Thank you note to Mostar

Mostie,

Thanks for being so cool. Well, you know what I mean.

I’m sorry I never learned the language. I think we did well with our use of gestures.

Thank you for not dubbing the fabulously bad American movies you so often aired. And your cevapi? A-ma-zing. Please send that stuff to the states ASAP. Your fruit selection is also top-notch.

Thank you for not being part of the EU and having the Euro as your currency. (But I hope that happens for you one day when the dollar is stronger.)

I think it’s safe to say you’re the prettiest city in BiH. Keep up all the great rebuilding work. You’ll go from pretty to smokin’ hot in no time.

Speaking of hot, you might look into air conditioning. Especially on your buses when it’s over 100 degrees. Just a thought.

I don’t see you as a divided city. I see you as double the fun.

Miss you already, Mostie. Hvala for everything.

Ciao,

Maria

Doviđenja

I only have a few more days left in Mostar. Because I should spend those final days wrapping up internship stuff, saying goodbyes and eating my final bites of cevapi, I’m writing my sappy farewell blog post now rather than later. I may also be avoiding writing a report and packing, but, either way, here comes the goodbye post.

Mostar was a very happy place for me. I knew this was going to be an interesting and educational experience, but I never expected to be so darn happy the entire time I was here. Maybe it was all the Fanta. Seeing war damaged buildings and hearing personal stories of war atrocities never became easy for me (as it shouldn’t), but didn’t keep me from enjoying this experience.

The people here are amazing, so it’s hard not to catch a positive vibe. I met dozens of people working for incredible organizations established to address post-conflict concerns. Plus many people who have endured more pain and trauma than anybody should, yet exhibit constant kindness and a determination never to let what happened during the war happen again.

No complaints about the lifestyle. Either worked early and left early or worked late and arrived late. Once office time was over, my only concern was deciding what outdoor café to go to or what to have for dinner. And when the week was over, weekends included seeing friends and new (to me) parts of the world. Not too shabby.

Mostar is overflowing with character. The people have substance. It felt good to be here.

It’s not easy for me to leave a situation like this, because odds are I’ll never see people I’ve worked with again or return to this town I admire. And the food! How I’ll miss the food.

Even though I’m hesitant to leave Mostar, I get the impression it’s ready to see me go. For one thing, all of the city’s scraggly stray cats have given birth to kittens. There’s not room here for all of us. What’s worse, one stepped into my apartment yesterday, and as I went to shoo it away, for I moment I thought, “Hey, you’re kinda cute.” If I stay much longer, I’ll start liking mullets and man capris.

Before heading back to the states in mid-August, going through Fanta withdrawal and reading Harry Potter, I’m experiencing the terrible dollar to Euro conversion rate in Italy and Germany with Lauren and Kristine. Travel agenda: Dubrovnik, Rome, Positano, Florence, Munich, London, Toronto, Buffalo. Let’s be honest. Buffalo is the coolest city on that list.

Who knew?

Things that surprised me about Bosnia and Herzegovina (due to incorrect assumptions or past European experiences):

How good the food is
Store clerks bag groceries for you
Peanut butter is sold everywhere
Restaurants provide free glasses of tap water
People wear shorts, sneakers, colors other than black and material other than denim
Cars stop for pedestrians
It gets hot. Really hot.
Most things are wonderfully inexpensive
American sitcoms and movies are almost always on TV
English and American music is everywhere
Mayo on pizza
Stores stay open late—some bakeries never close—even on Sundays
Unsupervised children are all over the place

Jumpin' and Divin'

This past weekend was the 441st annual Mostar Diving Competition. I think the 441st is a lie, but no one can prove it's a lie, so they say 441st and, more importantly, print it on t-shirts.

All of Mostar crowded on the river banks to watch Mostar's finest plummet from the Old Bridge. On Friday, starting at midnight, opening ceremonies consisted of divers jumping off the bridge wearing glow-in-the-dark paint (and Speedos) and carrying flares. There was also a very impressive fireworks show and a whole lotta techno music. In pictures it looks like the bridge is on fire. Thankfully, this was not the case. Just flare-filled.

Although people jumped off the bridge all weekend, the official diving competition took place on Sunday. Due to language limitations, I never learned exactly what the judging was based on; however, I do know the winner was the most attractive, most fit diver of the bunch. Sara and I were a little miffed that we weren't asked to be guest judges, but we expect such an invite for the 442nd (sure it is) competition.

Sugar Sugar

A scene from my all-sugar Bosnian diet. Guess whose plate has two pieces of cake.

My internship organization just had a press conference unveiling a new commercial and radio spot they will be airing. Using cool music and mildly scary graphics, like blood going down a drain, the ads encourage people to testify against war criminals.

I couldn't understand what was discussed at the press conference, nor do I know exactly what is said in the ads, but I feel compelled to do whatever the mildly scary graphics want me to do. Good work, commercial makers.

--

Last night I asked Sara what she was looking forward to doing once she returned to the U.S. "Exercising," she answered. A good answer, because here in Mostar if you go running people ask you what you're running from, and if you go hiking you will explode, landmine style. As for me, I miss having a library and free books at my disposal.

But other than that, Mostar has been a great place to live and leaves me craving and longing for next to nothing. I've enjoyed 2 months of not driving or having a million things to do. I've also loved my all-sugar diet, based primarily on mandarin orange flavored Fanta. Yummy.

The end is near :( but so are Italy and Germany :)

I've always known this summer would fly by, but it's still hard for me to believe I have just over a week left in Mostar. I'm sad to see my time here end. But by meeting Lauren in Rome on August 4th, eating my way through Italy and drinking my way through Munich with Lauren and Kristine, I should find a way to drown my sorrows.

Earlier this week Sara and I gave a trauma and PTSD presentation to women and teens who experienced war trauma. The presentation we expected would take no more than 2 hours somehow turned into an informal group therapy session lasting nearly 4 hours. We were invited back to run a workshop next week, which I'm looking forward to. The women and teens are amazing people, and I'm probably learning more from them than the other way around.

This weekend is the annual Mostar Diving Competition, where divers jump and dive off the Old Bridge and try not to die. Awesome.

Wild Weekend

Dee and Sandy drove down from Banja Luka in my dream vehicle, a Smart Car. We enjoyed the great sites and shopping Mostar has to offer and did our best to battle the heat through ice cream, Fantas and laying around doing nothing.

On Saturday we took a field trip to Kravica, a waterfall and swimming area Sara has wanted to go to all summer. The only way to get there is by car, which we didn't have until the Smart Car came into our lives. Kravica was gorgeous. Dee and I walked along the base of all the waterfalls, a walk that called for some climbing on slippery rocks and crawling through shady areas. We brought our cameras (which often had to carried in our teeth so we could climb properly), and took a ton of pictures. Waterfall. Me and Waterfall. Waterfall. Dee and Waterfall.

The whole day was refreshing and all-around great. Between the two of us, Dee and I took over 200 pictures. Here are some.

This evening Sara and I were supposed to give a presentation on Trauma and PTSD in a town just outside of Mostar, but it was canceled because it's too hot. (I've never had anything canceled because of heat before, but I support the decision. People should stay home and try not to evaporate.) It was rescheduled for tomorrow morning, when it should be only 95 degrees instead of 105.

Heat Wave

According to my internship supervisor, the government has ordered all work places to close at 12pm this week, due to the intense heat. Our office is air conditioned, so we're able to work. In fact, the office is the coolest place in Mostar for Sara and me. Also, apparently the heat in Bosnia made the local news in Denver.

In other news, a bookstore here DOES have the new Harry Potter book, but it's $40. My friends talked me out of buying it. (But not stealing it!)

Dee and Sandy spent a long weekend here in Mostar. It was filled with adventure and Fanta. I experienced my first ride in a Smart Car, and it was all that I'd hoped for and more. I plan to blog and post pictures as soon as I stop melting to death.

Hotter than Hot

"I don't want to get dressed today," my colleague and neighbor Sara tells me this morning. "It's too hot for clothes."

It really is. Yesterday it reached 42 degrees Celsius. That's 107 degrees Fahrenheit. Today it may get to 110. I'm a heat lover, but what makes these temperatures so unbearable is the lack of escape. No AC. Heck, there's barely any shade.

So this is what I will be doing later to keep cool:




I just need a Speedo then I'm good to go.

Dee, Lisa and Kristine: They Put the Star in Mostar

Kristine sent me a text message on Saturday stating she and Dee were on an un-air conditioned bus heading to Mostar. They arrived, drenched in sweat, and slightly traumatized. Dee’s description of the stench coming from the man in front of her: “It was like a dead rabbit crawled inside his butt and he farted the entire bus ride.”

In between dying many slow painful deaths because of Mostar’s heat, we ate Bosnian delights, drank on a terrace overlooking the river and swarming with bats, watched a guy who actually looked good in a Speedo jump off the bridge, dipped our toes in the river, climbed 1 of 3 climbable mosque minarets in the world, lounged in a cave, killed a tarantula, stole a kiwi, played Hearts with Carebear playing cards (those are from you, Lauren, thanks!) and watched cheesy American movies with Bosnian subtitles.

Another noteworthy event: Kristine acquired the nickname Krash during the school year after she was car #1 in a 12-car crash. On Sunday morning, Krash tripped and fell in such a way that her nickname will remain forevermore. Because I only have one bowl, Krash was returning from the kitchen to the living area after washing that one bowl, so I could eat cereal. As she came into the living area, I watched in horror as her feet stumbled off the step, her ankles twisted, her knees collapsed and she thudded to the floor. Thank goodness Krash began to laugh hysterically, because 1. the rest of us could then laugh hysterically and 2. we knew she wasn’t dead or suffering from broken bones.

Krash, I tell this story not to embarrass you, but so I can point out to the world (a.k.a. the 5 people who read this blog) how as you fell, I could see you trying to save the bowl. That’s amazing. And appreciated, because I don’t know how to start a day in Bosnia without corn flakes and boxed milk in my one and only bowl.

Pictures of the weekend-o’-fun can be found here and here.

Thursday afternoon brought the arrival of Lisa, and the start of a weekend full of visitors. On Friday, Lisa and I took a whirlwind trip to the town of Medjugorje. Legend has it that the Virgin Mary appeared to teenagers in this town in 1981. Since then, Medjugorje has become the second most visited Catholic hot spot in the world. (Not sure of the first.) After some bus confusion, we arrived and found the town church and other religious spots with no problem. But we could not find Apparition Hill, where the visions occurred. With the help of a vague map and Bosnian instructions combined with wandering on a dirt path through vineyards, we eventually spotted Apparition Hill. Because we had time constraints, we booked it to the hill, which turned out to be the rockiest terrain I have ever placed my feet upon. We got to the Mary statue, took victory pictures, and made our way down the hill and back to town in time to catch our bus back to Mostar.

Lisa gets a gold star because she led our rocky hike in flip-flops, while I was struggling in Pumas. And she's not even Catholic. Kudos.

One Fanta Challenge

On Sunday, Kristine and I made a pledge to cut our Fanta intake down to one per day. I can't speak for Kristine, but for me, it's hard to say how much I have on a daily basis. Sometimes (rarely) it's none, and sometimes it's with every meal and then some. We'll see who's the first to crack. It doesn't look good for me, unless I count a 2 liter bottle as my daily "one."

LARP. Long-Ass Rambling Post

In this post, I will tell you about last weekend, as well as highlight how many cups of coffee one may have during an average day in Bosnia. If my blog tells you nothing else about this country, it should make clear that Bosnia = coffee.

Over the weekend I spent my first weekend in Mostar since first arriving. I’ve had a blast traveling the other weekends I’ve been in BiH (Bosna i Herzegovina), but it was good to have a weekend to relax in the Bosnian city I know best. On Friday, Sara and I (and special guest Molly from Sarajevo) went with our supervisor, Dalida, to Trebinje, a region south of Mostar. HAD TWO SERVINGS OF ESPRESSO AT WORK BEFORE LEAVING. We had a meeting with a head doctor person to talk about the possibility of Sara and me giving presentations on PTSD to doctors in various areas around Bosnian. DRANK COFFEE WITH DOCTOR. The hospital in Trebinje is not exactly pretty, although it may have been in 1972. And it’s not air conditioned, despite summer temperatures of 90+ degrees. If anything happens to me while I’m in Trebinje, please have me air lifted to the hospital in Bern, Switzerland instead.

After our meeting, Sara, Molly, Dalida and I did what you do in BiH, GOT COFFEE. In case you haven’t been keeping track, this is coffee #4 by 1:00 pm. At this coffee gathering, we learned a lot about Bosnian culture. As Dalida was paying for our drinks, we all pulled out our wallets to contribute and said thank you when Dalida said she’d pay for it.

“You don’t have to say thank you,” she told us. She went on to explain that in Bosnia, one person pays for everyone; a bill is never split up. The next time, someone else will pay for everyone. In my mind, I would appear ungrateful or expectant if I didn’t at least offer to pay. But here, I’ve been told, it’s almost annoying. A lot of Dalida’s family now lives in Norway, and she said she can’t stand going out to dinner with a group of Norwegians when everyone is trying to figure out portions of the bill. I know plenty of people in the U.S. (and I’m probably one of them at times) who whip out their cell phones and calculate exactly how much they owe, tip and tax factored in, when in a group setting. I don’t know if the Bosnian way would fly so well with them.

The educational coffee meeting continued. Trebinje is only a 30-minute drive to Dubrovnik, Croatia, and Sara and Molly planned to hop on a bus and spend their weekend in D-town. In Sara’s guidebook, however, it said there was only one daily bus to Dubrovnik, at 10:30 am. When Sara expressed disbelief over this, Dalida explained that Croatia/Dubrovnik hates Trebinje. Trebinje allowed the Serbian army to use the Trebinje location as a place from which they could attack Croatia. Apparently the Croatia/Trebinje border is not a fun place to enter Croatia if you’re in a hurry, because the border guards take an extra long time checking out BiH vehicles, often just because.

Because of the lack of buses, Sara and Molly decided to take a taxi to Dubrovnik. But taxi’s are not allowed to cross the border, so the taxi driver removed his taxi sign, left it with a fellow driver, and told Sara and Molly that if anyone asks, he was someone they knew, not their taxi driver. I love the shadiness! I think it’s the same taxi rule for Canada and the U.S., but I’m not sure.

Dalida and I returned to the company car (yes, a non-profit with a company car. I don’t ask questions;I just get in and enjoy the air conditioning) to head back to Mostar. It’s a good 2 hour drive, so we engaged in fun conversations about U.S. politics, race relations, education, health care and Oprah.

We stopped for lunch in Stolac (I had cevapi, surprise, surprise) a town that has a segregated school, where one side of the building is Serbian students and teachers and the other side of the building has a Bosniak (Bosnian Muslims) student body and faculty. Segregation = always a good idea. Um, wait, no.

Cruising along in the company car, Dalida asked if it was OK if we stopped by her father’s house (one of two in Mostar; he has another in Norway, where he lives most of the year). Of course it was OK, so we drove on gravel roads until we pulled up to a red-roofed house in the hills outside of Mostar. We sat for about a half hour DRINKING COFFEE with Dalida’s father, uncle, uncle’s father and I think her aunt. I didn’t understand a word of the conversation but still enjoyed myself as I consumed my 200th gram of caffeine for the day. Before we left, Dalida showed me more of the property, which overlooked one of the most beautiful views I had ever seen. Tuscan landscape is probably my favorite scenic view, but this view comes in at a very close second. Green hills and red roofs and trees and blue sky and vineyards and everything beautiful. A stunning, vast view. I think it’s the vastness that makes it so striking. It rocked.

As we were leaving, her father pointed to an outside wall of the house and said it was burned three times during the war. Oh. Your house was set on fire three times. Oh. All I say when I hear stuff like that is, “wow.” Not sure how high that ranks on the sensitivity scale.

On the drive back, which was on a high road hugging a mountain side, looking over hills and valleys, so the view was spectacular, Dalida asked if I wanted to go to a barbecue her family was having that evening. I think Dalida was concerned for me because I was alone for the weekend. Even though I was not worried in the least, when someone offers me a barbecue invite, I take it. After picking up Dalida’s husband (who looks like a young Sean Penn with a slight mullet only a little cuter), daughter and sister, we made it to Dalida’s father’s second Mostar house.

Dalida’s sister is 12, lives in Norway, and speaks English quite well. When I told her I was from New York, she asked me if I had ever met someone famous, like Jennifer Lopez. “No,” I replied sadly. (Note to self: Go to NYC more and meet more celebrities so you never have to say no to this question again.)

The barbecue. The house was in a gorgeous small town outside of Mostar. The back yard of the house was like a mini orchard, with two lines of trees. Beyond the backyard was a stone patio on a river. It had to be one of the most calming places I have ever been. The sun was setting, and the water passing by at just the right pace to make the most soothing sounds. I know I sound like a cheeseball, but this place was unreal. I felt so content and so happy to be in Bosnia and grateful that Dalida brought me along, it was almost overwhelming. Fine, I’m officially cheesey. In addition to me finding my happy place, Dalida’s father grilled the most delicious trout I had ever tasted. Best fish I have ever had. So friggin’ good.

When dinner was over, Dalida said, “Shall we go?” and we went. She brought me to my apartment, but she’s friends with the landlord, who lives above me, so before I went into my apartment we all sat down on the landlord’s terrace and had…wait for it…wait for it…MORE COFFEE. I made the mistake of drinking my first cup too fast—probably because my muscles were going a million miles an hour from the day's other cups of coffee—and received a refill. COFFEE AGAIN. Finally, at the third offer of coffee I said, “No, thank you, I’ll never be able to sleep.” The landlord and Dalida laughed at me, because, they, being Bosnian, probably have no reaction to caffeine whatsoever.

Again I didn’t understand any of the conversation, but was quite content to sit and enjoy a Bosnian night while they chatted. Plus, the landlord served us little cookies and peach juice so I just nibbled and sipped and couldn’t be happier.

My day ended around 10:30 p.m. and somehow I feel asleep.

I proceeded to do nothing for the rest of the weekend except watch Wimbledon and discover how good the jam is here. I can now say “15,” “30,” and “40” with an excellent Bosnian accent and eat jam straight out of a jar without feeling guilty.

Friday’s Final Coffee Count: 7 CUPS.

Home is where the Internet availability is

A large part of what has made my time here so enjoyable, is that I've been able to keep close contact with home. E-mails, photos, online chats -- they've all made feeling homesick nearly impossible. As a break from my trivial commentary on Bosnian stuff, I've decided to share some of the highlights from home that have made me feel very loved and happy.

E-mail from Danny, my platonic life partner:

"I just want you to know that I had a need and/or desire to call you 17 different times (including now) over the weekend. I made a tally."

E-mail from Lauren, my platonic soulmate:

"I miss you even more than you miss me. Today I called your phone just to hear your voice and leave you a message but then I realized that when the mean recording voice lady came on you had disconnected your phone. Woe is me."

Please know I send them many "I love you I can't live without you" e-mails in return.

And, finally, an e-mailed picture of my Mom. Rather, a picture of our cousins' dog taking refuge in the shadow of my mom's butt. (Sorry the picture is small.)

Taste the Sad

My local bookstore, Buybook, will not be receiving the new and final Harry Potter book on the release date or before I leave Mostar. I looked into ordering it on Amazon.com, but the site reports shipping to Bosnia can take anywhere from 9 to 36 days. Oh well!

It took me a month but...

I finally have a website for my pictures.

http://picasaweb.google.com/mwrzosek

I'm infamous for not taking pictures when I'm in places where I should be taking pictures, so I also posted links to my friends' pictures' websites on my blog side panel. They actually take pictures. Those crazy kids.

TV, Dinners. Not to be confused with TV dinners

When will I learn foreign love affairs not only don’t last, but leave me heartbroken and full of longing?

In Italy (2004) I had two loves. One, gelato, was not surprising. Unavoidable, even. The second, fresh pesto, caught me off guard. I revisited Italy in 2005 and brought some fresh pesto home with me. (Snuck that sucker through customs.) But the pesto, of course, did last long, and I felt incomplete without it.

Here, in BiH (Bosnia), I’ve become entrenched in the most unexpected love affair. The signature food of BiH—its hot dog or apple pie—is čevapi: small, spicy sausages served with onions, bread similar to but thicker than pita, and a red side sauce. Even as I type this, nothing about the description sounds appealing to my normal palate. Yet I am full-blown addicted.

It wasn’t love at first bite. I had čevapcici my first night in Bosnia, in Sarajevo, and I was unaffected. I had it again a few days later at the bus station before leaving for Mostar, thought it was tasty, but I soon forgot about it. However, in the following weeks, I began to think about it and crave it. I ordered it a little over a week ago and haven’t been able to stop. Since last Thursday, I have had it 5 times.

The strange thing about this food love is that in the U.S., I don’t eat sausage. Never really liked it. And I avoid fresh onions; I always substitute onion power for the real things in recipes. But here, I think about čevapi during the day and am not satisfied until I’m shoveling a spoonful of chopped onions and sausage into my mouth for dinner.

Because I have a hard time letting go, even when I know the affair must end, and I’m traveling to Italy before going back to the U.S., expect to hear news of my arrest for gelato, pesto and čevapi smuggling sometime in mid-August.


Adventures in BIH TV land

I never thought I’d see the first episode of Northern Exposure or an uncensored version of the movie American Pie on prime time TV ever, much less in BIH, but both TV events have occurred here.

Around 8 pm, nearly all of the channels I get in my apartment play either American movies or TV shows. Most of which I have never heard of, and am embarrassed at the idea of the people here thinking these shows are popular back home. However, I couldn’t have been happier the other night when my favorite TV show, Scrubs, was on channel TV Mostar. They don’t dub shows here—they use subtitles—so I can understand what’s going on and try to learn some Bosnian.

As nice as it is for me, a visiting English-speaker, I cannot imagine what it’s like to be Bosnian, speak Bosnian, and so many of your available TV shows/movies are not in the country’s language. English is everywhere, commercials included.


Ah, Bosnian commercials. That’s a whole other story.

Warm Wedding, Here, There and Everywhere

My cousin Tony is getting married today! The wedding will take place in St. Louis, where according to weather.com, today's high is 93 degrees. That's the very temperature it is in Mostar as I type this. So while I can't be there with the rest of the family, I am certainly there in sweaty spirit.

Can't wait for the pictures, videos and stories!

Update: I love the internet. On Monday morning, I was able to see pictures and videos of Saturday's wedding. Everyone looked beautiful.

Happy 4th of July!

This morning the CCI staff brought Sara and me two chocolate pastries in a bag with "Happy Independence Day! :)" written on it. Chocolate candy bars were also brought to today's morning coffee session to enhance the July 4th celebration. So sweet. The treats and the staff.

On the way to work, Sara and I commented on how we've both noticed our pants feeling a wee bit tighter. Obviously our clothes are shrinking. OBVIOUSLY.

P.S. Happy birthday Kristine! Learn that in Bosnian and then say it to yourself from me.

Banja Luka

This weekend I went to the L.A. of Bosnia, Banja Luka, to visit the lovely Kristine and Dee. I think my internet time may be limited today, so I'll just post pictures for now. That's all anybody cares about anyway. Fun note: Dee made up Kristine and me before we hit the town, so enjoy the before and after shots of Kristine. Oh, and my "Deer Caught in Headlights" shot is a good one too.

Reunited!

I'll explain later.

It's later.

Before I studied abroad in Italy, my kind parents bought me a mini, travel-sized carebear for the trip. I own a full-sized carebear that I've had since age 3. Most people grow out of that stuff, but at 20 (and beyond) carebear and I were still pretty cool with each other. (Remind me of this when I express confusion over why I'm single.) Anyway, because I couldn't bring the real carebear abroad, my parents supplied me with the travel version.

Mini carebear came to Italy and he came to Sarajevo. He also stayed in Sarajevo when I left for Mostar. Oops! I kinda left him behind in the hostel. I realized what I had done shortly after I arrived in Mostar. After recovering from deep despair, I emailed the hostel with my story of woe, and they quickly responded that they had found Carebear and would keep him safe until I returned to Sarajevo.

About a week ago I did return, but when I went to the hostel no one was there. I figured they took Carebear and ran.

Don't worry. There's a happy ending. My dear friend Lisa, currently living in Sarajevo, went to the hostel on my behalf and rescued Carebear. On Thursday I went to Sarajevo for work, and we were reunited. Phew. I can sleep once again.

Note: When I was in Italy, one of my friends also lost a carebear in a hotel. Clearly, there is a European Carebear Conspiracy going on. You read it here first.

Fruitopia

Apricot
Fig
Lime
Pomegranate
Grape
Kiwi
Peach

This list includes fruits I see growing on my 10-minute walk to work. I've tasted the apricots and figs--yummy--and all but the kiwi and peach trees are right it our front yard.

Needless to say, the fresh fruit here is pretty stellar.

I love all the fresh fruit and veggie stands, but yesterday I had a slight vegetable-buying mishap at one.

It all began when Sara noticed she had chicken she needed to cook before it went bad. We decided the best way to eat this chicken would be in a fresh salad. Because Sara was cooking, I had the job of going to the local market to pick up some salad stuff, the most important ingredient being the lettuce. No prob.

So, I walk to a little veggie stand and pick up one of the heaviest heads of lettuce I've ever lifted. I'm bummed because it looks rather white even for iceberg lettuce, but I pay the veggie lady and trek up the hill to our apartment with my bowling ball lettuce head.

When I return, I express to Sara my disappointment in the white lettuce, and pull it out of the bag.

"That's not lettuce," she says. "That's cabbage."

It's not like these little stands have labels for their merchandise, so I had, in fact, purchased cabbage for our salad. Oops! However, I was able to locate some lettuce at a local grocery store, where they do use labels, so our salad was saved. And delicious, I might add.

Is cabbage a lot heavier than lettuce? Should that have been an indication it wasn't what I thought it was?

In other news, it's back to Sarajevo tonight and tomorrow, and a possible trip to Banja Luka for the weekend. Banja Luka is 8 hours away from Mostar, so going there for a day makes little sense. But two of my best buds are there, and one of the two is having a birthday next week, so I still might make the illogical trip.

If I don't, I'll return to lovely Mostar and do Mostary things.

Vino at Work

On Monday, to celebrate a coworker’s birthday, CCI ordered lunch, which consisted of deliciously unhealthy fried bread (think funnel cake without powdered sugar), delectable cold cuts and an addictive cream cheese-y spread. Afterward, we ate chocolates and drank red wine. I hope by the time I return to the U.S., America will have started a 2-glasses-of-wine-for-lunch custom in its workplaces. Hey, Casual Fridays probably started as a pipe dream at some point too.

So…what am I doing here? (Better late than never)

Somewhere between drinking Fanta and running away from stray cats, I realized I never blogged about what I'm doing in this part of the world.

Short answer: I’m completing an international field placement in Mostar, Bosnia, as required by the University of Denver’s Master’s in International Disaster/Trauma Psychology program. For 8 weeks I am an intern at the Center for Civic Initiatives (CCI).

Detailed answer: CCI is a non-governmental organization (NGO) which encourages citizens of Bosnia and Herzegovina to use their democratic rights and the National Court of Bosnia to improve their social welfare. So where does a mental health nerd fit in? CCI’s main work involves helping war crime witnesses and war crime victims (often the same thing) testify against war criminals. Unfortunately the process of prosecution isn’t exactly victim friendly. Among other unpleasant things, victims often have to tell their stories over and over during the process, putting them at risk for retraumatization. So my DU cohort and I have been asked to learn what we can about the court system as it pertains to witnesses, by research, observations, seminars and talking to potential witnesses. Then, our aim is to write a report on how the government and courts can better serve witnesses. Also, as a related project, we’re working on trainings that will provide more information to local lawyers, doctors and teachers about PTSD and other potential effects of war trauma.

Probably 10 weeks into the 8 week internship I’ll feel qualified and knowledgeable enough to do this.

Most of the people CCI works with are women who have been raped and otherwise tortured in war camps. On Friday Sara and I are going to Sarajevo to sit in on one of the war criminal trials, because one of the women supported by CCI will be testifying.

Don't you wanta? Yes I do!

This is what 99% of my diet consists of.

Saturday and Sunday in Sarajevo

It amazes me sometimes that I feel like I don’t do very much here compared to my American life, but when I sit down to blog, I often have a hard time picking only a few things to write about, because it seems as if so many things happen. I suppose in the U.S. the stuff that makes my days busy includes Target runs, writing papers and other boring matters, but here everything is little bit exotic, even if it’s not happening ‘round the clock.

I’m pretty sure that intro was a rambling, directionless mess, so bless your heart if you’re still with me.

Some weekend highlights:

Friday Sara and I went to Trebinje, and area in the Republica Surpska, to sit in on a seminar discussing the improvement of court processes for war crime witnesses and victims. We were unable to snag an interpreter, so we had no idea what people were saying, but we did a good job pretending we could. (Because my immaturity level is at age 5 at most, when I don’t understand long conversations, I’ve started doing fake interpretations in my head. For example, I think people were really taking about if they should spend money on new jails, but in my head they were arguing about if they should go to the beach or stay at home and watch soccer on TV.)

One of the most interesting parts of the day was the drive to and from Trebinje. On the way there, we almost got into a head-on collision with a huge cow, moseying in the middle of the highway. I think the cow would have won, the mammoth beast that it was. Even though we almost died, I love cows, so I enjoyed the whole near death experience. And, driving anywhere in Europe tends to be a near death experience anyway, so at least this time there was some livestock involved to spice things up.

On the way home, I noticed about 15 landmine warning signs on the side of the road. They’re scary. They’re red, with a scull and cross bones, and “landmine” written in English, Bosnian-Serbo-Croatian and Cyrillic. It’s so strange to see them; they seem so out of place. We’re driving along beautiful rolling hills, a simply beautiful landscape and—oops—a sign pops up telling you not to go further or you’ll explode.

Saturday in Sarajevo!



Hopped on a bus Saturday morning to visit my classmates, those who live in Sarajevo, and a bunch from Banja Luka and Tuzla who also came to the city for the weekend. It was someone’s birthday (as if we needed an excuse to go to Sarajevo). So nice to see everyone.







Kristine, Dee and I went to the Tunnel Museum, a house on the outskirts of the city where a tunnel was built and used during the 1992-1995 siege of Sarajevo. When the city was surrounded and under attack, this tunnel was used to bring supplies to the people of Sarajevo. Seeing and learning about the tunnel was intense. It’s still mind-blowing to me that this horrific war happened only 12 years ago in a place where I would never expect it. Some areas of the world, sadly, seem to be known for conflict, such as the Middle East and a good chunk of Africa. As tragic and unacceptable as the violent conflicts in these parts of the world are, they’re also, at this point, not surprising. But with Sarajevo…I don’t know. It was a beautiful Olympic host city, and then a few years later, its civilians are in the middle of brutal warfare, where no one, regardless of age or gender is safe, and thousands of people are killed, hundreds of thousands displaced.

And honestly, besides being incredibly heartbreaking for me to think about and see reminders of what people here went through, it’s also terrifying on a more selfish level. If tragedy like this can erupt like it did in the former Yugoslavia, I have no doubt it can happen anywhere.

And those are my feel good thoughts of the day.

Dude! I almost forgot to write about one of the nicest parts of the weekend. In order to get to the museum from the city center, you take a tram until the final stop, then take a taxi for about 3 twisting miles more until you reach the museum house. Kristine, Dee and I managed to get to the museum just fine, but as we were heading back toward the direction of town, we realized there was no indication that a taxi will be passing by anytime soon, and we really didn’t know all the rights and lefts we need to take to get back to the tram station. Like the cute American fools that we are, we were wondering around a rural intersection, trying to decide which way to go. We had no clue where to go, and this was barely a mile into things. Soon, however, one of the owners of the museum (the father of the father and son former Bosnian army soldiers that run it) drives by us and slows down. We’re thrilled because we figure we’ll just ask him for directions, but, silly us, we forgot we were in Bosnia, where people are genuinely, exponentially helpful. He unlocks the doors, we jump in, use the universal language of laughter to express how ridiculous and thankful we are for his assistance, and he drops us off exactly where we need to go to catch the next tram back to the city.

Funny, in the U.S. we would have screamed “Stranger danger!” while spraying mace before ever getting in the car with an elderly gentlemen whose relationship with us only included us asking him 20 minutes earlier, “Can we go into the tunnel? Pictures okay? Hvala.” But here, it’s just the way things work.

I’d like to end by complimenting my Bosnia guide book (Thanks for buying it, Mom!), because it’s always right on.

Page 93: “Bosnians will usually go very far out of their way to help you. Don’t get the wrong impression if someone seems too helpful.”

Retroactive: Dubrovnik and Such

Because I've been away from steady internet access, I haven't been able to post some blogs I've been carrying around on my flash drive. This post talks about things that took place the weekend of June 14 - 17. Sorry for the delay!



Thursday: At night Sara and I picked a random spot for dinner that turned out to be a wonderful, tucked-away restaurant where tourists do not typically go. I know this because we sat next to a professor from the University of Mostar who told he comes to this place to get away from 1. his students during finals time and 2. the tourists. I’m amazed it’s a not a tourist spot because it’s not far from the Old Bridge, the main tourist attraction in Mostar. But it’s a bit hidden, so perhaps that’s what protects it. The place itself was a delight. Surrounded by trees, it’s a cool (temperature-wise) locale, comfortable as well as beautiful. And the dinner was yummy. I ordered sea food risotto, but they only serve it on weekends, so I enjoyed a chicken fillet instead. Sara and I decided the weekend-only rule must mean the sea food is fresh. We’ll be returning. Ambiance and tastiness aside, what made the place such a treat was the company. I mentioned the professor; we talked to him a good amount. Turns out he was from Croatia, was a refugee during the war, lived in Atlanta (calls it home), and is now teaching in Bosnia, as well as helping rewrite the Bosnian Constitution. He was very grandfather like, probably in his mid-sixties, enjoying dinner with other professors. After our dinner, the gentlemen treated Sara and me to wine and an incredible chocolate/sugar crepe. Then, one of his friends came to the his table with trout caught from the nearby river. The owner cooked it up, giving Sara and me hefty sample to taste. Delicious.

Friday: For part of the work we’re doing here (which I should probably explain at some point) Sara and I are visiting Mostar NGOs (Non-Government Organizations) and schools and non-profits to see how they work, their strengths and weaknesses, how they collaborate with the organization we’re hailing from, Center for Civic Initiatives, and whatever else we want to know, I suppose. On Friday we went to a school and residential center for children with special needs. Kids with mental, emotional and physical disabilities can attend this school, and some of them live there during the week. It was a beautiful facility. And the teacher who showed us around was so nice and so helpful. He took the time to give us a tour of everything, introduce us to co-workers, and drink coffee with us to discuss the school, Bosnia, the state of social services, etc. It was the last day of school and a meeting arranged last minute, so I felt he was exceptionally generous with his time. It was interesting to talk about how children are affected by of parents with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. The meeting was a great experience.

Friday Night: A classmate working in Sarajevo came down to Mostar and we all hopped on a bus to Dubrovnik, Croatia. On the bus we met a sharp young woman from London, who was on holiday, on her way to enjoy the coast. Not only did she provide fun conversation in an endearing accent, but she found us a place to stay for the night, by texting the person who was renting her a room. In Dubrovnik it’s popular for people to rent out rooms in their homes. When you get off the bus, you are bombarded with little old ladies saying “Need a room?” I like house accommodations. They’re nicer than hostels and not much more expensive. That night, Sara, classmate Molly and I had dinner in the Old Town, then went to an outdoor bar for drinks. We left around 1:00 a.m., shortly after I had briefly fallen asleep in my chair. At a bar. I am a champ.

Saturday: First let me start off by saying how beautiful Dubrovnik is. The Old Town is a completely walled-in stone city, which looks and feels medieval. Most of the town is surrounded by the Adriatic Sea, which is blue and warm and wonderful. Off the Croatian shore there are these lusciously green islands that make me think Croatia is the Hawaii of central Europe. We took a ferry out to one of the Islands, Lokum and spent the day there sunning and swimming.

Side note: Dubrovnik is a big tourist spot. While were there, huge cruise ships would come to port and drop hundreds of touristy folk off. So while Dubrovnik is a great get-a-way, it’s also crowded and somewhat expensive. On the plus side, everybody speaks English.

Saturday night: Found a place to stay closer to Old Town, rinsed the sea salt off our bodies, ate dinner, drank coffee, got gelato (not as good as Florence’s but hit the spot), and enjoyed the night life until about 3:30 a.m. Fun story: We we’re talking to a Scottish guy who had recently been to Sarajevo. We told him we were in school for International Trauma* Psychology, and he said “I met some of you in Sarajevo!” (But in a Scottish accent.) It turns out he had dinner with a couple people from our program earlier in the week. As he said it, “The world is small.”

Sunday: More sunning and swimming. The weather both days was magnificent. Even though I slathered on SPF 30, I got sunburned. That Mediterranean sun is strong. Returned to Mostar on the 3:15 p.m. bus.

Thing I do not like about Dubrovnik: So many men in Speedos. Along with torture and human trafficking, there needs to be a humanitarian effort to abolish men in tight bikini bottoms.

Thing I do like about Dubrovnik: Cuisine. It’s on the Adriatic Sea across from Italy, so it’s known for good sea food and Italian dishes. My favorites.

Bonus thought: I would like to celebrate my creativity. I left my contact lens case back in Mostar, so I soaked my lenses in a bottle cap instead. However, before I pop the champagne, I should realize my creativity was only needed because of my stupidity. Oopsy.

*The real name of my program is International Disaster Psychology, but we, the students, find International Trauma Psychology a more fitting name and have started to use it when explaining what we’re doing in Bosnia.

Numbers

Internet use has been limited, but I miss blogging, so I'm gonna do some quick and dirty observations, numbers style.

June 14, 2007: First time I brushed my hair in Bosnia. Seven days after I arrived.
5: Average stray cats I see a day.
40 degrees Celsius: Average daily summer temp of Mostar. That's 100 degrees Fahrenheit.
1.50 KM: Price of an ice cream cone. Roughly $1.00 US.
2 KM: Price of an hour of internet. Do your own math.
57%: One reported unemployment rate of Mostar.
210€: Rent of my studio apartment, utilities included.
9 minutes: How long the hot water lasts in my shower.
3 hours: How long I've been alone since leaving the U.S. (Sleeping excluded.) And I'm okay with that!
100%: Rate at which the war has come up in conversations with locals.
7,524: Number of cups of coffee I've consumed in Bosnia.
1: Number of Bosnian verbs I know. "Understand." So I can say, "I don't understand."

3: Minutes left of internet time! Gotta dash! Going to Sarajevo for the weekend. Ciao ciao!

Teaser: Dubrovnik

I haven't blogged in a few days because I went to the Croatian coast for the weekend. I know, rough life.

Pictures!

I've included some pictures of Mostar and my apartment. Please note the photo of the very aggressive plant attacking my apartment. It's only a matter of time before it's well inside.