Dosta.

So, this is awkward.

I meant to write this before I left Serbia, but you know how it goes when you decide to end an assignment early and have only two weeks to say goodbye to your friends and pack all your belongings into two 23 kilo bags (and only ONE carry on, thanks a lot, Austrian air…). There wasn’t time to write it there, so I’ll explain now.

So, yes, I’m leaving early. Have left, actually. It isn’t that anything specific happened (other than, you know, my father dying), or that things were really so bad, or that I couldn’t deal with life in Belgrade. Belgrade is an incredible city full of beauty and passion and depth and surprises, my job was amazing, and I was starting to make some genuine friendships. I adored the other service workers with MCC in the region, and I was FINALLY becoming conversational in Serbian. So, why bail?

Good question. To be honest, I was really cold. The weekend I made the decision was the coldest we had had this winter and the heat in my apartment wasn’t working. Of course, it is more than that, but in the interest of full disclosure, you need to know that fear of frostbite was a factor in the decision. Of course, there is more than that, too.

After the funeral, when I decided to come back to Serbia, lots of people told me they were proud of me. Lots of people told me my dad would be proud of me. People told me I was being brave and selfless, but here’s the secret: I am much more scared of going home than I was of going back to Serbia. I think, on some level, being in Serbia the past few months protected me from certain parts of the grieving process. There was so much to do and see and think about I didn’t have TIME to fall apart. In some ways, I was hiding in the Balkans… hiding from my grief, from my past, and from my family.

Now I’m going home, because it’s time. I have always wanted to travel, to see what there is to see, to forge a new path, to be on my own, and I’ve been lucky to be able to do a decent amount of that through international travel the past few years. It took the death of a parent, but now I think I am starting to see the value of having both wings AND roots, the value of family, the value of home. It sounds cliché and naive, I know, but I do think part of the reason I wanted to live abroad was to, in some sense, “find myself”. I did a lot of things the past few months… I lived alone for the first time in my life, I learned Serbian (and Bosnian and Croatian!), I learned to trust myself, and I grew up a lot. The thing I am realizing now, however, is that maybe “finding myself” doesn’t need to take place in the Balkans, or Central America, or East Africa. Maybe those are silly places to look. Maybe I can- and should- “find” myself at the source of myself: at home.

Travel does do a lot for a person, though, I will be honest about that. Traveling has taught me some new things, changed some of my values, and showed me some of my values that I am not willing to change. I have realized I am, in fact, more American than I thought (and perhaps more American than I’d like to admit). I’m coming home wearing a scarf from Kosovo and jewelry from Bosnia, reading Winnie the Pooh in Serbian (in Cyrillic!), but I am not nor will I ever be from any of those places. You can go anywhere in the world, you can make your own journey, and you can try to even aim at a certain kind of ending, but you only get one beginning, the same way you only get one father. Now I see that, and staying in Belgrade, even if it is to work for a humanitarian aid organization, seems both frivolous and selfish.

My favorite Serbian proverb is “Svuda pođi, kući dođi.” It means “Go everywhere, come home.” There are two interpretations I’ve heard. One is that you can go anywhere and everywhere in the world and be at home there, and that’s the meaning I originally fell in love with. The other meaning is that you can go anywhere in the world, but you should always return home, to your roots, to your people, and that’s the meaning I’ve got tucked in my back pocket now.

I probably won’t write here anymore. After all, “Today I went to the grocery store, asked for something in my native language, and got exactly what I expected!” is simply not a compelling story. If you’re so interested and invested in me that that kind of story would be compelling for you, we’re probably close enough for you to call me and ask me those kind of questions… or else you’re stalking me, which is creepy, so stop.

This whole entry runs the risk of being overly sweet and sentimental, so I might as well push it over the edge with some song lyrics I loved as a 12- year- old. It makes me feel silly, but I do think Dar Williams’ words apply here. She writes:

Here’s something I finally faced, I finally think I come from someplace, and this is not a romance with the road.

She’s right, you know. You can love the road and enjoy the journey, and maybe one day I’ll court these kind of adventures again, but for now, I finally think I come from someplace, and that’s enough. Dosta. Enough.

It's beginning to look a [little] like [something sort of resembling] Christmas...

Everyone has problems. The secret is not looking for a life without problems, but finding creative ways to meet your problems; notice I said meet... not necessarily solve. Thus, I give you:

The Lone American Volunteer in Serbia's Guide to Christmas

PROBLEM: You are a protestant living in an Orthodox country. What you have always celebrated as Christmas (December 25th) is not a holiday where you live.

SOLUTION: Make work special that day. Make your students balloon animals and give them candy canes sent from the US. Invite orthodox friends over for a special dinner; after all, it's not like they're doing anything that night!

PROBLEM: Nativity scenes are a big part of the holiday season for you, both because you're a Christian, and because they are a family/cultural tradition. You miss the nativity sets in your parents' house: the one your grandpa carved by hand from wood, the ceramic one you spent hours playing with as a child, the one your sister brought back from Ghana.

SOLUTION: Buy a nativity set in Serbia.

PROBLEM: You can't find a nativity set that costs less than $30, which is half your monthly income.

SOLUTION: Make your own nativity set out of salt dough.

PROBLEM: You had to bake your nativity set figures on their backs because the salt dough wouldn't allow them to stand up on the cookie sheet. Now Mary, Joseph, the wise men, the shepherd, and the angel can't stand up at all. Only Jesus in the manger and the sheep, who is lying down, look normal.

SOLUTION: Throw everyone but Jesus and the sheep away. Paint them, put them on display, and claim it is a visual reference to Jesus as the Good Shepherd.

PROBLEM: Almost all Christmas songs with any sort of deep or personal meaning make you burst into tears, especially ones involving the words "family", "friends", or "home".

SOLUTION: Listen to Santa Baby and Baby It's Cold Outside on repeat. Sing along. Declare "Serbian Sexy" as the theme for this year's Christmas.

PROBLEM: Making gingerbread houses from scratch with the mold your grandmother gave you is a tradition, but that mold is now in Virginia and your mother refuses to spend the $80 to ship it to you.

SOLUTION: Throw a gingerbread house making party for your Serbian friends, using hand cut gingerbread pieces instead of the mold. They won't really know what you're talking about, but will be interested. It helps if you claim it will be like the house in Hansel and Gretel and tell them they can eat the candy.

PROBLEM: There is no molasses in Serbia [see future post for Maggie Makes an Idiot of Herself While Trying to Buy Molasses story] and you can't make gingerbread without molasses.

SOLUTION: Make sugar cookie houses. Decorate with (homemade) colored frosting, sprinkles, gummi bears and gummi dinosaurs.

PROBLEM: Everyone you love and everyone who loves you live on another continent.

SOLUTION: Skype with family and friends. Use your time to work on new relationships where you are. Count your blessings. After all, the first Christmas took place when Joseph, Mary, and Jesus were away from home, too. At least you're not in a barn.

"[Maybe next year] we all will be together,
If the fates allow,
Until then we'll have to muddle through somehow...
So have yourself a merry little Christmas now."

"but WHERE is the MONKEY??"

Language differences continue to be both the most difficult and most amusing part of my time in Serbia.

It almost feels like I am making more mistakes the more I learn, because now I understand just enough of what people are saying to THINK I understand what they mean. A popular one to mention with my friends here is kofa vs. kafa. Kofa is a bucket, and kafa is coffee. A few weeks ago a girl was in our apartment and feeling sick. She put her head between her knees... and then threw up between her knees, onto the floor. Repeatedly. We all jumped into action, and I, of course, wanted to be as helpful as possible. I understood that one person was saying (in Sebian) "Go get the kofa! Bring the kofa!" I didn't know the word 'kofa', so I heard it as 'kafa' (a word I know and love). I thought it was a bit odd that they wanted to give the puking girl coffee, but Serbs LOVE coffee, and also have many "home remedies" for ailments that I find perplexing. They want coffee, I thought. Great. I can do that. So I made coffee, and I got some REALLY funny looks when I brought it into the room.

The language barrier really goes both ways, though. Like I've said before, people in Belgrade, especially people my age, tend to speak excellent English. That being said, some things just don't translate. My first gut-busting laughter since coming back from the funeral was shared with my roommate in our kitchen. I was washing dishes, and she was using a laptop I had borrowed from work at the kitchen table. She went to log in to facebook and couldn't find the "@" symbol, since international keyboards vary. She looked up and, with all seriousness, asked me in English, "Where is the monkey?". We hadn't been living together very long at this point, so I didn't want to freak her out or accuse her of smoking crack, so I did my best to maintain a straight face and said, "Milana, we don't HAVE a monkey." After several "what?"s, "WHAT??"s, and "What do you MEAN??"s, we figured it out. In Serbian, the "@" is called "majmunce", or "the little monkey". Since it doesn't make sense, she assumed it was a term they had borrowed from English. Needless to say to the native English speakers reading this blog... it's not.

There have been some fun times with people who are learning English as well. One of my colleagues at the kindergarten told me the day we met that he doesn't speak English. He said it in excellent English, though, which was confusing. I believe his exact words were: "Hi! I'm Kolja. I'm sorry, I don't speak English. I only know some English from watching TV". That boy must have watched a LOT of TV, though, because we have had several long conversations in English. I think what he, and a lot of Serbs, meant by "I don't speak English" was really "my English isn't perfect." That is true. Multiple times now he has asked me, "Maggie, do you want to go to bed with me?". The first time this was especially confusing (and I should mention here that this particular colleague is very handsome, wears funny shirts, is great with kids, and smells like fabric softener [in a good way]). The first time he asked, I think I just looked at him for a while, and then he motioned for me to follow him to the basement. WELL, who am I to argue? I'm a great cross cultural ambassador, I would ever be culturally insensitive and turn down a social invitation, and I love fabric softener, so I followed him to the basement... where we set up the little beds where the younger kids take naps. I should maybe tell him what he is implying with the way he says this, but I enjoy being propositioned too much to correct him.

Finally, there are the different ways Serbian and English are difficult. English grammar, compared to nearly any other language, is ridiculously easy. I laugh, you laugh, (s)he laughs, we laugh, y'all laugh, they laugh. No cases for nouns (with the possible exception of pronouns) and no genders. Serbian grammar is NUTS, with 7 cases for nouns, genders, confusing accents, and letters I can't pronounce. Serbian, however, is completely phonetic. "Write as you speak, and read as it's written" (Thanks, Vuk Karadžić!). Every letter in Serbian has ONE sound, and the sound can't be changed by the order of the surrounding letters. There are no silent letters, no Is before Es except after Cs or when sounding like A as in neighbor or weigh. It is pure, honest, and straightforward, and once you learn the rules, they don't change. This is why I can read books to my students. I usually have no idea what I'm saying, but I can read, and they understand what I'm saying. Thus, the most difficult thing for Serbs learning English is the crazy way things are written and pronounced. One of my friends from work speaks English well, but has never learned to read or write it, so she just writes it like it's Serbian, leading to things like this (actual text message I received): "Ajm lejt bikoz aj vejt bas. Aj bi der for 10min." That's in English... um, kind of. If you read it with Serbian rules of pronunciation (and grammar) it says "I'm late because I wait bus. I be there for 10 min", or, with English grammar, "I'm late because I'm waiting for the bus. I will be there in 10 min." I have this message saved in my phone, and will keep it forever. It is the most endearing text I've ever gotten.

I have a new Serbian teacher now, so I making faster progress on more practical things. I have also gotten over a lot of my anxieties about practicing what little I do know, because I've realized people think my accent and inability to hear the difference between "Č" and "Ć" or say "Lj" is cute, and it's a good way to make friends (and be kissed... somehow it's a fairly common occurance for me to say something in Serbian and for someone to laugh, put thier hands on my head, and kiss my cheek.) Dosta mi je težak, ALI, snalazim se... nekako. :o)

Ne razumem...

I haven't written anything for a while, and I apologize to those of you who have been waiting on the edge of your seats. I would love to tell you that I have been too busy learning Serbian to write anything, but then you might ask me to say something, and I would have to admit that I still know next to nothing.

In theory I work at the kindergarten from 8 until 1, and then have Serbian lessons from 4- 5:30 during the week. I also have about an hour and a half of homework every day. So, that means I am spending about five hours a day working, and three hours a day learning the language. In truth, however, I learn much more Serbian at the kindergarten than I do in my lessons. At work learn things like "Don't put that in your mouth!" "Sit down!" "Eat your cabbage!" and "Don't open the bunny cage!". In my lessons I learn things like "There is a shift and change of stress in many Class I disyllabic masculine nouns with the short-rising accent on the first, and the length on the second syllable. The accent shifts to the middle syllable and changes into the long rising one in all cases except the vocative singular." Incidentally, I always thought I was good at learning languages before I tried to learn Serbian. It turns out I happen to have studded easy languages.

People in Belgrade tend to speak very good English. In fact, the only people I have met who ACTUALLY don't speak English are either elderly or under 10. Many people between those two groups will claim they don't speak English, but they usually do and are just being modest (or don't want to talk to me). There seems to be an attitude here that everyone *should* know English, and when people think their English isn't very good, they're embarrassed. I have even been asked by more than one person why I am trying to learn Serbian, because it is "such a small language", and "only relevant here." I hardly know what to say to those people. I am learning Serbian because I LIVE here, because I look like an idiot in the grocery store, because I can't talk to my students, because I respect you enough to try to address you in your native tongue... the list for THAT goes on and on.

Despite my genuine efforts to progress, I still fail at most things most days with this language. Some fun examples:

(At work):
Kindergartner: Maggie, you are American?
Maggie: Yes I am.
Kindergartner: Do you LIVE in America??
Maggie: (confusing the verb "to live" with the verb "to come from") Yes, I do!
Kindergartner: WHOAAAAA!!!!!!
(Several hours later)
Maggie: (to self) Why was she so shocked that I am from the US?? OH CRAP she asked if I lived there NOW... she thinks I am commuting every day to Belgrade from DC... oh dear.


(With friends)
Friend: (sneezes)
Maggie: (literal translation) Shhh, kitty!
Friends: HAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Maggie: What!? Isn't that what you say when someone sneezes??
Friend: That is what you say when you are 6 and someone sneezes.
(guess where I learned it?)

(At the grocery store)
Maggie: (struggles to figure out how to get the little scale to print the sticker so she can buy her lemons. Motions to the clerk for help).
Clerk: (points at lemons) Lemons?
Maggie: (conditioned response) I don't speak Serbian.

(At home)
Doorbell rings. Maggie is home alone and answers it. A large, very scary looking man is standing there.
Man: Hello.
Maggie: Hello.
Man: Is your TV working?
Maggie: (WTF? Did Milana call someone to fix the TV? Shouldn't he have some kind of uniform on if he works for the TV company? Maybe they don't have uniforms for TV guys in Serbia. If I let him in, he will probably kill me, but it might be culturally insensitive to not let him in. It's raining, maybe he wants coffee. Maybe if I make him coffee he won't kill me...)
Man: IS... YOUR... TV.... WORKING?
Maggie: (what the hell) No, it is not working.
Man: OK. (enters house. Messes with TV.) (bunch of stuff in Serbian)
Maggie: (nods)
Man: (bunch of stuff in Serbian), understand?
Maggie: yes.
Man: (bunch of stuff in Serbian) TV not works (something in Serbian) understand?
Maggie: Yes.
Man: (Bunch of stuff in Serbian) understand? (Messes with TV. Bunch of stuff in Serbian that sounds like a question.)
Maggie: Yes?
Man: Yes??
Maggie: No?
Man: Good. (bunch of stuff in Serbian. TV starts working. Bunch more stuff in Serbian.) You speak Serbian well.
Maggie: Thank you. I am learning the language.

So it goes.

Another MCC worker in the region had some really interesting things to say about learning the language. He will be serving in Sanski Most, Bosnia and Herzegovina, but is living in Sarajevo for a few months to study language. You can read his thoughts here: http://matthewharms.wordpress.com/2009/10/25/what-exactly-am-i-speaking/ (it isn't letting me put it in as a link and my computer skills are as limited as my language skills, so you can cut and paste. I trust you).

If you can't tell from that post, he knows a LOT more of the language than I do. I bet if asked if he was buying lemons, he would say, yes, I am buying lemons. The he would probably proceed to have a conversation in the local language about Yugoslavian literature. Not that I am bitter. I am learning the language, too... polako, i malo po malo.

Concrete Phoenix

The careful observers among you may have noticed the title change to this blog. "like a concrete phoenix" is a reference to Belgrade in the Bradt guidebook to Belgrade by Laurence Mitchell that the previous SALTer gave me. The full description is this:

Belgrade has the dubious distinction of the only European city to have been bombed on five separate occasions in the same century: during WWI (twice), followed by Nazi bombers in 1941, Allied bombers in 1944 and NATO bombers in 1999. Somehow, Belgrade always manages to rebuild and resurface like a concrete phoenix, only too aware that, lying as it does on a geopolitical, religious and cultural fault line, 'inconveniences' such as war, invasions and air raids inevitably go with the territory.

If it is not clear from this paragraph, the description- and the entire book- is clearly written with love by someone who deeply admires the beauty and strength and limitless character of this city. And I don't just say that to make up for loving on Sarajevo in the last post.

Anyway, that description always interested me, and now it has taken on special meaning. I am going to take a cue from beautiful Beograd and bear my own burdens with grace and strength. If Belgrade can survive- and, dare I say, thrive- through and despite all that it has, I can certainly spend this year (or years) in this place growing and learning through and despite my own circumstance of loss and pain and sorrow. I don't dare claim to be a concrete phoenix myself, but I aim to be at least worthy to live in one.

Further encouragement to stick it out came today in two wonderful letters, one from my grandmother and one from a dear childhood friend. They were both written before my father died, but could not have come at a better time or with more appropriate words. My grandmother writes "...think only of what is being added to your life, not what you miss," and my friend writes, "dig your toes in deep, love, do not let go."

I can't promise either of those things, but I will do my best... like a concrete phoenix.

Home again, home again.

Ask me how my trip back to Serbia was. I dare you.

I knew it would be a long day of travel. We decided it would be best for me to spend a few days with other MCC people in Sarajevo, Bosnia before returning to Belgrade, so I was supposed to fly from Washington DC to London, London to Belgrade, and then Belgrade to Sarajevo (it was cheaper to fly into Belgrade and then to Sarajevo than it was to change my destination from Belgrade to Sarajevo). That is a lot of flying, and with connections on top of it, I knew to expect a lot of movement and perhaps some stress. I did not know to expect the Spanish Inquisition.

My flight from DC into London was a bit late, and I missed my connecting flight by about 45 seconds. The plane wasn't at the gate, the passengers had to take a little bus out to the plane on the runway, and I literally saw it pull away. The people at the desk said it couldn't come back for me, and that I should go to the information desk to sort out how to get to Belgrade. That seemed reasonable enough, so I went to the desk and explained the situation. I asked when the next flight to Belgrade was, and the woman said, "same time tomorrow." This was about 7:30 AM in London, 2:30 AM body time, and I hadn't slept at all on the plane. I was tired and confused and did NOT want to stay overnight in London, so I did something I'm not super proud of. My voice wavered a little bit and my eyes (conveniently!) filled with tears as I explained, "I'm not sure if tomorrow will work... I'm actually traveling for a funeral." Please notice that I didn't lie, per se. I didn't say I was GOING to a funeral, I said I was TRAVELING for one, which I was. The funeral is why I was traveling right then... I just happened to be traveling HOME from it... four weeks later. The woman's face changed, and she said she would "see what she could do." I said thank you, and fought back tears, which were about 50% genuine and 50% to get me on a quicker flight. She was able to get me on a 2:30 PM flight to Belgrade with JAT airlines. She got very serious and said I needed to be quite quick, as I would need to go to another terminal to catch that flight. I said that was fine, and the plan was set.

In Washington or Chicago or New York or ANY OTHER AIRPORT I have EVER been in, going to another terminal involves walking a bit, maybe getting on a little tram or bus, and walking a bit more. At Hethrow, however, going to another terminal involves 4 times zones and requires a sherpa. First, I had to be escorted out of the current terminal BY SECURITY. So that was fun. Then I had to go through immigration, fill out the little card thing, and even got a UK stamp on my passport (which was actually pretty exciting, I'll take all the stamps I can get!). Then I had to go collect my luggage. I should point out now that I had a LOT of luggage. I kept thinking of more and more things at my mom's house that I could use in Serbia, and I was bringing gifts for the other service workers and a few Serbian friends, and I had bought a lot of clothes in the US because I had done such a terrible job packing. As a result, I had two giant 50 pound suitcases, one of which was mostly full of maple syrup. Thankfully my luggage hadn't made it onto the flight either, so I was able to collect it, go through customs (thankfully they didn't ask why I had 4 bottles of vanilla extract...)and was off to find terminal 2!

Terminal 2 is, apparently, in northern Africa. After officially entering the UK, I have to get on a subway system- WITH my 100 pounds of syrup and 30 pounds of carry-on luggage- and ride to the next train stop. I finally lugged all the bags onto the train and found a seat. Then I watched the informational video of the TV in front of me about the on board showers, wireless internet, sleeping cars, and- hold up. SHOWERS? Where the hell was this TAKING me?

The train ride really wasn't that long, maybe 10 minutes. True to their word, the Brits had put helpful signs directing me from the train platform to terminal 2. What the neglected to put on the signs was that it is about 400 miles, uphill, while- again- carrying about 130 pounds of things that I suddenly could not remember why I ever wanted after not having slept for a day. I finally found terminal 2 and no one was at the JAT counter because it was more than 3 hours before the flight.

I should point out that, at this point, I didn't even care if I got on a flight to Belgrade. I would have happily gotten on a plane to Sarajevo, or Sofia or Istanbul, for that matter. I would have gotten on a school bus if they told me it would take me to the Balkans. But there was no school bus, and no one offered Sofia, so I waited for the JAT airline people, checked in, re-checked my bags, and went to wait in the airport.

I supposed the rest of the trip was uneventful. Once in Belgrade I had to go through customs again, collect my bags again, then re-check them to Sarajevo, and go through security again (twice! I was very secure). When I landed in Sarajevo it was about 10:00 pm and I hadn't slept since Sunday night in the US. There was also snow on the ground, and I was in a dress... note to self: when in Sarajevo in October, wear pants. Maybe 2 pairs.

The time in Sarajevo was wonderful, though. I hope Belgrade won't feel like I am cheating on it when I say that Sarajevo is a beautiful, beautiful city. It has such great intensity of passion and depth of character. It has been though some pretty deep shit but wears even the wounds of war with dignity. It is a place where a foreigner can feel safe and welcome, but it also doesn't reveal all that it is and has seen and survived all at once and, thus, remains endlessly interesting. If that city were a man, I would marry him, no questions asked.

And so it goes.

Well.

When all of this first happened, there was no doubt in my mind that I would go back to Serbia. For one, what would I DO in the US? I doubt I could find a job, and if I could, there is no way I would love it as much as I love my job in Belgrade. I don't like leaving things undone. I signed up to live in Belgrade for at least a year, and wasn't ready to let go of it.

Then I started thinking about what going back would actually look like. I adore Belgrade, I love my job, and have met some really lovely people. The fact of the matter, however, is that I still don't have any close friends there, and certainly no network of friends and family who know me intimately and love me no matter what I do. Living alone in a country where I know no one and can't speak the language was difficult and lonely at times. Losing my father has been incredibly painful. I started to wonder... do I want to combine something very lonely with something very painful? That seems like a bad combination.

There was a day or two where I thought I couldn't go back. I was too sad, too tired, too scared to do anything. I talked to my region directors about how to get my belongings back to the US. I talked to my family about living here. And I talked to a pastor who knows me well from college. He didn't tell me what to do, didn't even really offer advice, but he asked the kind of leading questions I needed to be asked. A specific Bible verse came to mind while speaking to him (perhaps in part because it was the first Bible verse I learned in Spanish while in Nicaragua with this pastor). The verse is 1st John 4:18, "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out all fear..." If I stayed in the US it would be because I am scared. I am scared to be alone, scared to fail, scared that if I leave again something else terrible will happen to my family. But fear has nothing to do with love, perfect love casts out all fear. Because God is love, I know that this fear is not from God, and therefore I can be free from its influence. So, yesterday I emailed my region representatives and committed to going back to Serbia. I have my ticket and everything. I am still scared, of course, but I also have the strength and confidence to face the fear.

Like many things I say, this is an idea that has been expressed often (and often more eloquently!) by people before me. So, I will borrow John Newton's words to sum it up:

Through many dangers, toils, and snares I have already come
It was grace that lead me safe this far, and grace will lead me home.

Death by stupidity.

I know we all thought that a draft would be what killed me, but it turns out there is another contender for my life: Belgrade's trams.

First, a confession: I am not great with public transportation. I am not afraid of it, but I am not very good at it, either. I can get around just fine on the DC metro, but that is about it (and I have been doing it since I was a child). In Baltimore I sometimes took the bus home from work, but most days it was actually faster to walk. I took the metro in Baltimore once, with housemates, and never used the lightrail. In Belgrade I have been using the buses, trams, and trolleys, but usually with a Serbian friend. I can take the tram to work, but usually walk because the weather is so nice and the bakeries smell so good. So, while I am certainly capable of using public transport, I'm not great at it. I admit that and have come to terms with it. Now I might need to get over it.

Two days ago a friend at work called the internet company to find out why there still wasn't internet in my apartment. He told me that everything was set up, but I had to go to the office to pay them. He explained where the office was, near the city center, which I am pretty familiar with. Another friend looked at the address and said it was near Kalamegdan, which I am also quite familiar with. Another friend had previously told me that tram 5 would take me from my house to Kalemegdan. So, I put two and two (and two) together, and decided that I could be brave and independent and take tram 5 to Kalemegdan, walk towards the city center, find the internet place, give them money, and come home to working internet. Easy. Fast. Non-lethal.

After work I hopped on tram 5. I took a seat and figured I would ride until I saw Kalemegdan, and then I would get off. It seemed a reasonable enough plan. After a few minutes, most people got off the tram... eventually I was the only one in the car (which was the last car, not the one with the driver). That made me a little nervous, but I hadn't seen Kalemagden, so I held my ground. Then I saw that there wasn't anyone in ANY of the cars, except the driver... this made me a little more nervous, but darn it, I wanted internet, and if that meant riding in an empty tram, well, I was going to do it. Then the tram went off the road into a little turn-around kind of place, and turned around. Then it stopped. Then it turned off. Then the driver got out and walked away.

"Nervous" quickly became "quite alarmed", but I thought, you know, I am a strong, young, independent woman, and if nothing else, I can just walk around until I know where I am. I went to the door and pushed the button to open it and... nothing. I was downright terrified now, and ran to the other door and pushed that button and... nothing. I tried to get a few fingers between the doors o pry them open, but they wouldn't budge. One or more of the signs may have had emergency opening procedures on it, but they were all in Serbian (Cyrillic, on top of it! That's just mean, the two alphabets thing...). I tried to open the windows, but they didn't open, either. I saw my life pass before my eyes, and it seemed far too short with not nearly enough traveling. Of all the ways to die, starving or suffocating or simply being scared to death on a tram at the end of the line in Belgrade is really not up there on my list.

There was nothing left to do except yell (and hyperventilate). I could see the driver down the way a bit, smoking a cigarette. I pounded on the windows as loudly as I could, and since neither my Serbian phrase book nor my Serbian lessons covered "For the love of God I am trapped inside the tram", I yelled "MOLIM?? MOLIM??" Which means please, and you're welcome, and is what you say when you answer the phone or when someone says your name to get your attention. It seems like a generally all around polite word, but I was screaming it at a not very polite volume. The driver didn't flinch. I figured maybe my accent was so good he thought I was just a very loud polite Serbian, so I decided to try to convey more of the distressed foreigner persona. "HELLO????" I yelled, still banging on the windows as loudly as possible. The (surprised) driver turned around, and waved at me. Yeah, not the response I was hoping for. I waved back, and then gestured frantically at the doors in my best cross-cultural "OPEN THE DOOR OPEN THE DOOR OPEN THE DOOR" charade. He slooowwwllly walked to the tram, turned it on, and opened the doors. I have never exited anything so quickly in my life.

As I walked past the front car, he said something to me in Serbian (my best guess at translation is: You are the biggest idiot ever. Also, you should find a paper bag to breathe into." I did my best to smile. "...ja sam Amerikanka...", I said meekly. "Ahhh...." he said nodding, as all confusion left his face. Of course you are an American. Americans are often in the habit of not knowing where the end of the tram line is, staying on too long, and then having panic attacks in the back of the car. That explains everything. On your way, then....

As I walked away (and got my bearings- we were at the zoo, behind Kalemegdan... I hadn't seen that side before and didn't recognize it) I couldn't help but laugh.... and laugh and laugh and laugh. A few minutes later the same tram with the same driver passed me on the street. He had only wanted to smoke a cigarette before heading back the other side of the route. Nothing- and I mean nothing- brings more joy than the realization that you will live to see another day in Belgrade... except maybe the realization that you are a huge idiot and need to get off the tram when everyone else gets off the tram.

I paid the internet people, by the way, and am writing this from my apartment. Also, it took me 40 minutes, but I decide to walk the whole way home.

My dreams are toast.

There is a quote in the little book the kindergartners gave me that I have been repeating to myself a lot lately. I don't have it with me, but it says something along the lines of, "If you were lucky enough to wake up in Belgrade this morning you should ask nothing more of life. To ask for more would be immodest."

I guess I got greedy. Today I was supposed to get a TV and a toaster and possibly maybe I was hoping for internet in the apartment, but no go on any of it. For some reason the toaster is the most disappointing loss. I really miss toast. There are a lot of things I would like to have here in Belgrade... friends would be nice. Internet in the apartment would be great. A cheap way to talk to all my friends I (foolishly!) left in the states would be wonderful. An instant ability to speak and understand Serbian would help a lot. None of those things, though, feel like immediately realizable, concrete goals. As any nanny or parent or preschool teacher will tell you, the most important thing about goal setting is that the goals be realizable, and while I certainly hope at SOME point to have friends and internet and the ability to speak Serbian, those aren't things I can control or achieve this very weekend. I thought a toaster was... and it wasn't. That being said, I was lucky enough to wake up in Belgrade this morning, and the air was cool and fresh and I am blessed to be here. I repent of my immodest longings for toast, but to be honest, I am still in the market for a toaster. Just because this one didn't work out I'm not giving up ALL hope. One day I will toast again, and that day will be beautiful.

Other than that, things are going well. I have started my official Serbian lessons, which are hilarious because the teacher doesn't really speak English. I suppose that will help me learn more quickly, but it is also frustrating at times. The must be working at least a little, though, because this week I understood my first real Serbian sentence (not one about greetings or polite conversation). A little girl at work asked me if it was Friday, and I understood her. Yes, I said, it IS Friday! I was far more excited about my proficiency than she was. Hopefully I will continue to learn and learn quickly, because nothing- and I mean nothing- makes me feel more ridiculous than standing in the grocery store looking at my Serbian-English dictionary trying to figure out what is laundry detergent and what is floor cleaner. Don't put pictures of flowers and apples on the bottles, people, put pictures of THE FLOOR or CLOTHES or a TOILET or a COUNTER. This would make my life much easier.

Finally, based on comments on my last post it seems some real live Serbians have been reading this, which shocks and delights me. In the off chance that any of you continue to read, I have a question. Why in God's name have you been keeping ajvar from the rest of the world? That stuff is delicious. We do NOT have it in the US and the first person to start exporting it will make a lot of money. Please, have compassion on your fellow human beings who have lived long enough without this deliciousness.... spread the ajvar love.

Playing house.

I am pleased to announce that I am now the proud resident of a Belgrade apartment. I'm not positive I can find my way back there from this internet cafe, but the important thing is I have the keys and all my stuff is there. The past few weeks have been a bit rough... after spending a year in Baltimore (which was bad enough!) I spent three days in the hospital, 4 days at my parents' house, 6 days in Akron, PA, 3 days in Sarajevo, 2 days in Novi Sad, 3 days living above a Swedish pentecostal church in Belgrade, and 4 days living with a woman from work in her one bedroom apartment. There has been A LOT of moving, so when I actually got to unpack today, it was quite a celebration.

My first day at the kindergarten the kids gave me a bag of gifts, including a little book called "I Love Belgrade", which is full of famous (and semi-famous) quotes about this lovely city. Seeing as how I'm more or less an actual resident now, my favorite is this:

"Typical Belgrade girls are good-looking, bold, gracious, but they possess a touch of Belgrade-style naughtiness that does not spoil their femininity, and is a mark of courage and wit, qualities that one must be born with."

Now, I'm not saying that being the owner of keys to an apartment in Belgrade makes this apply to me, but it is good to have goals :o)

The apartment is technically furnished, but we went to a church bazaar at the church next to the kindergarten where I work to pick up some extra things. The bazzar was pretty much like any church bazaar in the US, with a few important differences. 1. Everyone was speaking Serbian, which I still find a bit alarming. 2. All of the prices were in Dinars, so I had no idea how much anything cost, and 3. Middle aged Serbian women kept handing me things they insisted I needed to start my household. At the end of the day the bare essentials we left with included, but were certainly not limited to:

every day plates
fancy plates
plates that are only for cake
coffee mugs
tiny cups that are only for Turkish coffee
three decorative candle holders
a decorative tea pot
two vases (for all the flowers from all the Serbian men I'm not allowed to date, I guess)
three water pitchers
an egg separator
every kind of spoon, utensil, and gadget known to man, including a few that I've never seen before
two decorative baskets
about 43 sets of sheets (none of which fit the bed)

So, I am clearly well stocked, and you should come visit! For the time being I have two bedrooms and a pull out couch all to myself, plus enough dishware to host a dinner party every night! I'll show you a good time.

Beograd

So, I made it to Belgrade, and was told that I would be living above a Swedish sponsored Pentecostal church and living with a girl from work who is my age and speaks English. Then they raised the rent on that apartment, and I moved in temporarily with a different woman from work while we try to find somewhere for me to live. I went around town with three Serbian women who had about 15 words of English between them to find a new apartment for my roommate and I (she is currently working in Greece and coming back in September) and we found an acceptable one, and it seemed things were coming together (again). Later that day we found out my roommate actually found another apartment on her own and won't be living with me. We are supposed to meet with the apartment owners, who are currently living in Australia, on Saturday to sign for it... although with the way things are going, I'm crossing my fingers but not holding my breath. We also tried to regiter me with the police today, but something happened or didn't work or wasn't there, and it didn't take. So, no visa for Maggie (yet?). Perhaps you will be seeing me sooner than originally anticipated...

Internet access has been few and far between, which ranges from mildly frustrating to catastrophic, depending on how many other things are going on. I am trying really, really hard to be sweet and gracious and flexible and thankful for the hospitality people are showing me, but the truth is, I am a little concerned. If this is my honeymoon period with Serbia, I might need an annulment.

At least one good thing has happened, though... a realization. For so long I thought I was attracted to gay men, but it turns out I'm just attracted to EUROPEAN men. I'm telling you, there are tight pants, nice shoes, cool glasses, and messenger bags EVERYWHERE. Thank you, men of Belgrade, for making this transition a little more tolerable.

Not kidding anymore.

You know, I was always half joking when I would talk about how much I hated Baltimore. Apparently the Gods of Baltimore can't take a joke, though, and I have now moved from a general sort of tolerable dislike to full blown loathing.

Last Thursday, the 30th, I was packing to move out of Baltimore and RHHP forever, which I was pretty excited about. "Oh boy!" I thought as I put things into boxes, "I'm ready to move on. Sure, Belgrade is another economically depressed city with a lot of violence, but I'm sure it will be great!" Later I thought, "Gee, I wonder my stomach hurts! Oh well, haha! I'm sure it's fine!". About an hour after that I thought, "WOW! My intense stomach pain now has a friend, Sharp Stabbing Pain in my Side! OW!". At this point I had stopped packing and was, instead, lying on the floor crying. I called our local program coordinator and couldn't get a hold of her, and I called my housemate who had the credit card (which is also our only form of health insurance) and couldn't get a hold of HER. I lay on the floor and cried for a while more, and then started throwing up. The intense stomach pain plus the sensation of being stabbed in the side with a dull, rusty knife, plus the vomiting didn't seem like a great combination, so I did what any self-respecting 23 year old college graduate pretending to be an adult would do: I called my mom. Then I called another housemate and asked if she could leave work to take me to the er, which she did (THANKS, ANNA!).

Long story short, I was admitted to the hospital for three days for kidney stones- IN BOTH KIDNEYS- and a badly infected left kidney. It was a pretty miserable few days, as I'm sure you can imagine, although I'm fine now. The cause? Stress. Everyone knew I hated my job and had a tough time with some of my housemates and hated my neighborhood, but even I didn't know I was so unhappy and dealing so poorly with the stress that I would actually get sick from it. Quite frankly, next time I get sick from stress I would prefer a cold to calcium deposits in my organs, but no one asked.

I eventually was released and got to go back to my parents' house for a few days to prepare for Serbia. I didn't want my last memories of Baltimore to be of being in intense pain, though, so last night I went to finish cleaning my room and to say goodbye to some friends. We had a great evening, it was wonderful to be able to spend one last night with the people who made the year tolerable (and even good at several points) and I was quite satisfied with the experience. I was pleased to be able to leave the city- and the country- on a good note.

And then I got a parking ticket.

Kind of irritating, kind of hilarious, but mostly just a fitting way to end this year. I'm ready for new challenges. I promise you, though, if there is an ice cream truck in Belgrade that drives around at 11:00 PM playing Christmas songs and selling crack, I am moving back to Vienna so fast you won't even get a souvenir.