It had to come, this moment when I'd feel a bit overwhelmed, in need of guidance. Overwhelmed by the amount of information I have to deal with.
It's a bit hard to take some distance from everything, to see what's "out of the ordinary". What's normal to me is that people live differently in different parts of the world. Sometimes it seems we have a hard time accepting that.
What drew me here in the first place are the people. They are so friendly and in a good mood, always eager to talk to you and find out who you are, what you're thinking.
I've had the opportunity to visit many Balkan homes- in Bosnia, in Kosovo and Macedonia. The table is always full of fresh, delicious homemade food.
Orthodox Christians have a tradition called "Slava". Every family has their "home holiday" during which they invite close friends and family for dinner. Every guest is offered a spoon of this simple, delicious cereal cake when he sits at the table. People greet each other saying "zdravo". Everyone is talking and laughing between having some sarma (meat wrapped in vine leaves), paprika (marinated pepper), many different salads and cheeses, meat and bread.
For me, it feels exceptional because my family in Montreal is very small and big gatherings like that are extremely rare.
I feel privileged to experience being hosted by the locals. It makes me see how most people long for peace, comfort and love. Politics are secondary in these moments, yet they affect people's lives on a daily basis. I'm not exactly sure how to explain that statement.
I came here to write positive stories, because I want to believe that people are good. Aren't we? Don't we wake up in the morning wanting to provide for our families, to build a better future?
It seems that internationals, at least the Canadians I've met, truly come here to build better societies. But of course, not everybody thinks highly of the internationals.
During some informal conversations with local acquaintances, I've heard that international organizations are not always useful. Of course, I know money is often wasted...
I regret not having spoken to more Serbians in Kosovo. Although I don't have many on-the-record statements proving it, I know that they have suffered greatly as a result of the issue.
Kosovo is a cultural and historical land for Serbia, the home of its first monasteries and traditions and I know that losing this land is unacceptable for its people.
But how do you find a compromise between the past and the present? After all, they have lost the battle of Kosovo Polje more then seven centuries ago, and today, there are not many Serbians left there. One woman asked me: is it fair for a nation to have three countries? She was referring to Albania, Macedonia (about one third of its population is Albanian) and soon Kosovo.
I really didn't know what to say. If you dig deeper, you can see that there is much resentment in people's hearts. I certainly couldn't find a solution to this puzzle.
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Friday, June 22, 2007
It's normal again
People around me in “… the normalization of the life, that’s also news for people around the globe. Serbs [who are a minority group in Kosovo] do walk freely- not to the extent they wish, but it’s been ongoing for the last few years,” said Arben H., an OSCE (Organization for Security and Cooperation in
Buildings and cities were reconstructed very quickly after the war. Most houses look brand new and construction sites are a common view driving from one town to another. To go back to what Arben said: it is true. Tragedy, drama is news, but when a country goes back to a more normal life after the war, that’s news as well and it seems there may be gap in our reporting about Kosovo.
“The bottom line is what sells. Basically, nobody, no international journalist will come to report about how everything is bright and shiny. But if a political leader is behind some radical movement…,” Arben added.
“I had the opportunity to talk to international journalists in Kosovo. I really admired their stance on Kosovo and the topics they chose to report about. That’s unemployment, miserable economic conditions- majority of people living in deep poverty.”
…
In Gnjilane/Gjilan, I was invited for lunch to one of my interviewees’ (also an OSCE officer) coworker’s house. She had just recently moved in to her new house. Everything was new and clean, simple but sophisticated. She served us traditional food: pinjur (a pepper sauce), sarma (cabbage leaves stuffed with meat), sausages and meat patties, vegetables and cheese and Turkish tea accompanied with berry cake for desert.
It was delicious, fresh and even tastier because it was homemade. We sat around the living room table. We played piano, she played guitar, and it was the greatest lunch I had in a long time.
Anyone who can visit Kosovo should.
Sunday, June 17, 2007
To be or not to be in Kosovo. Dilemma resolved.
June 17
Pejë/Peć: Kosovo
Whether to finally come or not to Kosovo was a big moral dilemma because of safety reasons. I didn’t want my family to worry.
In the end, I decided to come and I’m extremely happy I did. I’m staying with a Canadian working for the OSCE (Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe) and I feel more than safe.
Pejë/Peć (both the Albanian and Serbian names of cities are used simultaneously in Kosovo) was one of the cities most affected by war less than ten years ago. 80% of the houses were burnt. Now, most of them have been rebuilt and the city is in a good state. Bordered by the mountains, Pejë/Peć lays in the Western part of Kosovo, close to the Montenegro border.
I arrived at an interesting time: June 16 was the anniversary of the arrival of NATO troups in Pejë/Peć, who quickly liberated it from the Serbs. The streets were packed with people, a lot of them very young (60% of Kosovo’s population is under 25).
Music and folk dancing created a joyful atmosphere while smoke hovered over the many local restaurants serving grilled meat. The Albanian flag (which I find a bit scary because of the big, blag two-headed bird on a reg background) was everywhere for this celebration.
I thought most people spoke either Serbian or Albanian here. Not true. Most of them speak both. I’ve been thus able to speak with the locals, except that it’s better to say that I’m Canadian and that I speak a bit of Bosnian.
I was warned it might feel scary here. That’s myth number 2. Actually, I’m convinced that Kosovo is much safer than other places I’ve traveled to already.
It’s quite exciting to be in a place which might just became the next new country in the world.
I’ve got many interviews lined up in Pristina/Prishtine, the capital, and in Gjilan region. I’ve spoken extensively to my host, who demystified the OSCE’s work here and to a colleague of his who came to Regina, in Saskatchewan, during the war. He was extremely well-received by Canada.
Like in any place in the world, you have to be careful in Kosovo. But NATO has 18 000 troups in this tiny part of the world… I can sleep tight, no problem. Really.
June 15
Crossing borders, or of the unfairness of having a Turkish passport
A Canadian passport is precious indeed.
I was crossing the border from Croatia to Montenegro yesterday, sitting next to a friendly girl from Turkey. She had studied in Poland during the previous semester and recognized my origins while I was talking on the phone.
They picked up our passports for controlling purposes. Usually, things go smoothly and the bus goes on after 10, 15 minutes.
But they called my friend for some additional questions and I offered to translate. The controller refused to stamp her passport and we went on inside to discuss things over.
Three men were sitting in the office, drinking Turkish coffee and smoking cigarettes. I explained the situation to a very tanned, blue-eyed man; that she was just trying to get home to Turkey, just passing through Montenegro. She wasn’t going to stay long. Just a student…
“And you?” They asked me. “How come you speak our language?”
“Ah, I like to speak the language of the locals… My father studied in Zagreb… I learned from a book…” More explaining about my friend’s situation. She was a bit anxious. Had called the Turkish embassy in Montenegro to make sure she didn’t need a visa.
You’ll have to pay 50 euros, he said. After more discussion: 40.
The man opened his big book filled with rows of names. Wrote in hers.
The people in the bus were waiting. We ran to the office across the street to pay for the visa. Ran back to get the stamp. Trotted to the booth outside for more controlling.
We crossed.
It felt so unfair that this young girl had to pay extra just because she was born in Turkey. She was a student, just like me.
“At times like these, I just want close my eyes and wake up in my own bed,” she said.
She still has a long way home.
Pejë/Peć: Kosovo
Whether to finally come or not to Kosovo was a big moral dilemma because of safety reasons. I didn’t want my family to worry.
In the end, I decided to come and I’m extremely happy I did. I’m staying with a Canadian working for the OSCE (Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe) and I feel more than safe.
Pejë/Peć (both the Albanian and Serbian names of cities are used simultaneously in Kosovo) was one of the cities most affected by war less than ten years ago. 80% of the houses were burnt. Now, most of them have been rebuilt and the city is in a good state. Bordered by the mountains, Pejë/Peć lays in the Western part of Kosovo, close to the Montenegro border.
I arrived at an interesting time: June 16 was the anniversary of the arrival of NATO troups in Pejë/Peć, who quickly liberated it from the Serbs. The streets were packed with people, a lot of them very young (60% of Kosovo’s population is under 25).
Music and folk dancing created a joyful atmosphere while smoke hovered over the many local restaurants serving grilled meat. The Albanian flag (which I find a bit scary because of the big, blag two-headed bird on a reg background) was everywhere for this celebration.
I thought most people spoke either Serbian or Albanian here. Not true. Most of them speak both. I’ve been thus able to speak with the locals, except that it’s better to say that I’m Canadian and that I speak a bit of Bosnian.
I was warned it might feel scary here. That’s myth number 2. Actually, I’m convinced that Kosovo is much safer than other places I’ve traveled to already.
It’s quite exciting to be in a place which might just became the next new country in the world.
I’ve got many interviews lined up in Pristina/Prishtine, the capital, and in Gjilan region. I’ve spoken extensively to my host, who demystified the OSCE’s work here and to a colleague of his who came to Regina, in Saskatchewan, during the war. He was extremely well-received by Canada.
Like in any place in the world, you have to be careful in Kosovo. But NATO has 18 000 troups in this tiny part of the world… I can sleep tight, no problem. Really.
June 15
Crossing borders, or of the unfairness of having a Turkish passport
A Canadian passport is precious indeed.
I was crossing the border from Croatia to Montenegro yesterday, sitting next to a friendly girl from Turkey. She had studied in Poland during the previous semester and recognized my origins while I was talking on the phone.
They picked up our passports for controlling purposes. Usually, things go smoothly and the bus goes on after 10, 15 minutes.
But they called my friend for some additional questions and I offered to translate. The controller refused to stamp her passport and we went on inside to discuss things over.
Three men were sitting in the office, drinking Turkish coffee and smoking cigarettes. I explained the situation to a very tanned, blue-eyed man; that she was just trying to get home to Turkey, just passing through Montenegro. She wasn’t going to stay long. Just a student…
“And you?” They asked me. “How come you speak our language?”
“Ah, I like to speak the language of the locals… My father studied in Zagreb… I learned from a book…” More explaining about my friend’s situation. She was a bit anxious. Had called the Turkish embassy in Montenegro to make sure she didn’t need a visa.
You’ll have to pay 50 euros, he said. After more discussion: 40.
The man opened his big book filled with rows of names. Wrote in hers.
The people in the bus were waiting. We ran to the office across the street to pay for the visa. Ran back to get the stamp. Trotted to the booth outside for more controlling.
We crossed.
It felt so unfair that this young girl had to pay extra just because she was born in Turkey. She was a student, just like me.
“At times like these, I just want close my eyes and wake up in my own bed,” she said.
She still has a long way home.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Sunday, June 10, 2007
We have all the time in the world
"It's cultural. In any eastern European countries, you will always see people on the streets... It's different than socializing in Canada. The cheapest way is to walk on the street, walk and talk. You meet everyone. You can finish many things [like that]." -Djenana JalovcicA Bosanska kafa (or Turkish coffee, s
erved in a jezva) costs 50 cents. Everywhere I go, I am invited for coffee. After work, or anytime during the day, people meet friends on the streets.I've met more people during my last ten days in Sarajevo than during the whole year in Montreal. It may be a euphemism, but it's not far from the truth.
It's a totally different way of structuring time, of interacting. A local Bosnian friend of mine told me that people work more when they need more money. When they don't need it, they don't work.
It's unbelievable how after surviving the war, hardships, confronting death everyday, how much life and friendliness live on in people's eyes. I don't feel like a stranger anymore. How could I, when every few steps, I am warmly, sincerely greeted and invited in fo
r a conversation?It's not that easy to speak directly about the war, but daily interactions with people show a strong yearning for peace, love, life.
The friend I mentioned earlier was playing soccer during the war and saw his friend shot by a sniper a few meters away from him. He was eight.
Yet I find so much kindness in these eyes, 15 years after they have witnessed murder...
Pictures: A coffee set; a craftsman with his daughter
Friday, June 08, 2007
Footnotes. People.
The people
Warm, friendly, helpful. Traveling is so much about the people you meet.
Ika and Zahra: they are two women that are working at the internet/restaurant section of the hostel I stayed at the first few days. I’ve been coming back every day to chat with them. They are always happy to see me, I’m happy to see them and to practice my Bosnian.
Sarajevo.
At the market, I was offered a rose today. For taking pictures.
A rose to remember those who perished there during the war. The first massacre took the lives of 69 people, the second one, over forty.
Sarajevo Roses- those traces in the pavement that are splattered on the ground after mortar shells hit it.
The beautiful Old Town, the Turkish Quarters, filled with odors of cheese, meat, tea, Turkish coffee.
The wonderful tea shop. They know my name because I come back every day. Another opportunity to speak with the locals, speak Bosnian.
The famous Tunnel. Built under the airport, when Sarajevo was cut off from the world. When UN prevented people from crossing into Croatia to get food. Serbians took UN officers hostage. The UN had to negotiate deals, hand over 50% of humanitarian supplies to the enemy.
But the Tunnel allowed people to smuggle food, arms, ammo, water, electricity, oil into the city… So many saved lives.
Srebrenica. Genocide. 8000 Muslim men and boys. The worst massacre in Europe since World War II. We cannot forget, cannot let this happen again.
Warm, friendly, helpful. Traveling is so much about the people you meet.
Ika and Zahra: they are two women that are working at the internet/restaurant section of the hostel I stayed at the first few days. I’ve been coming back every day to chat with them. They are always happy to see me, I’m happy to see them and to practice my Bosnian.Sarajevo.
At the market, I was offered a rose today. For taking pictures.
A rose to remember those who perished there during the war. The first massacre took the lives of 69 people, the second one, over forty.
Sarajevo Roses- those traces in the pavement that are splattered on the ground after mortar shells hit it.
The beautiful Old Town, the Turkish Quarters, filled with odors of cheese, meat, tea, Turkish coffee.
The wonderful tea shop. They know my name because I come back every day. Another opportunity to speak with the locals, speak Bosnian.
The famous Tunnel. Built under the airport, when Sarajevo was cut off from the world. When UN prevented people from crossing into Croatia to get food. Serbians took UN officers hostage. The UN had to negotiate deals, hand over 50% of humanitarian supplies to the enemy.
But the Tunnel allowed people to smuggle food, arms, ammo, water, electricity, oil into the city… So many saved lives.
Srebrenica. Genocide. 8000 Muslim men and boys. The worst massacre in Europe since World War II. We cannot forget, cannot let this happen again.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
Memorial pays tribute to genocide victims in Srebrenica
The war could have just ended yesterday in Srebrenica, a village 150 km northeast of Sarajevo. Apartment buildings and houses are cracked, bullet-ridden, barely hanging on to their foundations. How can people forget about the war when it looks them in the face every single day?In 1995, Serbians murdered 8000 Bosnian Muslim men following Bosnia’s declaration of independence. It was the worst massacre committed in Europe since World War II. Genocide.
Six kilometers from Srebrenica, a memorial honors the murdered. All the names are listed on a long, semi-circular structure. White, vertical gravestones spread across the fields around it, the color almost blinding in the sun.
I spoke to Fetija, a young mother, during the four-hour bus ride from Sarajevo to Srebrenica. She was breast-feeding her blond-haired, blue-eyed, calm baby. She was in Srebrenica during the massacres.
My Bos
nian wasn’t good enough to ask her sensitive questions, but one thing is sure: there was not a trace of hate in her eyes. She expressed anger against the perpetrators, Ratko Mladic and Radovan Karadzic, who are still on the loose, hiding somewhere in Serbia. They are wanted by authorities at the Hague.“But I cannot hate Serbian children,”
she said. She refuses to generalize against an entire nation. After all, Serbians, Croats, Muslims have lived together in peace for centuries in Bosnia.
Friday, June 01, 2007
Seventies hotel, a symbol of the golden age of Yugoslavia
May 25
Trogir and Medena
During moments like these, I feel like sleeping is a waste of time. When Croatia reveals all it has to offer, full of cypress, fruit and olive trees, friendly people, delicious seafood, history, culture and stunning architecture, I could just stay up all night enjoying the sound of the Adriatic sea caressing the shore, the guiding lights twinkling in the distance of its immensity. Too bad my eyes put themselves to sleep, drained from a day spent in the sun.
While in Trogir, a charming medieval town a bit north of Split (one of the big port cities of Croatia), Joey and I rented bikes to head to Kava beach at the end of the island. Most of Croatia’s beaches are rocky, but this one was made of white pebbles that made the sea even bluer. It’s a moody sea, with everchanging shades of turquoise, navy and light blue. The water is crystal clean. Even in the port, it looks undisturbed by human activity. It’s unfortunate that people don’t always care to dispose of their trash, leaving it on some of the beaches.
After a sun-soaked afternoon, the sky covered itself in clouds and rumbled with thunder. The sea darkened and streaks of rain appeared in the distance. We raced against the storm, pedaling as fast as we could so it wouldn’t catch us. After this exercise, our bellies were rumbling and ready for a nice platter of seafood. Everything tastes so fresh here. The tomatoes actually taste like tomatoes- free of pesticides and of the tastelessness of genetically modified foods. One meal big meal a day is plenty. All the flavors make up for the bigger quantities I have to eat at home to feel satisfied.
We rented the bikes from hotel Medena, a huge vacation resort built during the Tito era, more than 30 years ago. It was an instant coup de foudre for me and I decided we had to come back here for at least two nights.
The resort is everything I imagined the former Yugoslavia to be. After all, communism here was not soviet communism, full of misery and lack of everything. Yugoslavs had great social services. Workers were respected, had a one month paid vacation yearly and could take a one-year maternity leave if necessary. At least that’s what I’ve read and been told. The seventies and eighties were a great time to invest into tourism. The country was open to international visitors and many people took advantage of that.
Hotel Medena represents this epoch, with everything one needs to relax and enjoy the coast. A supermarket, tennis courts, apartments, bars, aquatic equipment, discothèques, restaurants… All 70s style. The hotel lobby is decorated with huge comet-like candelabras that seem to have fallen from the sky and nested themselves into the ceiling. Red couches, light green and metal ceilings, fake wood wall panels take us back in time.
Hotel Medena is like an old beautiful lady that needs to go to the beauty salon to look pretty again. That’s how one receptionist put it. It’s true- the décor is so out of style, so seventies. But that’s what makes the place’s charm to me. It’s a piece of history. The hotel was built by the government, that is, under Tito’s rule. He is the symbol of the former Yugoslavia, which Croatia used to be part of until it declared its independence in 1991, and he ruled over the country with an iron fist for more than 30 years. Today’s Croatian government still owns 60% of the hotel’s shares, which is very rare in the country.
During the war in the early nineties, tourism dropped drastically and Medena took Croatian refugees under her roof for six years. Now, although it looks outdated, it still is becoming increasingly popular not only to Europeans, but to Japanese as well.
Joey is kind of disturbed by Medena’s setting, by the strangeness of the almost emptiness of the resort. It’s not high season yet. The place is mostly filled with teens and old Germans at the moment. This quasi-emptiness reminds Joey of the movie The Shining, where Jack Nicholson goes crazy while staying at a big, old resort. But low season means cheaper prices. We’re paying 34 euros a night for an apartment with kitchen and living room, all ten meters from the shore.
I, on the other hand, am absolutely charmed. It’s hard to explain why because it’s a strong, visceral, emotional attachment. It reminds me of childhood summers spent at the sea at a similar resort in Poland. I’m definitely planning to look into the history of the place.
Finally. Some quietness. The day of the bike ride was first time my mind calmed down after the end of university session. Preparing for my three-month stay in the Balkans was constant running around, making phone calls, writing emails. But it was fruitful, and I established the contacts I need to work on my journalism project of exploring the work of the international community in the Balkans.
My friend Laura even put me in touch with a fellow Montrealer who’s working on a documentary about the international community in the Balkans this summer and hopefully we’ll be able to collaborate.
More gushing. I really feel at home here. I can get by with my really rocky Croatian. Some locals are sometimes fooled into thinking I’m Croatian from another part of the country. Good sign…
Trogir and Medena
During moments like these, I feel like sleeping is a waste of time. When Croatia reveals all it has to offer, full of cypress, fruit and olive trees, friendly people, delicious seafood, history, culture and stunning architecture, I could just stay up all night enjoying the sound of the Adriatic sea caressing the shore, the guiding lights twinkling in the distance of its immensity. Too bad my eyes put themselves to sleep, drained from a day spent in the sun.
While in Trogir, a charming medieval town a bit north of Split (one of the big port cities of Croatia), Joey and I rented bikes to head to Kava beach at the end of the island. Most of Croatia’s beaches are rocky, but this one was made of white pebbles that made the sea even bluer. It’s a moody sea, with everchanging shades of turquoise, navy and light blue. The water is crystal clean. Even in the port, it looks undisturbed by human activity. It’s unfortunate that people don’t always care to dispose of their trash, leaving it on some of the beaches.
After a sun-soaked afternoon, the sky covered itself in clouds and rumbled with thunder. The sea darkened and streaks of rain appeared in the distance. We raced against the storm, pedaling as fast as we could so it wouldn’t catch us. After this exercise, our bellies were rumbling and ready for a nice platter of seafood. Everything tastes so fresh here. The tomatoes actually taste like tomatoes- free of pesticides and of the tastelessness of genetically modified foods. One meal big meal a day is plenty. All the flavors make up for the bigger quantities I have to eat at home to feel satisfied.
We rented the bikes from hotel Medena, a huge vacation resort built during the Tito era, more than 30 years ago. It was an instant coup de foudre for me and I decided we had to come back here for at least two nights.
The resort is everything I imagined the former Yugoslavia to be. After all, communism here was not soviet communism, full of misery and lack of everything. Yugoslavs had great social services. Workers were respected, had a one month paid vacation yearly and could take a one-year maternity leave if necessary. At least that’s what I’ve read and been told. The seventies and eighties were a great time to invest into tourism. The country was open to international visitors and many people took advantage of that.
Hotel Medena represents this epoch, with everything one needs to relax and enjoy the coast. A supermarket, tennis courts, apartments, bars, aquatic equipment, discothèques, restaurants… All 70s style. The hotel lobby is decorated with huge comet-like candelabras that seem to have fallen from the sky and nested themselves into the ceiling. Red couches, light green and metal ceilings, fake wood wall panels take us back in time.
Hotel Medena is like an old beautiful lady that needs to go to the beauty salon to look pretty again. That’s how one receptionist put it. It’s true- the décor is so out of style, so seventies. But that’s what makes the place’s charm to me. It’s a piece of history. The hotel was built by the government, that is, under Tito’s rule. He is the symbol of the former Yugoslavia, which Croatia used to be part of until it declared its independence in 1991, and he ruled over the country with an iron fist for more than 30 years. Today’s Croatian government still owns 60% of the hotel’s shares, which is very rare in the country.
During the war in the early nineties, tourism dropped drastically and Medena took Croatian refugees under her roof for six years. Now, although it looks outdated, it still is becoming increasingly popular not only to Europeans, but to Japanese as well.
Joey is kind of disturbed by Medena’s setting, by the strangeness of the almost emptiness of the resort. It’s not high season yet. The place is mostly filled with teens and old Germans at the moment. This quasi-emptiness reminds Joey of the movie The Shining, where Jack Nicholson goes crazy while staying at a big, old resort. But low season means cheaper prices. We’re paying 34 euros a night for an apartment with kitchen and living room, all ten meters from the shore.
I, on the other hand, am absolutely charmed. It’s hard to explain why because it’s a strong, visceral, emotional attachment. It reminds me of childhood summers spent at the sea at a similar resort in Poland. I’m definitely planning to look into the history of the place.
Finally. Some quietness. The day of the bike ride was first time my mind calmed down after the end of university session. Preparing for my three-month stay in the Balkans was constant running around, making phone calls, writing emails. But it was fruitful, and I established the contacts I need to work on my journalism project of exploring the work of the international community in the Balkans.
My friend Laura even put me in touch with a fellow Montrealer who’s working on a documentary about the international community in the Balkans this summer and hopefully we’ll be able to collaborate.
More gushing. I really feel at home here. I can get by with my really rocky Croatian. Some locals are sometimes fooled into thinking I’m Croatian from another part of the country. Good sign…
Hip Zagreb
May 17, Zagreb
I won’t be able to avoid the clichés. I won’t be able to resist gushing about my happiness of being in Croatia again, three years after I fell in love with the country for the first time. Zagreb is full of life and sunshine. On the main square, Trg Bana Jelacica, a four-day festival is taking place and he square is bustling with locals dressed in traditional clothing, dancing, foods, crafts…
At night, the streets fill up with beautiful young people chatting in hip, modern cafés and bars. I could live here, I told myself. I took a long walk around town to take care of my cell phone and ended up having coffee with an old Bosnian who spoke twelve languages. He told me so much about the politics not only of the Balkans, but about his perception of our Canadian politicians, His knowledge impressed me, as his familiarity with twelve languages. Without his help, I would have never found the electronics place to take care of my phone.
It’s all these little details that made the day so fulfilling. The owners of the hostel Fulir, where I’m staying, were very accommodating in helping me fulfill all my needs. I headed out to explore and stopped for a humongous piece of burek, this cheese pastry they make in the Balkans. My hands were full of the stuff, and a man just came to hand me over some napkins. A detail, but quite pleasant nevertheless.
The market was bursting with the colors of fruits and vegetables. In the morning, it’s full of people and merchandise. At night, empty, quiet. This calmness gives way to the view of the cathedral guarding the square, which I yet have to visit.
Right away, I got acquainted with fellow backpackers. We headed to town for a bite and admired some traditional dancing that’s part of the festival. The girls were wearing colorful dresses, their faces filled up with smiles. It was impressive. I just came back from a café we went to, talking about how fortunate we are to be able to travel and enjoy this life. Indeed, we are. I love traveling in Europe and I wasn’t excited about this moment for nothing.
I won’t be able to avoid the clichés. I won’t be able to resist gushing about my happiness of being in Croatia again, three years after I fell in love with the country for the first time. Zagreb is full of life and sunshine. On the main square, Trg Bana Jelacica, a four-day festival is taking place and he square is bustling with locals dressed in traditional clothing, dancing, foods, crafts…
At night, the streets fill up with beautiful young people chatting in hip, modern cafés and bars. I could live here, I told myself. I took a long walk around town to take care of my cell phone and ended up having coffee with an old Bosnian who spoke twelve languages. He told me so much about the politics not only of the Balkans, but about his perception of our Canadian politicians, His knowledge impressed me, as his familiarity with twelve languages. Without his help, I would have never found the electronics place to take care of my phone.
It’s all these little details that made the day so fulfilling. The owners of the hostel Fulir, where I’m staying, were very accommodating in helping me fulfill all my needs. I headed out to explore and stopped for a humongous piece of burek, this cheese pastry they make in the Balkans. My hands were full of the stuff, and a man just came to hand me over some napkins. A detail, but quite pleasant nevertheless.
The market was bursting with the colors of fruits and vegetables. In the morning, it’s full of people and merchandise. At night, empty, quiet. This calmness gives way to the view of the cathedral guarding the square, which I yet have to visit.
Right away, I got acquainted with fellow backpackers. We headed to town for a bite and admired some traditional dancing that’s part of the festival. The girls were wearing colorful dresses, their faces filled up with smiles. It was impressive. I just came back from a café we went to, talking about how fortunate we are to be able to travel and enjoy this life. Indeed, we are. I love traveling in Europe and I wasn’t excited about this moment for nothing.
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