letters right) which hosts spiritual retreats and other programs for women worldwide. There we had an Easter breakfast feast with almost all the delicious breakfast foods you can imagine- including Starbucks coffee which Rachael and I ground manually. I'm not sure which made it taste better, the fact that it was Starbucks or the fact that we put our own energy into grinding the beans. Stuffed beyond belief I headed home for a well-deserved nap but Rachael opted to go to the Easter service at the church she regularly attends. I thought it a dangerous idea to go sit in a sanctuary feeling drowsy and full.

After my nap and Rachael's second Easter service, we watched a movie and lolled about some more before heading off to her newly-wed frinds apartment. They had a potluck Easter gathering which was just lovely- sitting around, chatting with lots of people, and eating good food are all the stuff of a good holiday celebration. Rachael contributed cornbread and I contributed Peeps. My mother sent them to me here as a joke after I expressly declared my dislike for them. I felt thoroughly vindicated however when it seemed no one at the Easter gathering particularly liked them either, based on the fact that only about 8 of them were eaten. I would've been pleased if someone had been excited about them- that was the whole idea of taking them in the first place- but because no one was, I chose to take comfort in the fact that most people share my opinion of Peeps.

At the gathering we also had a sing-a-long session of more contemporary Christian songs (this time in English) and looked at Caroline and Viktor's wedding and honeymoon photos. The pictures were absolutely great and had lots of great stories to go along with them. When we finally departed it was not until late, but I had a bus to catch the following morning.

Ok, this post has become long enough for now- I will write a second installment about my time in Prague over the next couple of days.

politics of language

I've been spending a quite a bit of my time working on learning Bosnian. Right now I go to about 3 private lessons a week with a lovely young woman named Jaca. She is very encouraging and warm which are pretty much ideal qualities in a language tutor.

Bosnian is not easy- it's a Slavic language with many structures that do not exist in English. Any given noun has different endings depending on what part of a sentence it is- and these are also completely different if the word is plural instead of singular. Luckily, errors noun endings won't result in a complete failure to communicate an idea- but it's still frustrating to know you may never express yourself perfectly.

The far more interesting thing about the language here is it's name. Depending on where you are/who you are talking to something that may seem to be more or less the same language is called something completely different. To a Bosnian, it is Bosnian; to a Croatian, it is Croatian, to a Serb it is Serbian; to a Macedonian, it is Macedonian, etc. This is the equivalent of me refusing to say I speak English, and instead referring to it as American. This would also entail having multiple lists of ingredients on every package of food- one labeled "Great Britain" another labeled "Canada" and a third labeled "America." Supposedly for the sake of translation of course. And just as there are variations in spelling, idioms, and vocabulary from one English-speaking country to another; one finds variations here in the Balkans. However, a Serbian might legitimately get offended if I were to refer to the language as Bosnian. "Bosnian" however does tend to be a little more forgiving in terms of expressions you can use- there is a blending of "Croatian" and "Serbian" expressions partly because of geography.

Mostar throws a lot of these language issues right in one's face. Because 1 side of the town in Croatian and the other side is Bosnian, there are different sets of vocabulary you will use from one group of people to another. To a Bosnian the equivalent of "bon apetite" is "priatno" but I would never dream of saying this to a Croat, who would instead say "dobar tek." Priatno in general is a word one would not dream of using in Croatia. A basic hello can also be tough. "Dobar dan" can be alright pretty much anywhere. Never ever say "bog" or "bok" anywhere except in Croatia, but there one would not dream of saying "zdravo". In Sarajevo, you can't necessarily be sure of who you're speaking to, so this really keeps things exciting although people are generally a bit more forgiving.

Another exciting complication in all of this is the use of Cyrillic. Serbs use it, Bosnians and Croatians do not. In Belgrade it is prevalent; in the Serb entity in Bosnian, Republika Srpska, it is used with an even fiercer pride. I personally find it confusing since there are so many letters which still appear to be from the Roman alphabet, but signify a completely different Cyrillic letter. C for example- in Cyrillic it is used to replace the letter S. "Sarajevo" appears as "Capajebo" on highway signs. My brilliant plan to follow road signs while driving with my father was constantly thwarted due to our inability to comprehend what was on them. If our map had at least been in Cyrillic we may have fared better. (Jack Tevis of course still saw no problem with stopping in the remote villages we would pass through to ask for directions. Since it was only 2 weeks after Kosovo declared independence, I was in perpetual fear that he would happen to ask an intensely nationalist Serb who would take out general anger towards America on my father. The odds of this happening were small, but my imagination managed to play it up quite a bit.)

Names are also important in revealing nationality. While I'm still not adept at knowing which names belong to which ethnicity, anyone from the region will know instantly after hearing a person's name whether they are Serb, Croat, or Bosnian. This goes for first and last names. Jelena is very Serbian whereas Amir is Bosnian.

To any outsider this all takes quite awhile to get a handle on. And it's something you probably wouldn't learn about until you arrived here- there aren't language dictionaries widely available for Bosnian, Serbian and Croatian. The limited resources which are available generally label the language "Serbo-Croatian" or they just offer Croatian because it's beaches are popular tourist destinations. Therefore it is conceivable that one might want to learn a bit of Croatian, whereas there is not exactly a massive influx of tourists making their way to Bosnia.

While my father was here visiting we had the opportunity to explore many areas both around Sarajevo and in the region with our trusty rental car. One of these areas was Ilidza which is a "suburb" of Sarajevo and boasts a great park and promenade among other things. Before he actually arrived though I had spent some time there because a professor who works closely with MwB lives there. One day, after he took my supervisor & I to the "best" cevapi place in Ilidza (everyone, in every town and every city of BiH will tell you they know where to get the "best" cevapi) he led us to a nearby elementary school, asking if we "wanted to see his piano?" I wondered what he meant by this, and as we approached the building he took us around to the side where an old, half-destroyed piano was enshrined in a glass case with a plaque below. The piano had in fact belonged to his sister. However, during the war, when Serb forces came to Ilidza they gathered all the instruments at the music school there and others from nearby houses and burned them. This particular piano was one of the very few that survived the incident- but certainly showed the scars.

Observing it was very upsetting- physical evidence of the completely unnecessary cruelty that had been inflicted. What could have been gained by the destruction of such things? The inner strings and hammers- the guts - of the piano had been left exposed, many of the keys gone, and the body was badly charred. Viewing it on display in such a fashion somehow seemed obscene- like openly gaping at a badly disfigured person in public. I can remember playing our piano at home when I was little, before ever knowing anything about notes, chords or measures. I discovered that if I moved the wooden covering as though getting ready to close the piano and cover the keys, but not actually let it fall all the way into place, I could glimpse through a small crack into the secret inside of the instrument. This afforded only the most limited observation, but it was wonderfully exciting to know I was seeing just what made my experimental playing and banging possible. What I had once regarded as so special and private, here was brutally laid bare.

There are plenty of other reminders of the war here; buildings which have been left unrepaired and stories people share of their experiences. But unlike the buildings, this instrument is such a personal and intimate thing, a means for expression of human emotion. And unlike people, who have had the benefit of time to distance themselves from the war and are expected to go on with their lives, the piano has been frozen in the past.