The Turkish theologist who stopped wearing the headscarf

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Giving the grey Ruhr Valley a green future

Published: 6 May 08 17:09 CET
Online: http://www.thelocal.de/11733/

Once a sooty part of the Ruhr Valley, Dortmund’s Hörde district is going green. Kinia Adamczyk examines a project aiming to turn an industrial relic into a city of the future.

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I just wanna be a woman, but it ain't easy...

KONYA- Turkey. When I presented the views of a feminist who held the headscarf is a symbol of patriarchy and a violation of human rights, a classmate of mine gracefully suggested I "buy myself a brain."

(NB- I made sure to add it to my shopping list... still on the lookout)

After spending a weekend with more than a hundred headscarf-wearing women, I saw the other perspective, or shall I say perspectives.

(Adding a dollop of cheese: I came to the "Women's Meeting" with some fears and questions, but left with 100 sisters. I can hear the squeals of dismay- why look, she is just trying to be politically-correct on that picture! What a show!)

No matter how open you try to be, I think it is very hard to put yourself in the shoes of someone who has strong faith when you yourself do not have the same degree of belief. (I tried, I came as close as I think I can.)

But I developed much empathy for a girl who snuck into school at 6 am before the police came to order students to take the scarf off. Or for a woman who shaved her head, and countless ones who quit their jobs because their faith was more important to them.

It would be easy to ask- why don't you just take it off for a few hours, for a little bit? But you cannot. One woman told me: if you believe, you believe and you can't question what God asks you to do.

It is not much of a stretch to say that for a woman who wear the scarf, taking it off is almost like for a non-headscarf-wearing woman to be told to uncover her chest. (I can hear the cries of opposition and grumbling... but that is the closest comparison I can make at this point to illustrate what these women told me.)


Regardless-

When I mentioned this empathy to a self-proclaimed secular woman, I came under fire. How could I possibly think like that? I should feel sorry for her, she told me, because she is afraid Turkey will become like Iran or Saudi Arabia. Women who wear the scarf are "the enemy of secular women like me," she said. She has no respect for her PM, her president and his covered wife, she said.

"Turkey is a secular country, with a secular government, and that's how it will stay," she said.

I was told that America and the West think everyone should be free to wear what they want- but in Turkey it's more complicated. So I should look at this issue from the "right perspective." Which is???

If looks could kill, I wouldn't be here to write this note.

Whatever you think about the HS here, you will find someone who doesn't like what you think. After a few weeks in Turkey, I think I understand the issue a little bit better.

My partial conclusion? It's too bad it divides women into the "covered" category and the "uncovered" one. The resulting political debate turns women into objects, creatures people criticize and think they can decide for. It's too bad it turns the attention away from other fundamental issues, like violence against women, or the quality of education or of the health care system. Oh, if we could just live and let live!

And I, sadly, by writing this note, am contributing to this categorization of women, to my dismay.

(Maybe I can make up for it in further writing...)

One woman told me: I am not a headscarf- I am a woman. And all of us are different.

Yet from the looks of the debate, commentary in the press and people's attitude, this piece of fabric will stay on the central stage for a long time...


CODA: After all these experiences, I have come to believe it is easy to sit in your ivory tower- of course, reading your dose of media to be "informed" - watch customs you are not used to from far away, and have an opinion about it all. Without talking to the people who are actually involved in the issue at stake.

It is much harder to come out and try to understand the customs without feeling threatened. But also a lot more rewarding.

For me, and ideal world would be one where women could wear what they feel good in. Where they wouldn't feel they have to protect themselves from male violence or stares, whether that implies covering your head of avoiding certain places. A world where my (potentially future) daughters could feel safe anywhere, regardless of their attire. And a world where women- and humans- are not divided into politically-motivated categories (which doesn't make me a Marxist).

That's just the beginning. Ahhh, utopias...

Whatever you are, come

They were whirling
The soft sound of leather shoes shuffling silently
on the wooden ground
Sufi sound...
Round and round in a circle
Quietly, peacefully
Inhaling Allah into their souls
And spreading peace to those surrounding them
The Mevlevi of Konya

"Come, Come again ! Whatever you are... Whether you are infidel, idolater or fireworshipper. Whether you have broken your vows of repentance a hundred times This is not the gate of despair, This is the gate of hope. Come, come again... "
Hz. Mevlana

How Turkey Stole My Heart. Plus: the Headscarf Discovery Continues.

Today I had my first conversation with a woman wearing the headscarf. I had interviewed covered women in Utrecht, but it wasn’t a heartfelt talk, just rather flat exchanges of information.

Feyza works for the Ministry of Religious Affairs of Turkey. She has the sweetest voice ever: I’m sure it would soothe any angry child. She is here in Konya for a conference of the Women’s Platform, about whose activities I will find out about this weekend.

We spoke briefly, but I felt totally at ease.

Of course, my attitude might seem strange. But the headscarf is not part of the culture I grew up in, or in my close “interactive” culture. I never had any covered classmates or friends. It’s just something that seemed “different”, something I couldn’t comprehend. Something I felt shy to ask about.

Besides, in Turkey, it is such a potent social political symbol at the root of much debate and discussion… Not only in Turkey actually. One way or another, my conversation with Feyza has opened a new door for me, a door of comfort and openness. I am not shy to ask anymore.

And this weekend in Konya, in central Turkey (the home of the famous Sufi mystic Rumi and of the twirling Dervishes) I will have the opportunity to speak to women who wear the scarf and who will be open to answering my questions.

…

Turks often add the suffix cim (jim) when speaking to you- eg. Kiniacim. It means Kinia dear. Also, relationships between people, even in academia are less formal than elsewhere. Not less polite, but warmer, more engaged, not as distant as I have experienced in Canada. The women I have interviewed (heads of NGOs, department chairs) have quickly adopted the second-person approach with me. And I feel like they make my project their cause.

I’ve been feeling this sense of euphoria this week (although I’m tired from enjoying the Istanbul nightlife!) regarding my relations with people.

They are just SO KIND. Everyone goes out of their way to help me. I have lost count of the people who have walked me to a bus, to a destination, escorted me. Doesn’t matter if sometimes it took them 30 minutes, they took the time for me. OK- taxi drivers have tried to charge me the night rate during the day every time, but I have been fed for free (even in cafés) or have been charged lower prices for food on many, many occasions.

When I flew into Konya, the airports electrician took me all the way to my hotel (about 45 minutes). He got people from the car rental agency to drive me closer to the center, then he took a dolmus (public taxi) to the Rixos with me. Not sure if that would happen in Canada.

Sure, I may sound a bit naïve and too optimistic, but really, the social culture in Turkey and Konya has been very welcoming.

I am charmed. Turkey has stolen my heart.

What are women born for? Not to provoke men?

People see what they want to see, Canan Arin replied to me when I told her lots of Europeans saw Turkey as a traditionalist, conservative country.

I feel like in most European cities here in Istanbul, except that I do get a few more stares from men. But I must say I was surprised by the "level of modernity" here. We really do tend to put Muslim heritage societies into one bag. However, Istanbul feels very secular, and I feel at home.

Canan Arin (photo: radikal.com) struck me as a beautiful and strong person the moment I met her. Wearing a colorful shirt, her eyes sparkling behind her glasses, she quickly ran out of her office to move her car as soon as I came in. Like most Istanbulites, she must deal with the city's notoriously thick traffic when driving to her office in Taksim.

I had time to look at all the eclectic paraphernalia in her office: clearly she had traveled the world. She is against "any injustice at birth" and that's what drives her in her fight for equality between women and men. She believes the headscarf to be a violation of human rights: if women are to cover their hair, their faces, to stay at home, then "what are we born for?" Arin asks. Not to provoke men?

Arin is a lawyer and a leading feminist here in Turkey. She co-founded many associations to combat violence against women, including the well-known women's shelter MorÇati- Purple Roof.

Arin is only one of the inspiring women I will speak with during my stay in Turkey. I was pleasantly surprised at how enthusiastically a well-known journalist, a researcher and Arin herself responded to my request for an interview.

I though it would be much more difficult. I thought there would be more no's and I'm-too-busy's.

I would like to dedicated a full article to Arin. She has been written about more than once, but her combat for the rights and equality of women is one that deserves many pages and much praise.

We all bleed red, from East to West

Istanbul-- 23 years and 30 countries behind me, I have realized we are really the same. Yes, I know I'm not the first one coming to this conclusion.

I have been in the homes of people in Guatemala, the US, Serbia - Kosovo, Macedonia, Poland, and well, most countries of Europe, Morocco, now Turkey.

On the outside, some of us wear veils, others shorter skirts and hats, religious symbols in some cases, in others none.

But in the home, most human beings try to build a cocoon of comfort, love, family space, where guests are celebrated, offered food, drink and hospitality.

Sometimes we don't speak with the same alphabet, but the language of laughter, smiles and pats on the back allows us to communicate. Besides, it's not so hard to learn thank you in other languages.

Like millions before me, I have now experienced Turkish hospitality in more than one home.

Yesterday, it was in the company of Alp, his wife Serap (picture on top) and her parents who hosted us for dinner. The table was full of dolma, sarma, bulgur, different salads, sauces, cakes... and that was only the beginning. Tea was accompanied by so many deserts I can't even name them all.

The grandfather treated us to a tambur concert after dinner. The Turkish quarter-tone harmonies emanated from the strings and echoed in the case, reminding me a bit of a bagpipe.

In the home, at the table, it is easy to forget we are from different countries. We are just plain human beings.

...

12 hours later, May 1, holiday- worker's day

There are demonstrations on Taksim square- the center of new Istanbul. Police are using tear gas... so I am staying home. Although as a journalist, I would love to see it first-hand.

My host is there- I lent her my goggle so she can protect herself from the gas.

(Picture: May 1 2007)

From Hürriyet news

Turkish labor unions call off planned Taksim May Day celebration march

Turkey's leading labor unions on Thursday called off their planned march to Istanbul's Taksim Square as part of the May Day celebrations. Labor Unions Confederation (DISK) Chairman Suleyman Celebi said the unions would end the march in the Sisli district of Istanbul as they did not want to be seen as the government’s provocation mechanism. Turkey's major labor unions were planning to celebrate May 1 Workers' Day at Istanbul's Taksim Square but the government cited security reasons as the justification for refusing to grant permission.

DISK Chairman Suleyman Celebi told reporters on Thursday that together with Confederation of Public Sector Unions (KESK) Chairman Ismail Hakki Tombul and Turkish Confederation of Labor (Turk-Is) Secretary General Mustafa Turkel, they decided not to push workers towards Taksim Square for a colossal meeting.

"Now we are ending the celebrations with common sense, because we don’t want to be seen as the government’s provocation mechanism," Celebi told reporters on Thursday.

"We wanted to gather in Taksim (square) to express our demands with an enthusiastic festival. Now, all squares and the whole Turkey have become Taksim," he said.

Police wearing gas masks first broke up a crowd which had gathered in front of the DISK office in Istanbul’s central business and residential Sisli district with the intention of walking to Taksim.

Police, blocking all streets leading to Taksim, also broke up groups of workers trying to enter the square through various alternative routes, firing tear gas and beating some demonstrators with clubs.

Some demonstrators were seen throwing rocks at police. Journalists and people trying to get to work were also affected by the tear gas fired at the demonstrators.

The Turkish government had insisted on its rejection to lift the decades-long ban and open Taksim for celebrations despite pressure from the country’s leading unions, which represent around 3 million workers.

Turkish officials cited security concerns and warned on provocative actions during the celebrations, while unions vowed to celebrate May Day peacefully in Taksim with an estimated 500,000 people.

Turkey banned May Day celebrations in Taksim Square after 36 people were killed on May 1, 1977; a date since referred to as the "Bloody May 1." This event is seen as a turning point in Turkish history and an important factor that paved the way for the military coup in 1980. Still-unidentified armed men opened fire on the crowd of some 1-million-people attending the celebrations. The clashes between left and right political groups in the 1970s had brought Turkey to the brink of civil war.

DISK last year attempted to breach the ban and hold celebrations in Taksim. But clashes erupted between the demonstrators and police forces, wounding tens of people. Some 1,000 people were taken into custody in 2007.

The Turkish government has decided to celebrate May Day as "Labor and Solidarity Day," but declined to declare it a national public holiday.

Observers say the Turkish government is reluctant to lift the ban due to concerns that it could turn into a mass anti-AKP rally over the controversial social security law.

No scarves in Istanbul med school. So far.

It's quiet in IU's med school library. Only a few typing sounds emerging from below the fingers of the medicine students who are wearing white frocks.

It's a busy faculty, with over 9000 students. I'm working in the library, which looks out onto the Marmara sea, while my friend Rabia attends her psychiatry class.

We have a 40-cent (delicious) lunch in the uni's cafeteria. I don't see any student wearing a headscarf.

I'm fascinated by the headscarf. I guess it's a powerful social and religious symbol- that's why I'm fascinated.

Imagine: one line in the Q'ran advising women to cover their heads... and what ensues are decades of social debate, sometimes conflict, talk of freedom of expression, of religion.

Rabia's friends are über-friendly and talkative. We sit in the sun on campus and talk about traveling, the scarf (surprise, surprise), politics, parties. Everyone is smiling.

Of course, there are med students who wear the scarf, but I haven't seen any yet. I would like to talk to girls who wear the scarf. It somehow seems so much easier to address the issue here, because it is at the heart of national debate.

...Especially since the headscarf ban in universities was lifted in Turkey on Feb. 9, 2008.

How to pack 7 days within 48 hours

My phone was ringing non-stop this morning. Welcome calls from my new Turkish friends. Of course, courtesy of couchsurfing. Alp, Dogan, Fatma... Just overwhelming kindness.

My host Özge spent all morning helping me research and set up interviews: I have 3 set up already. I love this country. I think I won't have problems with finding sources in this city of over 12 million people.

In the afternoon- a short stroll through Sultanahmet- in the rain- and köfte (meetballs) at Sultanahmet Köftecisi, one of the best-known ın Istanbul. A jump ınto the Russian district. I was greeted with zdrastvoitie in all the shoe shops there. Discovered the local warning code: if someone lifts your wındshield wiper, you shouldn't park there anymore. You're not welcome.

This is my second night in Istanbul, and I am spending it at Rabia's place- a girl I met traveling from Bosnia to Montenegro last year.

In less than 48 hours, I took the ferry, different minibuses, the taxi, the metro, the bus and the tram. Oh, and a Turkish plane :) I feel like I've been here for at least a week!

Istanbul, sweet Istanbul.

From Istanbul wıth love

27 April, Istanbul, Day 1

A baptism by fire. In Istanbul, the city of thousands of years of history, culture and wonders.

My couchsurfing host was quite busy the day I arrived, so I headed out to the city on my own. There I had a different experience surfing: through people, that is. Istikal, the main street in Taksim, or new part of Istanbul, is gorged with people flowing back and forth.

Out of this sea of people emerges a tram that resembles a whale rising out of the water. The pedestrians make way nonchalantly. Music spills out of one shop more colorful than the other, drowning out the calls for prayer echoing through Istanbul’s hundreds of mosques. Istiklal pulsates with life, energy trickling from it into the perpendicular streets to it filled with cafés, Istanbulites smoking narghileh and mountains of fresh fish, fruit and sweets.

The city has embraced me, as a have embraced her. Chaotic, vibrant, delicious, old, new, conservative, flirty, religious, secular. Istanbul is all of that.

I tried to blend into the crowd of the city’s millions of inhabitants. Have the “I know where I’m going look on my face”. I walked down the hill to the Bosphorus on the Anatolian side, took the ferry to Beşiktaş as if I had done it all of my life, and caught a Dolmuş (collective taxi) that took me into Taksim, where I met up with Sinan, a couchsurfer I met in Dortmund.

On the menu: lamb kebap, local ice cream, narguileh, coffee at the faculty of law where Sinan studies, çaj, a view of the Bosphorus on a terrasse in one of Fransız street’s dozens of cafés. Already feels like home. I guess sometimes you just have to jump right into it, even if it's a bit scary.

Finally in Serbia

The last few days have been a journalistic hurricane.

I've arrived in Belgrade on Sunday and have been doing three interviews a day since Monday.

Is that what it's going to feel like when I enter 'real adult life'? Coming home (because this hostel here feels like home) and feeling drained?

Not that the interviews feel like work- they feel exhilarating. I've been to the Canadian Society for International Health, the ... out of circle organization (it offers counseling and legal advice for disabled women), group 484, which works with refugees, at a press conference for a book launch funded by CIDA, at the Canadian embassy speaking to a CIDA rep and a gender specialist, at the CIDA-funded Serbian Public Health Association and at the Judicial Reform Project office (also CIDA-funded).

Whew! I've filled pages and pages with information about policy-making, gender issues, judicial reforms, public health... And I'm proud of Canada, who's a leader in many aspects, especially integrating gender as a cross-cutting theme in all spheres of involvement, not just as a statement.

I've got a lot of work awaiting me, but I feel optimistic because all the information seems to come together now and it's a wonderful feeling after being overwhelmed for quite some time (hence the lack of blogging...)

A reflexive moment

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.

It's normal again

People around me in Montreal still imagine Kosovo in a state of war. But if you see it if your own eyes, you can’t help but notice that life is going back to normal. Of course, the region is still facing many economic, cultural and political challenges.

“… 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 Europe) officer working in the capital, Pristina/Prishtine. The names of cities are always spelled in Serbian and in Albanian.

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.

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.

Pravda za sve

Photoreportage: protest in remembrance of the Srebrenica genocide

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 Jalovcic

A Bosanska kafa (or Turkish coffee, served 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 for 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

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.

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 Bosnian 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.

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…

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.