Tom’s Travels

The Balkans, June 2013

I spent the month of June in Europe. Colleen was working in Prague and since our friends Chris and Kirsty, teachers we had worked with in Prague but were now living and teaching in Singapore were also vacationing in Prague for the month, she planned her Birthday Party a little early to coincide with their visit. Friends and former colleagues from France and Spain were also coming to the party along with a host of old friends still living in Prague. It was a great event, enjoyed by all. But that’s not the purpose of this epistle.

I spent the month of June in Europe. Primarily in Prague but I did make a two week tour of the Balkans. The Balkans generally refers to the peninsula in southeast Europe which encompasses, at least in part, the countries of Albania, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Bulgaria, Croatia, Greece, Kosovo, Republic of Macedonia, Montenegro and Serbia. The area most of us remember as Yugoslavia has now been broken into seven separate countries: Croatia, Slovenia, Serbia, Bosnia and Herzegovina, Kosovo, Macedonia, and Montenegro. Anyway, I wanted to add to the list of countries I have visited and I had never been to this area so off I went.

Prague, Czech Republic, June 6

In June, Prague was again experiencing flooding, not so disastrous as that of 2002 but the authorities were taking more early precautions than last time. Some of the metro stations were closed and I was concerned about getting to the airport. I left the apartment at 8:30 and caught the metro at Namesti Miru. Luckily, it took me all the way to Dejvicka, not stopping at Staromestka or Mala Strana, which had been closed. Got to the airport at 9:30 and had a quick breakfast at McDonald’s, a tradition when flying out of Prague, and then a 45 minute wait in line at security. I hate going through security. It’s the worst part of air travel. Wait in long lines and then take everything off: jacket, scarf, belt, watch, shoes. Then take everything out of your pockets: billfold, keys, change, anything that’s metal. Laptop or Ipad in a separate tray. By this time you’re practically naked and you hope your pants don’t fall down. Pass through the machine and then try to put everything back together while other passengers stack up behind you if you’re not quick enough. There’s always a moment of panic for me as I hate to inconvenience those behind me.

The flights were smooth and easy. Changed planes in Vienna and went on to Belgrade, Serbia. At the airport, I got some money from the ATM. I opted for 5000 Dinars, which, having previously checked the exchange rate, was about $50 (approximately 50 to 1). I went outside to catch a bus into town, fending off taxi drivers all the way. I asked a man standing next to the “Bus” sign how much it would cost to get into town. “1500.” “For the bus?” I asked. “No, no, taxi.” Told him I would wait for the bus. “Very cheap, quick.” he persisted. I said no and he drifted away. Shortly, another man came up and asked where I was going. I gave him the name of the hotel and he said, “Taxi, 1800.” “That man over there said 150,” I countered. “Which man?” he asked, looking around. I pointed to the man standing nearby, obviously one of his compatriots. Then he turned back to me. “Well, that’s a good price. You should go with him.” “Thanks, I’ll take the bus.” “It could be a long time,” he continued. “The buses are unreliable. Drivers are often drunk. Lots of wrecks.” “I’ll wait for the bus.” As it turned out, the bus was already there, about thirty feet back from the sign that said “Bus”. I got on and paid 300 Dinars, about $3.

The ride into town was easy. The land was flat and open. We passed farms and some large buildings, but they seemed isolated and widely separated. Then we crossed the river and there was the city, buildings locked together and piled on top of each other. Apartment buildings like the Communist era panalaks in the Czech Republic, square, drab and unattractive with no sign of any architectural interest, unclean and unmaintained. The typical result of years of neglect. Belgrade reminds me of Prague, ten years ago. But in the last ten years, Prague has done a good job of cleaning itself up. Belgrade has not.

My hotel was across the street from the train station and around the corner from the bus station. The Belgrade City Hotel, good location and a nice hotel. The receptionist spoke English fluently and was very helpful. I went to the bus station to get a ticket to visit my friends Neil and Barbara in Mitrovice, Kosovo. Kosovo had recently broken away from Serbia and there were still intense feeling. Neil had told me to travel from Serbia to Kosovo rather that vice verse because Serbia did not officially recognize Kosovo as an independent nation just as China doesn’t recognize Taiwan, and the border guards would try to scratch the Kosovo stamp out of my passport. He also had told me that I should just say I was going to the north part of Mitrovice. So, at the bus station, I asked for a ticket to Mitrovice. The young woman, whose English wasn’t so good, said three words very rapidly, which I didn’t understand. She repeated them slowly, still nothing. A young man behind me stepped forward to help. She repeated the words and then he explained to me, “There are three Mitrovicas,” and he repeated the three words. I remembered the map said “Kosovoska Mitrovica” but I had avoided saying “Kosovoska”. I said it now and got my ticket. I got my ticket but I was also given a token similar to those you use to get through the turnstile on the subway. I found out later that I had to use this to enter the area where the buses depart. A ticket was not sufficient. Everyone has their own system. I asked the young man, whose English was almost flawless, where he had studied. He said he had never studied English, just watched TV and movies. Amazing. I wish I had that gift. I had noticed at the hotel that half the TV programs were in English.

I spent what was left of the day walking around the downtown area, looking for an historical center. I didn’t find it because there isn’t one. No Old Town Square, no ancient buildings. There is a nice pedestrian zone that serves as the center for tourists. It is lined with shops and people hawking their wares but lacks the charm of an old city.

Belgrade, Serbia, June 7

Had a nice breakfast at the hotel. A good spread: Eggs (fried, scrambled or soft boiled), sausage or bacon, an assortment of breads, rolls, and croissants, coffee, juice or tea. All the ingredients for a great breakfast. What made this buffet unique was that it also had an assortment of vegetables: corn, green peas, grated carrots, grated cabbage, broccoli, cauliflower, olives, and more. For breakfast? And peppers! There was also an assortment of desserts: cakes and brownies and other things sweet. For breakfast? I picked up what I thought was butter for my croissant. When I opened the package, it turned out to be a thick paste, a little more dense than peanut butter. The left half was chocolate and the right was the flavor of vanilla. It would be great for snacks later in the day. But for breakfast?

I headed back toward the pedestrian area. It was a gray day, drizzling just enough to maybe need an umbrella, which I didn’t have. I ducked into a corner cafe for coffee. Across the street was the National Museum, the facade hidden in scaffolding. It was either being renovated or just cleaned. Decades of pollution and grime have darkened most of the historic buildings in Europe. The countries that can afford it have tried to clean them. Serbia is just beginning.

Serbia uses the Cyrillic alphabet, the same as Russia. Fortunately, most of the sign are also in the English alphabet. Thus Belgrade is written in those funny looking letters and immediately below, in our alphabet, Beograd. Every time I say “Thank You” in Serbian (Hvala), the people just light up. Big smiles and very friendly responses. Don’t know if they are just pleased that I am trying to speak their language or that my pronunciation is so bad that they are smiling to keep from laughing. Either way, it’s nice to get that response.

I checked my cash and realized that I had 1400Dinars ($14) to make it to Mitrovica where the currency is Euros. I proceeded to the pedestrian zone and sat in a cafe to watch the world go by. The tourist area runs along the spine of a fairly steep hill that droops down to the river. There’s one long, broad street at the top and the side streets descend from it on either side. It’s a typical scene, lots of sidewalk cafes, usually busy. Street performers, some playing guitars and singing, others in solid colored costumes, standing like statues and only moving when someone drops a coin in the hat. Artists displaying their wares, some good, some not. One is making futuristic scenes using spray paint. (This has always fascinated me). There are kiosks selling souvenirs or ice cream or magazines. And some selling popcorn, something I had never seen before on the street. The tourist area has several very nice buildings adorned with statues across the facades. There are monuments and fountains and even a pub featuring Czech beer with the words Prague and Staropramen on the umbrellas over the tables in the center of the pedestrian walkway.

Lots of tourists, but also I think, lots of locals. The locals, I’m presuming, are the ones dressed not so well or so fashionably. Belgrade reminds me of a town that has been through hard times and is just beginning to recover. (More on that in the History section). I wandered through the tourist area. Bought a flag pin, mission accomplished, and headed to the old fort, which sits on a cliff overlooking the river at the end of the pedestrian zone. As I got to the park, the wind picked up and the black clouds in the distance were headed straight at me. The park is very green, lots of area to sit and relax, and filled with bust of famous people on pedestals sprinkled throughout the trees. I noticed that the kiosks began to cover their merchandise, so I decided to head back to the hotel, about a 30 minute walk. I didn’t want to get stranded in a storm and I’ve seen plenty of forts. Luckily, it never rained. On the way back, I noticed several nice hotels, the most prominent being the Moscow Hotel, a large cream and green structure with some, but minimal, decorations. For supper I had muckalica, a stew served in a steaming hot casserole, zajecasko, the local beer, and some great bread.

(OK, now for a little history. I’ll isolate these segments so you can skip them if you like.)
*****

History of Yugoslavia

What we knew as Yugoslavia was established Dec. 1, 1918 as the Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes. Prior to that, it had been part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. It became known as Yugoslavia on Oct. 3, 1929 and was invaded by the Axis powers in 1941. At the end of the war, the Monarchy was abolished and a Communist government took power but this government was not under the control of the Soviets. The country consisted of six Socialist Republics: Bosnia and Herzegovina, Croatia, Macedonia, Montenegro, Slovenia, and Serbia, plus two Socialist Autonomous Provinces: Vojvodina and Kosovo. The population was composed of many different ethnic groups and religions. Josip Broz Tito was President from 1953 til his death in 1980. He ruled with an iron hand, somehow managing to control an amalgamation of religions and ethnicities. His passing marked the beginning of elevated ethnic and nationalist feelings and conflicts between the groups. On June 25, 1991, Croatia and Slovenia declared their independence followed by Macedonia on Sept. 8. Bosnia and Herzegovina followed suit April 6, 1992. April 28,1992, Serbia and Montenegro formed the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. During the ’90’s, several wars were fought, both civil wars and wars of independence. The Republics fought against the power in Belgrade trying to establish their independence. There were ethnic conflicts: Serbs fought against Croats and Bosniaks and Bosniaks fought Croats in Bosnia. I know this is confusing. Just remember that there was great animosity between people of different nationalities, ethnic groups and religions. The wars were marked by war crimes, mass murders, rapes and genocides. Slobodan Milosevic was President of Serbia from 1989 to 1997 and President of The Federal Republic of Yugoslavia from 1997 to 2000. He was charged with War Crimes, Genocide, and Crimes against Humanity in connection with the Bosnian Wars. The trial lasted for five years but no verdict was rendered because he died in his cell in the Hague on 2006.

*****
Belgrade, Serbia, June 8

As I checked out of the hotel, I made a reservation for the day I would be back to catch the plane to Prague. Walking to the bus station, I noticed a big poster advertising “Hell’s Kitchen”, but it wasn’t Gordon Ramsey, it was some Serbian chef. This was not surprising as we copy English shows all the time. Went to the bathroom (which cost 40 Dinar) at the bus station. I don’t take chances. I never know how soon they will stop for a potty break and there is never a toilet on the buses. Used my token to enter the area where the buses were and found my bus. We left on time. He drove around the corner to the train station and picked up more passengers and then made two more stops before we got out of the city. Shortly after leaving the station, the driver lit up a cigarette. I was shocked. Smoking on the bus!!! With all the windows up except his and lousy air conditioning, not a good idea. Within a few minutes, he lit another, I decided to count the number of cigarettes but I gave up when he got to five within the first hour. And when he didn’t have a cigarette in his hand, and sometimes when he did, he was talking on his cell phone. Needless to say, I didn’t really feel comfortable.

As we drove through the outskirts of the town, I noticed the construction of the houses. A little bit of everything, concrete block, brick, even stone, whatever was available. And often, all three materials in the same wall. They used whatever they had at hand or could find. I assumed that these bare walls would eventually be covered with some kind of facade, but many looked as if they had been like that for years. We climbed into the hills outside the city. Occasionally, a passenger would walk up the aisle, speak to the driver, and he would pull over to the side of the road wherever they requested. Not a designated stopping point, just the side of the road. Once he stopped so a lady could walk down the off ramp. Several times, people waved the bus down in the middle of nowhere and he would pull over and let them on. The driver always had an assistant who took the money and checked the tickets. He also served as someone for the driver to talk to. The countryside was beautiful, rolling hills, green fields, houses with gardens, lots of sheep and hogs.

We came to a large town and there was a huge crucifix in the middle of the divided highway. Serbia is 76% Orthodox, 17% Catholic and 2% Muslim. The bus station there was old and rundown and everyone was smoking. The town had houses with red tile roofs and lots of plane trees. We continued south climbing into the green mountains, following a river which seemed swollen and outside its banks. The driver tore the wrapper off a candy bar and casually tossed it out the window. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Maybe there was no law against it, but to nonchalantly despoil the beauty of nature was beyond my comprehension. I mentioned this to Barbara later and she explained that people who have very little, who are living hand to mouth and just trying to get through the day, don’t concern themselves with little things like trash on the side of the road. A pity. The landscape is beautiful and should attract tourists, but not if there is litter everywhere.

We came to what I assumed was the disputed border crossing into Kosovo. They checked the drivers papers but not those of the passengers. We drove fifty meters and the drivers papers were checked by a different set of border guards. I wasn’t sure if it was a border crossing or not because they only looked at the driver’s documents, not the passports of the passengers. In a separate lane trucks were lined up, waiting to get through. Their papers were being checked very carefully, but not ours. After that, there seemed to be an inordinate number of Serbian flags flying in the streets of the villages we passed and on individual houses. Twice there were big signs prominently displayed on the side of the road that said “This is Serbia”. Certainly a lot of nationalistic feeling displayed. I learned later that the “border crossing” was really a “police check point”. Serbia does not recognize Kosovo, so we could not be crossing a “border”, according to the Serbs. The northern portion of Kosovo is primarily inhabited by Serbians and they are insistent that this is Serbian territory, thus the signs and the flags.

I noticed a pyramid shaped mountain with the ruins of a fort on top and a large flag flying from the highest point. I couldn’t tell what flag it was because it was to far away. A short time later, we descended into Mitrovica. The bus stopped and people started getting out. It wasn’t a bus station. The driver had just pulled over on the side of the road in front of a bank. I asked if this was Mitrovica and was told that it was, so I got out. I called Barbara and Neil and told them I had arrived. Luckily I was standing right in front of their apartment building. It was great to see them again. I hadn’t seen them since Vietnam though I had followed their travels on Facebook. They had taught in China and more recently in Saudi Arabia. We talked about Kosovo, its history and its problems. Most of what I will write here came from them, so I hope I got it right. But the history is so complex and still in flux that I’m not sure I truly understand it all.

*****
History of Kosovo

The history of the area goes back centuries, but let me stick to more recent events. Kosovo was part of Yugoslavia, and became an autonomous province in 1963, courtesy of Marshall Tito. When Yugoslavia began to disintegrate, Kosovo remained a part of Serbia, but it was composed of 92% Albanian Muslims and only 8% Orthodox Serbians, who resided primarily in the north of the province. In 1999, a civil war broke out as the Albanians in the south tried to achieve total independence. NATO got involved, at the urging of President Clinton and without the sanction of the UN, and bombed Serbian forces, including some in Belgrade between March and June, 1999. Peace was established, but tensions remained high. The Kosovo government in Pristina declared their independence on February 17, 2008, and Kosovo was recognized as an independent nation by many countries around the world, but not all and certainly not Serbia. I assume that, since Kosovo had been a recognized province with established borders before the fighting, those borders were used to mark the new nation. The ongoing problem lies in the fact that the northern part of the country is primarily Serbian Orthodox and loyal to the government in Belgrade while the southern portion is Albanian Muslim and supports the Kosovo government in Pristina. The unrecognized dividing line is the river which divides Mitrovica into north and south. According to Neil and Barbara, the northern section, where they live, is administered from Belgrade while the southern portion is controlled by Pristina. How this is accomplished, I have no idea. I asked to whom the people paid taxes and they seemed to think that most people don’t bother. They told me that they have classes on both sides of the river. But they don’t tell the Serbs that they are teaching Albanians in the south and don’t tell the Albanians they are teaching Serbs in the north. Their students openly state their hatred for the other group. There are still many problems to be resolved in the area. I got the feeling that the problems are nationalistic rather than religious. It just happens that, if you are a Serb, you are probably Orthodox and if you are Albanian, you are probably Muslim.

*****

After catching up over a glass of wine, we decided to go have dinner. They wanted to go to their favorite pub, which was south of the river. We took a somewhat round about way so that I could see that part of the city and crossed the river. The pub was very nice and we had an excellent meal. On the way back, we took a more direct route, following the main road, and came to a bridge which had been built by the French in an effort to improve relations between the peoples on each side of the river. Unfortunately, their efforts have come to naught. The bridge has been barricaded by locals (though I don’t know which side). Truckloads of dirt and rock have been piled up across the road so that no vehicles can cross. The bridge is guarded by UN forces, in this case Italian Carabinieri, who sat in their official vehicles and watched the bridge. They told me, and I saw evidence of it, that in most cases, the locals don’t cross the river. Taxis in the north will take you as far as the bridge and drop you off, and vice verse. If they have to cross to the other side by a bridge which is unblocked, they will change their license plates or remove them entirely. I saw drivers changing their plates in preparation for crossing the river and I saw many cars with no plates at all. Some people get Macedonian plates in order to avoid constantly changing. I assume the authorities recognize the situation and turn a blind eye. The locals all looked similar to me, so I asked how they would know who was Serb and who was Albanian. They told me that maybe the accent was a giveaway. I’m not really sure but it seemed obvious that the two groups stayed on their side of the river. The southern part of Mitrovica seemed more prosperous than the north. The shops and pubs were a little nicer. There was a large open area near the river with pubs and cafes and a nice, paved walking beside the river. On the way home, we stopped for another beer and I tried to find some diet coke. No luck. Haven’t seen diet coke since I left Prague.

Mitrovica, Kosovo, June 9

After breakfast, we had no plans so we decided to take a walk through the hills behind their apartment. Maybe I should say “hike”. Maybe I should say “trek”. The walk was strenuous, more hills than I had encountered in a long time. Our first stop was at an Orthodox church on a hill overlooking the city. There was a service inside the church so I took advantage of the view of the city and took pictures. Suddenly, there was music near the entrance. A small, somewhat disorganized band was playing loudly and enthusiastically. A saxophone, drum, french horn, tuba and two trumpets. I didn’t know why they were playing and I couldn’t discern a melody. They reminded me of a group of teenagers just beginning to play together and needing a lot of practice, but these were all grown men. They played as people came out of the church. I believe there had been a christening and they were celebrating the occasion. I don’t know if they were hired or just hoped to get tips, but I saw two well-dressed men give them money as they exited the church. When this group left, the band remained, I assumed because there would be another christening later.

As the people left the church, they turned around to face the alter, crossed themselves in the Orthodox fashion, kissed the door frame and backed out of the doorway. Perhaps this is an Orthodox tradition but I had never seen it before. Perhaps it’s just a regional tradition. I don’t know. Saw a lady showing her six year old son what he should do and he followed her demonstration. When the church was empty, we went inside. The walls were painted, floor to ceiling, with portraits of saints or religious scenes. The church is fairly new and thus the paintings are not old, but the figures are in a style that is uniquely Orthodox, thin, long necks and narrow noses. They all seemed to be squeezed in from the sides and elongated vertically. The same look that you see in Byzantine art. The ceiling was also painted with scenes and there were icons in several locations. But there were no massive, marble statues or glittering, gold angels. Everything was much more subdued than the large churches in Europe that scream of their wealth and power. There were no pews or chairs, everyone had to stand throughout the service. Individuals came into the church while we were there. They would approach an icon, cross themselves, say a prayer, leave a coin, cross themselves, and move to another icon to repeat the process.

We continued up the mountain, across fields and through the trees until we happened upon a small cemetery, maybe twenty graves. We went in and sat on a bench in the shade. The cemetery was small, out of the way, and somewhat neglected. The tombstones had the dates and most had pictures of the deceased protected under glass. I assume that this practice is Slavic as I had seen it in the Czech Republic. While we were there, a young couple came through the gate. They went to one site and began pulling weeds and tending the site. They lit candles and placed them on the tombstone and then knelt in prayer.

We climbed higher until we were within reach of the ruined castle (fort?) at the top with a huge Serbia flag moving in the wind. It was the flag I had seen from the bus. We were still in the north part of town, in the area still administered by the Serbs. The flag could be seen for miles in all directions. The statement was obvious. This is Serbia!!!! We decided that was high enough. We could get a good view of the city and the countryside. We circled the mountain (hill? When does a hill become a mountain?) and headed down the other side. We found a nice pub in the village and had a beer. We decided to have pizza for lunch at a pub in the south part of town and caught a cab which took us as far as the bridge. From there we walked across the bridge and to the pub. On the south side of the river, the town was filled with Albanian flags and many American ones. South of the river, Americans and, in particular, Clinton, are heroes. We passed the Route 66 Diner as well as several other restaurants with American names. There was one street lined with outdoor cafes that Barbara described as a “meat market”. She said that the men came there to watch the women passing by and that women seldom frequented these cafes themselves but obviously walked down the street, one of the largest thoroughfares.

I took pictures of the barricaded bridge, a symbol of the continuing, and unresolved conflicts in the area. I’ve often wondered who draws the lines on the maps and what criteria they use. Is it always only a political battle for territory? Do they ever consider the ethnic groups involved, those who actually inhabit the land? Is religion ever a factor? It seems that no one is ever completely satisfied when the borders of a country are altered. The area of Alsace Lorraine has changed hands several times between the French and Germans. The German were the majority in the Sudetenland of Czechoslovakia, and we know where that got us. Hungarians form the majority in the southern portion of Slovakia and they want to be part of Hungary. The Basques in Spain. The Kurds in Turkey. Kosovo is just another example of a solution that is not the final solution. Wouldn’t the river have been a better dividing line, leaving the Orthodox Serbs in the north and the Albanian Muslims in the south? Probably, but politics and the desire for territory maintained the lines of the old province, lines which cannot long endure. It’s just another political volcano waiting to erupt, a stop-gap measure that can’t last.

That afternoon and evening, we talked about their plans and my hopes and I tried to learn as much as I could about Kosovo. Neil and Barb told me of their recent experiences in Saudi Arabia. They said that the Saudis were not good students and, if they didn’t like you, would try to get you fired. In general, they felt that the Saudis didn’t work, that the workers in the country were all foreigners, and that the government had supported their citizens to the point that they had lost the work ethic. Neil read on the internet that the Saudi government had decided not to renew any teaching contracts of foreigners, meaning that, starting in September, only Saudis would have teaching positions in Saudi Arabia. Both felt that this would be disastrous and that they were lucky to get out when they did. It will be interesting to see effect this has, though I doubt that anyone outside of Saudi will be able to judge the product for years to come.

Their next assignment is in Tajikistan, one of the former Soviet Republics. That should be an interesting situation. They will be teaching in an international school, working with children of diplomats and expats, not the local citizenry. I spent the evening trying to understand the history and current situation of Kosovo, most of which is included above, but I still have a myriad of questions, most of which will only be answered in time. Even though the country is divided and they were right in the middle of it, they seemed quiet happy with their time in Kosovo and enjoyed working with their students.

Mitrovica, Kosovo, June 10

After a leisurely breakfast, they walked me across the bridge to the south part of town where I could catch a bus to Pristina, the capital of the country. The bus was ready to go and we said a quick goodbye. I will continue to follow their adventures through Facebook. South of Mitrovica, the land is flat with large fields of crops. I could see snow topped mountains in the distance to the west. The area seemed more well developed than the north. But, when I got to the bus station in Pristina, I began to doubt. It was not very clean or well maintained. The parts of town we had driven through were not very attractive and I had no desire to explore the downtown. I bought a ticket to go to Skopje, the capital of Macedonia, my next stop. I had some time so I sat in the cafe and ordered a hamburger. Twice, young boys approached and asked for change. They went around to everyone sitting in the station. When the waiter delivered my hamburger, he asked where I was from. When I told him the United States, he lit up and said enthusiastically, “America!! Good!! Bill Clinton!!”, shaking his fist in the air. Of course, this was the result of our urging the bombing which ended the war and the ethnic cleansing in the area. I would not have gotten that response in Serbia, or even north of the river in Mitrovica, Kosovo. I vaguely remember the events of the war. It was so far away and didn’t involve me. But, I do remember that the efforts of the United States and NATO saved the lives of countless thousands of Muslims in Kosovo. However, we got no credit for this in the rest of the Muslim world and we lost whatever goodwill we had in Serbia. It just seems that whatever we do, as a country, we will always upset someone and I’m not sure the benefits are equal to the sacrifices. We cannot be the international police force. And if we put out one fire in one part of the world, someone always asks, “Why didn’t you do something in another country?”. It’s a no win situation for the United States.

I looked for Kosovo postcards in the station and found none. There was no gift shop at all. As we left the city, I noticed lots of mosques and lots of flags, including the American flag. As we rode the assistant came through and gathered all passports. He made a list of the names and numbers and returned the passports. At the border, he gave the list to the border guard who took the it inside and checked it. Very quickly he came back and waved us through.

Skopje is a very nice, clean city. As I walked from the station to my hotel, using Barbara’s very accurate directions, I passed several large, clean, new buildings which looked very stately, as befitting the capital of a country. They lined the river which ran through the center of town and were decorated with marble statues and monuments. One bridge leading to one of the impressive buildings is lined with statues of famous men (some of whom I knew) spaced about every fifteen feet standing on the railings on each side. In the center of town, in the middle of a large square is an enormous statue of Alexander, the Great, in all his splendor astride a giant horse.

After checking in to the hotel, where, for some reason, I was given a suite with a jacuzzi, I came back to the square. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many monuments and statues in one place outside of a museum. The statue of Alexander is high in the air in the middle of a large fountain. The base of his pedestal is surrounded by life-sized statues of Greek warriors in uniform. There is a circle of lions with water spewing from their mouths into the fountain. Nearby, a solemn king sits on his marble throne. On each side of the entrance to the old bridge and two horsemen in bronze (or brass). At the rivers edge, a brass figure of a woman in a red two piece bathing suit and red swim cap stands poised, her feet in the water, to dive into the river. Two life-sized brass women in modern dress seem to be greeting each other and across the square a brass beggar sits with hand extended. Statues everywhere.

I walked across the bridge in front of the square and made my way to the old town. More statues. Cyril and Methodius. A large fountain honoring women as mothers. Four larger than life women sat on the rim of the fountain; one pregnant, one nursing and two playing with their children. A statue of another warrior high on a pedestal. Statues everywhere. I walked down narrow streets with lots of shops and restaurants. There seemed to be an inordinate number of jewelry shops with lots and lots and lots of silver and gold and shops offering very fancy wedding gowns, something I didn’t expect to see in this country. Further into old town, I found a farmer’s market where everyone had an area about ten by ten with fruit and vegetables very attractively arranged. And then there was another market featuring anything you could want. Sunglasses, cell phones, electrical switches, socks, anything. And not just one of each. The tables were laden with merchandise, stacked high and covering every available inch of the table. It reminded me of the souks in Morocco, crowded, bustling, and all the vendors trying to catch your eye and interest you in whatever they had to offer.

I sat in a cafe and had a coke, unfortunately a Coke Zero. I gave the lady 2 Euros and she gave me 40 Dinar in change. There was a moment of panic as I had no idea what the exchange rate was. I checked later and the coke cost me a bout $1.50, which seemed to be about right. I walked around some more and encountered several shops with what I thought were outrageous evening gowns, bright colored with designs formed by beads or rhinestones or sequins, gowns you might see on the runway but not expect anyone, other than an aspiring Hollywood star trying to get attention, to actually wear to an event. Sparkling jewelry, elaborate wedding dresses and splashy, in-your-face evening gowns somehow seemed out of place in a country that is 66% Orthodox and 33% Muslim. I found an outdoor cafe where I could watch the world go by and ordered what I had been told was the traditional dish of the area, beans. The menu offered bean dishes prepared in three different ways. I ordered what I thought was the mildest, which it was, and somewhat bland. I wished I had taken a chance and moved up the spice chart. Thank goodness, I had excellent bread served as small loaves and good local beer. And the world did go by. The young women were dressed like Americans, shorts and shirts. The guys wore jeans and t-shirts.

After supper I went back to the main square. Several young men dressed as Greek warriors (they looked just like the Roman soldiers I had seen at the Coliseum in Rome) gathered around the fountain accompanied by young ladies in togas. After dark, all the major buildings, statues and monuments were lit. The huge fountain in the middle of the square was a dancing fountain, the lights changed colors and the water sprays responded to the music being played. And it was great music, some classical, some from Broadway plays, some Queen, and some from movies, including Chariots of Fire. I spent a good bit of time enjoying the music and the coolness of the evening. I wandered down the main pedestrian street and found the house that was the birthplace of Mother Teresa. I had no idea that she was born in Macedonia. The house is now a museum in her honor with a statue out front and her image on the front wall. Bought a couple of small medallions for Sally, who will use them on the bracelets she makes.

Neil told me that when the Republic of Macedonia broke away from Yugoslavia, the Greeks objected to naming the new country Macedonia, since the name is so tied to Greece. When one says, Philip of Macedonia or Alexander, the Great, one thinks “Greek”. So, to appease the Greeks, the official name of the country is The Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia. No one uses it.

That night I watched episodes of The Tutors and Shogun.

Skopje, Macedonia (FYROM) June 11

Left Skopje by bus on the way to Ohrid, a small, picturesque town in the south on a lake. The countryside is big: big valleys and big mountains. Villages dot the mountainsides, each with either a church or a mosque dominating the homes. And the mountains are so steep that no two houses seem to be on the same level. Once again, the houses are built with whatever material is at hand, brick, block or stone. And the majority still have the basic materials exposed, lacking a stucco facade. We went through majestic, green mountains, which reminded me of the Smokies but more rugged. It was beautiful and then we passed a spot where people had begun to dumb their garbage on the side of the road that had turned into a real eyesore in the pristine beauty of nature. We had a pit stop high in the mountains where the air was cool and refreshing. Coming down the mountain, we passed large fields on the mountainside. In one, I saw an old man cutting weeds with a scythe. I realized that I had seen little, if any, mechanized equipment on the small farms. The old methods were still in use and women were in the fields with the men. We passed through beautiful, wooded areas, and large, open spaces, and villages with Albanian flags and minarets and crosses.

The bus stopped in the middle of town in Ohrid, no bus station in sight. Most of the passengers, including myself, just sat there wondering what to do. There was a crowd of people awaiting the arrival of the bus. One of them stepped on the bus and shouted in English. “This is the main stop in town. The bus station is three kilometers outside of town.” The bus began to empty. All the people waiting began to ask if we needed lodging. They were hawking their hostels, telling the price, location, free wifi, etc. I had a reservation and I knew it was two kilometers from the center and on the edge of the lake. I began to walk and an elderly gentleman (probably my age) dropped in step with me and began to ask questions. He has family in America and was delighted to tell me so. Of course, he offered a hostel and gave me a card. He did direct me to the lake and from there I knew how to get to my hotel. Turn left and walk along the “beach”. Not sure where I got the idea of a “beach” but I’m sure it was mentioned in an ad or something. Anyway, the “beach” consisted of a paved boardwalk about fifteen feet wide running along the edge of the lake. The water was clear but the rocks on the bottom were covered with algae. It didn’t really seem an inviting place to swim but the weather was overcast and it was drizzling rain. There was no one in the water or lying on the “beach”.

The hotel, Villa Dislievski, was nice and the people were pleasant and helpful. I walked back into town and went into the old section of town. I wandered around past many jewelry shops with lots of shiny merchandise. Came to a farmer’s market where I got some bananas and an apple. I ducked into a pizza restaurant just before the storm hit. Thunder and Lightning, very, very frightening. Had a very nice spaghetti dinner with a couple of beers. Back at the hotel, I asked about how to get to Tirana, Albania, my next destination. The lady told me I would have to take a bus to Struga about 12 miles away and from there catch a bus to Tirana. She told me her husband would drive me to the bus station. This was good news. That night I watched a movie about Truman Capote and the writing of In Cold Blood. Daniel Craig played Perry Smith,one of the two killers, and Sandra Bullock played Harper Lee. The actor who played Truman was fantastic, sounded like him and looked like him. I even wondered if it were the man himself. I had never heard of the film and learned later that it came out the year after “Capote” with Philip Seymour Hoffman and was overshadowed by it. A good flick. I recommend it but I didn’t get the name.

Ohrid, Macedonia, June 12

I walked into town along the “beach” to the tune of frogs croaking. They were incredibly loud in light of the fact that they were so small. When they croaked, “balloons”, that seemed about to burst, appeared on each side of their heads.

Ohrid is an ancient city with a fort high on the hill overlooking the town. At one time the entire city was enclosed in high walls and several gates on the original walls are still standing. Using the map the lady at the hotel had given me, I began to search out the historical sights. The first was a statue of Saints Cyril and Methodius in the main square. Cyril and Methodius were Byzantine Greek brothers born in the early ninth century in Thessalonica. They became missionaries and brought the Greek Orthodox religion to the Slavic peoples. They are credited with the invention of the Cyrillic alphabet, used by Russia and several other Slavic countries, and translated the Bible for the Slavs. I had coffee and a croissant in the square and watched the world go by. There was a small shrine in the square with several icons and burning candles. People would come up., put some money in a box and light a candle. They would stand in front of each icon, say a prayer, cross themselves (Orthodox fashion), leave a coin and repeat the process at the next icon. There was also a statue in the square to Saint Kliment Ohridski,the Protector of the city, who founded the monastery in 886. I found the lower gate to the city, built ten centuries ago. Next was the Church of St. Sophia built in the 11th century. But, there was no entry so I just took some pictures. I walked on the Bridge of the Wishes, which was simply a wooden walkway on the water along the edge of a cliff under the fort. From the walkway, I could look up through a ravine toward the fort. At the top, there was a bridge from which citizens of ages past had tossed their garbage. You could see the refuge in the different strata on the sides of the cliff. The cliff was about sixty feet high and would be a marvelous archeological sight as it looked as if the area had been used as a dump for centuries. Some of refuse was sticking out from under forty feet of earth. How old would that be???

On a point of land above the water was the Church of St. John Kaneo, a tiny church built in the Thirteenth Century in the form of a cross. It looked as if it couldn’t have accommodated more than thirty people. There was an entry fee so I decided not to go in. Instead, I climbed up, up, up to the Church of St. Kliment Ohridski. This church was built in the Ninth Century on the ruins of an ancient Christian Basilica. It is large for a church that old and served as a school as well as a monastery. Some of the ruins of the previous church are visible in front of the church. Strangely enough, they are developing a university on the site, construction has already begun. It seems odd that they would want a university here. The town is small and out of the way, and the site is relatively inaccessible. I assume they will build a road but it can only be approached from one side. Up, up, up some more to the Fortress of Emperor Samuel. The fortress dates from the Fifth Century and is very imposing. It sites on the crest of the hill and dominates everything in sight. No army could approach it without being detected. The walls of the fortress are still intact though there are no buildings within the structure. The walls are ten to fifteen meters high with defensive towers spaced every fifty yards. The flag of Macedonia flew from the highest point.

From there, it was downhill, to the church of St. Mary. This was a really unique and unusual church. Very dark and foreboding on the inside and with paintings floor to ceiling. Unfortunately, no pictures were allowed and you had to take a tour to go through it. A tour guide shooed me out and told me to wait for the next tour. Again, I passed. Nearby was a large Roman Amphitheater where gladiators fought before a crowd of possibly ten thousand spectators (a guess on my part).

I got back downtown at about 6PM and the sun just beginning to peek out for the first time all day. I sat and had a beer in the square. Most of the women wore pants or jeans, very few wore skirts. Young girls wore jeans or tights. The men wore jeans or sports apparel. At 7, I had supper but few people were eating. Hadn’t seem a McDonald’s since Belgrade, which is a good thing. Hadn’t seen a diet coke since Prague, which is not.

The movies on TV have been interesting. Most very old, some obscure. One with Robin Williams, Woody Harrelson and Holly Hunter, one with Cher, Dennis Quaid and Liam Neeson, and one with Robert Redford and Debra Winger. Music has ranged form Sonny and Cher to Nora Jones.

Ohrid, Macedonia, June 13

The lady at the desk had told me that her husband would drive me into town to catch a bus, so I went down to check out. “No credit cards,” she said. She told me what I owed and her husband told me he would take me to an ATM. This went smoothly, I got the money, paid him, and he dropped me off on the side of the street saying to wait til a bus came that would take me to the town of Struga. I stood there with my luggage. A few minutes later he came running up and told me to get in the taxi he had waved down that already had three passengers. They were going to Struga and I should give the driver, who spoke no English, 100 Dinars ($2). At the bus station, I bought a ticket to Tirana, Albania, the capital city, for 660 Dinars ($15). The ticket from Skopje to Ohrid had been $11. Had a 45 minute wait so I had some coffee which took all but 40 of my Dinars. I usually end up with more foreign money than that when I leave a country. There was no sign that said Tirana but when a bus arrived at the scheduled time, I got on. I asked the driver, “Tirana?” and he said yes. It was a minibus and I had no room for my knees. I had to turn sideways and take up two seats to be comfortable. The driver’s assistant took all our passports and made a list of name and numbers.

At the border, the assistant gave all our passports to the customs official. After a little while, the customs official got on the bus and began to ask a woman in her twenties questions which I didn’t understand. They took her off the bus and into the building. Shortly they came out and took her bags off the bus. She continued to talk with them unemotionally. A few minutes later, they put her bags back on the bus, she got on and we drove away. I have no idea what the problem might have been but no one seemed particularly excited about it, even the woman who might have been left at the border. A hundred yards later, we got to the Albanian customs. They looked at the passports and waved us on. The border was high in the mountains. We had climbed a long, difficult road to get there and it seemed to be the only way to get through the mountains. As we topped the crest of the mountain, I saw what I swear appeared to be pillboxes, five or six domed shaped, concrete bunkers with openings in the front about eight inches by three feet. All of them faced the road. Any army trying to get into Albania would have to take that road and the Albanians were prepared to repel them. The area has a recent history of war and these seemed to be remnants of the conflicts.

From the top of the mountain, we could see the town in the valley far,far below us. From time to time, I had seen snow on the mountaintops in the distance. I checked and the highest peak in Albania is 2, 764 meters. In Macedonia, it’s 2,784. The highest peak in the Appalachians is Mount Mitchell in North Carolina at 2,037 meters. All the Balkan Peninsula is mountainous and very rugged. Bus travel is very slow because they can’t make good time on the mountain roads. We wound our way slowly down the mountain. Down, down, down. In the town, cattle strolled freely in the streets and along the side of the road. Horse drawn carts carried their loads through the town. The landscape was rugged, the roads were bad and the bridges had potholes the driver tried to avoid. I spotted several more pillboxes close to the road in the town. From the town, we went down some more. Saw two men trudging up the road bent over under huge bundles of hay they carried on their backs. Passed fields where men were cutting hay with scythes. Everything seemed more primitive than the other countries. There was no evidence of mechanized farming, no tractors or heavy equipment. Many of the buildings on the side of the road were unfinished.

Finally, at about 2:30, we got to Tirana, which is in a valley. It was hot, noisy, busy, unattractive and uninviting. I didn’t see an historic center or anything that made me want to stay. The bus stopped on a busy street in the center of town and everyone got off. There was no bus station in sight. I asked the driver where to find the bus station and he simply pointed down the street. I immediately decided that I didn’t want to stay in Tirana so I started walking toward the station. I stopped in an outdoor cafe and asked a waiter where I could find the bus station. He asked me where I was going and I told him Shkodra, a town with a lake that Barb and Neil had recommended. I walked for a while and again asked directions. He asked me where I was going and he gave slightly different directions (left instead of right). I walked and asked again and he asked where I was going. It seems that there are several bus lines in the city but no central station. My destination determined which line I should take. I finally found the bus I needed down a narrow, side street. Just a bus parked on the side of the street with Shkodra on the front, no station, just the bus. I asked the driver how much to Shkodra and he told me. I had no Albanian Leks, so I had to find a bank, get some money and return in forty five minutes. I did this plus stop at a bakery and get a pastry and buy a Coke Zero in a cafe and go to the bathroom. The bathroom had a porcelain two-step with a garden hose to clean yourself. The coke was 100 Let and the bus was 300. Travel is cheap in the Balkans. As we left town, the bus stopped several times to pick up passengers or drop them off wherever they requested.

The country seemed a little more prosperous in the valley north of Tirana. A lot of construction but still no farm equipment and people were hoeing weeds in the corn. We arrived in Shkodra, another busy, overcrowded city with little personality. I got off the bus and hostel owners crowded around trying to get me to stay with them. I walked away and went to the nearest hotel. I stayed in the Rozafa Hotel for 2000 Let (about $20). The room was not very nice, no A/C, just a fan, the TV was lousy, no wifi in the room, only in the restaurant. It was a thirty minute walk to the lake and late in the day so I didn’t bother. Had a pizza and a coke for $5.25. The money I got as change was filthy. We would have taken it out of circulation in the US. The streets and cafes were teeming with people, everyone was outside. I asked how to get to Bar, Montenegro, my next destination, and was told I could take a minibus or a taxi. I talked to a taxi driver and he said it would be 30 Euros. Bar was only about 30 miles away so I knew a minibus would be cheaper. Walked around a bit, had a beer and went to my room. The whole day had spent traveling and I was tired.

Shkodra, Albania, June 14

I was awakened at 4:10 AM by the Muslim call to prayer from the mosque about a block away. The Muslims pray five times a day, the first at sunrise, and sunrise comes early on long, summer days. Looking out my window, I could see the mosque and a large christian church about a block further away. Didn’t take a shower because there was no hot water. I complained at the desk and went to breakfast: eggs, bread, coffee, slabs of feta cheese and great, creamy butter. Went back to my room and the cleaning lady caught me and explained that I was turning the shower handle the wrong way. Turn right for hot and left for cold. Maybe I should have figured that out. I walked around a bit and mailed a postcard at the post office. It was a beautiful day, bright and sunny. It was also election day. Lots of flags and banners representing opposing parties and cars driving through the street honking their horns and waving flags.

Decided to head to Bar and went to find the minibus, which I had been told would leave from the roundabout where the bus had dropped me. Unfortunately, the minibus didn’t leave until 4 in the afternoon so I began to barter with taxi drivers. Got various, descending prices but finally settled on 2800 Let ($28). I wasn’t happy because the trip is only 28 miles. The minibus would have been much cheaper but I would have lost a day. But that 28 miles took almost an hour. The taxi was a Mercedes which had seen better days and the roads were just not conducive to high speeds. We crossed the border at a small customs station that had only one building serving for both Albania and Montenegro. A cursory check and we were on our way. The last few miles were along the coastline. It was beautiful. The sun was out, the water was blue, the rugged, mountains rose right out of the sea. Stunning! It reminded me of the coastline in Provence or Croatia. Got the driver to drop me off close to the water. Gave him 3000 Let and waited for my change. He didn’t offer. “We agreed on 2800.” “No,” was his only response. I walked away in disgust and added him to a long list of reasons I hate taxi drivers.

I walked to the water, anxious to enjoy the beauty of the sea. Instead I came to what seemed to be a Naval Base, complete with several warships in the traditional gray. To the right was a marina and beyond that a beach. I headed for the beach. It was a rock beach, no sand at all. The rocks became pebbles as you approached the water. Back from the water about twenty yards was a small wall suitable for sitting. I sat there and discretely stripped down to my underwear and into my swimsuit. I walked down to the waters edge and tested it with my toe. Not having a towel and not wanting to leave everything I had with me unattended, I didn’t go in. Back at the wall, I spread out my shirt and lay down on top of it on the wall, the first opportunity I had had in several days to get some sun. The beach was not crowded. There were couples, women in bikinis, naked children and overweight people who shouldn’t have been wearing those tiny swim suits. After a couple of hours I decided I had had enough sun. Time to find a place to stay. Surprisingly, there was only one hotel across the road from the beach. There were tennis courts which were empty and an amusement park with rides that didn’t look very exciting. The place needed a marketing manager to attract the people to the beach with cafes and restaurants and hotels. Valuable property was sadly underutilized. The hotel was very nice with a large pool but was 79 Euros, more than I wanted to pay.

I walked back toward town, got some bread, cheese, sausage and a drink and found a place to sit in the shade and have a late lunch. The people were better dressed, more fashionable and walked with a determined step. The general atmosphere was more positive. The bars and cafes were nicer, the streets wider, cleaner, and less congested, the city was more open and obviously more prosperous than Albania. But, since the beach was not appealing, I decided to move on. I found a pub that featured Staropramen, my favorite Czech beer, and asked where I could get a bus to go to Budva. They said I could catch the bus two blocks down the street, just wave it down when it came by. This didn’t seem preposterous as I had seen this happen numerous times. I finished my beer and found the corner they had mentioned. I waved down three buses before I got the right one. We drove along the coastline which was stunning. Mountains on our right, the sea on our left, palm trees, oleander, bougainvillea. Very tropical, very colorful. Lovely! Passed small towns on the beach and I hoped they were our destination. Right on the water. But they weren’t Budva. Budva was on the water but somewhat larger, not a quiet, little village, a town. We got to an actual bus station in Budva, an actual bus station. I started walking toward the water and stopped at a hotel. 98 Euros. I kept walking. Found a room about a block from the sea for 20 Euros. A bed with a TV, but what more did I need. I headed to the beach along a street that was lined with palm trees, flowers and colorful bushes. Yellow, orange, red, purple, violet and pink. It was a veritable paradise. Close to the beach were the souvenir shops, towels, t-shirts, hats, swim suits, souvenir glasses, a little of everything, or rather a lot of everything. The souvenirs were stacked so close together, you had to be very careful if you picked something up for fear of knocking something over. It was best to point and ask the salesperson to get it for you. The shelves were so crowded, they made the shelves at Walmart look sparse.

The beach is a rock beach with pebbles leading into the water so that the water is perfectly clear and beautiful. About twenty feet from the water, they have brought in sand so that it is more comfortable to lie down. Restaurants line the water’s edge, each with it’s own color of beach chairs and umbrellas so they know who to charge for using their equipment. I had a towel from my room so I lay on the beach for a while. I was in heaven. I explored a little and found a group of young men playing soccer on a concrete court. They were serious and the goalie didn’t hesitate to dive on the concrete in order to prevent a score. Nearby were older men playing petanque. They were serious too, each team sporting its own uniforms. Budva is obviously a resort town. I understand that the Russians have bought up a lot of the property. Everyone dressed very casually. Most wore bathing suits. The women wore cover ups, usually see through, when not on the beach. The atmosphere was more European than anywhere I had been so far.

That night my TV wouldn’t work and the landlady sent her husband down to fix it. He was very talkative and insisted I try his homemade version of “slivovice”, made from the grapes he grew. It definitely had a bite but went down well. He strongly recommended I try the specialties of the the area, the local prosciutto and the local cheese. I promised I would get some the next day. I went to a little market close by and got bread, cheese, salami and olives for supper. Very, very good.

Budva, Montenegro June 15

Got up, showered, and shaved for the first time in over a week. Shaved, that is. Went to the little patisserie on the corner for coffee and a croissant. A real croissant. It. was delicious. The girls working there were, friendly, outgoing, and very attractive. They helped me with my pronunciation and giggled when I tried. I sat outside. It was fairly early but people were already headed to the beach in swimsuits and coverups. They would stop for a pastry and then move on. It was a beautiful day, blue sky and sunshine. Life is good! I got a haircut for 5 Euros and headed for the beach. Stopped at the post office for post cards and stamps. I was very happy. For one thing, the weather was great. I mentioned blue sky and sunshine. Most of the trip so far had been under gray skies and occasional drizzling rain. Blue sky and sunshine lifts my spirits. Secondly, the scenery was beautiful. Spectacular views of the mountains just behind me and the Adriatic Sea at my feet. And third, the people. Everyone seemed happy. They were friendly and helpful, even the check out people at the grocery. Obviously, the town was prosperous, tourism being the big industry, and the residents didn’t have to worry about where their next meal was coming from. It was a happy place and I decided to stay an extra day.

Found a spot on the beach and settled in. Lots of bikinis, thongs, and naked children. Typically European. Periodically, someone came by with food for sale. They would call out what they had for sale and hope to find a few takers. One man had a huge, bright yellow python draped around his neck, I assume, hoping to get people to pay him to have their picture made with the snake. I took a break and went hunting for souvenir shot glasses and a flag pin. Found both and returned to the beach. Got some more sun, maybe too much, and swam in the Adriatic, where I was able to float. Maybe I could float because the Adriatic is saltier than the Gulf but I suspect it was because I had gained weight.

I really enjoyed my time at the beach. Lots of activity. Many different age groups. Small children running to the water and then retreating with each wave. Children always make me smile. There’s a concrete walkway about forty feet from the water. Beyond it are the restaurants offering their different specialties, some very expensive, some reasonably priced. Each restaurant claims the portion of the beach in front of it and has beach chairs and umbrellas with their name and colors for rent to the beach goers. In the late afternoon, when people begin to leave the beach, the restaurants gather up their beach chairs and umbrellas and replace them with tables and benches so people can eat on the beach. It’s very peaceful at sunset. There’s no loud music to distract from the beauty. In contrast to Bar, Budva makes great use of their beach. Beachside restaurants, one after another, fast food kiosks, souvenir shops. It’s a busy place. I had a couple of beers as the sun went down then back to the room for prosciutto, cheese, olives and bread.

Budva, Montenegro June 16

Went back to the patisserie, for a croissant and coffee and the friendly, smiling faces of the young ladies. Sunday morning, everyone headed to the beach in the swimsuits and coverups, grabbing a pastry on the way. Another beautiful day. I hated to leave but knew I had to get to Belgrade on the 18th in order to catch my plane on the 19th. I had tried several times on the internet to find out how best to get from Sarajevo, Bosnia to Belgrade. I couldn’t get any information but I knew there had to be a bus or train. So, I went to the bus station in Budva, paid 3 Euros, and got on the bus which was about to leave for Kotor, my next stop. We drove along the coastline, sometimes very close to the water, sometimes high in the mountains overlooking the sea. Always beautiful. Past ruined castles on the hilltops and small villages, and then we turned inland.

We stopped in Kotor and I walked to the “old town.” Kotor is spectacular. It is a medieval, walled city beside a beautiful lake, (an inlet from the Adriatic) surrounded by steep, rugged mountains. The walls encircle the entire “old town”, extend up the mountain that serves as a backdrop and include the fortress/ castle dominating the area from the summit of the mountain. The historic center is a beehive, a rabbit warren of narrow twisted streets in which you can quickly get disoriented and lost. There are no cars within the walls, they couldn’t navigate the narrow streets, only pedestrians and golf carts are allowed. I entered the walls at the entrance closest to the bus station and made my way through a tunnel and which opened to street that ran between stone building. I could almost touch both sides. After several twists and turns, I came to an open plaza in front of a church. The congregation was just leaving. The plaza was lined with outdoor cafes, tourist shops and banks. I found my flag pin! There was a uniformity to the old town, all the buildings were of the same material, but there was no uniformity to the layout. The streets are made of marble slabs (I think), like those in Dubrovnik. I wandered through one of the gates and found myself outside the wall, looking at the lake, and confronted by the side of one of those giant cruise ships. This one was enormous. I didn’t count the decks but it loomed upward, blocking my view of the scenery, a real eyesore, but, of course, good for the economy as passengers disembarked and crowded around the tourist information booth just outside the gate and got maps of the city. I got a map and tried to find a spot in the shade as it was a very hot day.

I walked around outside the walls taking pictures and contemplating climbing the stairway up the side of the mountain to get to the fort. I decided against it reasoning that I had to catch the bus and maybe I didn’t have enough time. The fact that it was an incredibly long, and steep climb on a very hot day and cost three Euros didn’t enter into my reasoning. The map showed that there are three gates to the city, all still intact, and several churches within the walls. The churches were built in the 12th and 13th centuries and the walls in the 16th. With the protected harbor, Kotor had to be an important city in the Middle Ages. I truly don’t have the words to describe the beauty of a town like Kotor. The simple stone buildings and walls, the narrow, twisting streets, the quiet and serenity even with tourists milling around. There was really nothing much to do except explore, take pictures,and buy souvenirs but it is a wonderful place to spend a day.

Back at the bus station, I paid 35 Euros for the six hour ride to Mostar, a distance of about 150 miles. It was a strange but beautiful trip. Mostly, we followed the coastline with beautiful views of the sea and the mountains. What was strange was the fact that we crossed the border into Bosnia three times. We left Montenegro and entered Bosnia, crossing the southern tip of the country, and then entered Croatia. In Croatia, we stopped in Dubrovnik where there were huge, enormous, gigantic, very large, cruise ships docked in the harbor. These things were “cities on the sea.” I’m sure they are luxurious. I’m sure there are plenty of activities to enjoy and lots of food. But I could not imagine myself on one of these things. I tried to get a snack in Dubrovnik but the lady would not take Euros. She gave me a look like, “Are you crazy?” The Kuna is the currency in Croatia and I had none. What was unusual was that I had been able to use Euros almost everywhere I had been and that Croatia was going to join the European Economic Community within a month and would convert their currency to Euros. This lady was waiting for the official date. From Dubrovnik, we went north along the coastline. Strangely enough, just north of Dubrovnik, there is a small portion of Bosnia which extends to the sea, dividing Croatia in two. We left Croatia into Bosnia and within half an hour, reversed the procedure back into Croatia. Some time later, we turned inland, once more crossing the border into Bosnia. All the border crossing were quick and painless and they didn’t stamp your passport or it would have gotten full quickly. Each time, it was a little different. Once, the customs offices of two countries were combined in one building. A customs officer came on the bus, looked at our passports and handed them back to us. The bus didn’t move. Then the driver’s assistant gathered our passports and took the into the building. A few minutes later, he returned, gave us our passports and we entered another country.

In Mostar, there was a bus station but it wasn’t centrally located. The usual group was there offering their hostels. Rather than search, I went with a lady who offered to drive me to her hostel and bring me back to the station whenever I needed. The lady spoke broken English and as she drove pointed out shells of buildings that had been ravaged during the war. For 20 Euros, I had a private room in Hostel Nina. Ten Euros and I could have shared a rooms with others. She recommended Irma Restaurant in the old town for supper. I’m sure it was run by a member of her family, this always seems to be the case, but I went anyway. As I walked to the old town, a man saw the orange “T” on my jacket and said, “Tennessee!” We talked for a few minutes. He is from Mostar but left when the war broke out and went to the United States. He lived in Missouri, Illinois and Kentucky, where he taught platform diving at the University of Kentucky. He came back because he loves Mostar but he is still a big Cats basketball fan. I learned later that he had been a bridge jumper in his younger days. I crossed the famous old bridge with difficulty. It is fairly steep, rising to a point and then descending. The marble is slick and, wearing Docksiders, I kept slipping. Finally started stepping on the rounded slabs of marble spaced about every two feet that were similar to speed bumps on a street, and was able to negotiate the crossing. The narrow streets in the old town were cobblestone with designs formed by the different sized stones. Found the restaurant and the owner/waitress was very friendly, gregarious and efficient. I let her recommend a local dish and a local beer. Both were very good.

*****

History of Bosnia

Bosnia and Herzegovina (henceforth referred to as Bosnia) has a long and complex history. Inhabited by the Slavic people from the 6th to 9th centuries, controlled by the Ottoman Empire (Islamic) between the 15th and 19th centuries, and taken into the Austro-Hungarian Empire (Roman Catholic) from 1878 to 1914, it is composed of a mixture of ethnicities, religions and cultures, as is the entire Balkan Peninsula. It was part of Yugoslavia, a conglomeration of Republics, until that country began to fall apart after the death of Marshall Tito in 1980. By the 1990’s, several of the Republics were seeking their independence. Croatia and Slovenia were the first to break free. At that time, Bosnia was composed of three major ethnic groups: Bosniaks (primarily Muslim), Croats (Roman Catholics), and Serbs (Orthodox Catholic). Taken together, they were all Bosnians but the Serbs and Croats felt loyalty to their own, larger ethnic groups in neighboring countries. They were like ex-pats living in a foreign country. The Bosniaks and Croats wanted to seek independence from Yugoslavia but the Serbs did not. In 1991, Franco Tudman of Croatia and Slobodan Milosevic of Yugoslavia had secret discussions regarding the division of Bosnia between Croatia and Serbia, much as Hitler and Stalin discussed the partition of Poland.

In 1992, a referendum was held in which Bosnians voted overwhelmingly for independence from Yugoslavia (Serbs stayed away from the polls). Ethnic conflicts erupted. The Serbian forces, the strongest element, attacked and burned Bosnian homes. Bosnian men were separated from their families and abused or murdered. The women were kept in detention camps where rape was commonplace. Ethnic cleansing by the Bosnian Serbs was rampant. The rapes were a form of ethnic cleansing in that the child takes the nationality of the father. In 1995, an estimated 8375 Bosniaks were massacred by the Serbs in Srebrenica. As a result, NATO forces began a bombing campaign targeting Bosnain Serb strongholds. The war was ended by the Dayton Agreement in December 1995. Approximately 100,000 people died in the war (65,000 Bosniaks) and 1.8 million were displaced. Charges of Genocide and War crimes were brought and you may remember that General Ratko Mladic was arrested and charged in Serbia in 2011 having lived peacefully in a quiet village for years after the war.

*****

Mostar, Bosnia, June 17

I was the first up and sat in the yard on a beautiful, hot day. The landlady brought me coffee. She set up a table outside and began to serve breakfast as the other “residents” filtered out. Over eggs and toast, we talked about where we were from and where we had been. They mentioned the “war tour” and asked if I were going. I said yes. Our “guide”, a member of the family, told us the tour would be about two or three hours and would be off the beaten path.

The war in Bosnia occurred in 1993/4 but there is still ample evidence that the fighting was intense and devastating to the city. The 16th Century marble bridge spanning the river in the middle of the old town was the only bridge for miles , and thus, a strategic military target. The bridge was destroyed along with most of the old section of town. The city was under constant siege for nine months during that span. From the east came the Serbs and from the west, the Croats, trapping the Bosnian Muslims in the middle. Mostar was the most bombed city during the war. People lived in their basements, if they had them or in the basement of the schools. The fighting ended with the Dayton Accords in 1995.

Our guide took us to many, many buildings that were empty skeletons. You could see where shells had hit the buildings and there were bullet holes in apartment buildings where the armies had faced each other across a single street. Some buildings still had sandbags piled up, behind which soldiers fired at the enemy in the building maybe fifty feet away; a veritable no man’s land. An eight story bank building, that is now hollow and filled with graffiti, had served as a sniper post with a panoramic view of the city. There were still empty shell casings littering the floor of the top story. He told us of the “ethnic cleansing” that had occurred during the war. 8,372 people had been massacred in Srebenice. Women were raped, not necessarily for pleasure, but for the fact that a child born has the nationality of the father. If a Serbian soldier raped a Bosnian woman, the child would be considered a Serb. We saw a park that had been converted into a cemetery for the fallen, both men and women. The guide made a point of telling us that Bosnia is very diverse and very tolerant of all religions. He pointed out that our landlady is Orthodox and her husband is Muslim. The victims of the fighting were both Orthodox and Muslim and were fighting side by side for Bosnia. They were buried side by side. At some point after the war, it was suggested the they be moved to separate cemeteries, but the Bosniaks refused stating that the fallen had gone to school together, had played soccer together and had died together. There was no reason to separate them in death. We saw shelled apartment buildings where a single apartment had been renovated and occupied. One apartment where people were living surrounded by a hollow building, one that would have been condemned and razed in the US. Unfortunately, the administration of the city is divided between the Serbs and Bosniaks. When East Mostar plays West Mostar in soccer, police from all over the country converge on the city to prevent violence between the fans.

The famous bridge was totally destroyed on Sept. 11, 1993 and was not reopened until 2004. It stands 25 meters above the Neretra River and is the scene each year of the bridge jumping competition. Our last stop on the tour was the bridge. Our guide told us that the locals could identify tourists because they had trouble crossing the bridge, stepping on the flat, slick marble, whereas the locals stepped on the horizontal slabs, like steps on a ladder. We went down to the river which was extremely cold and fast moving, and then up on the bridge where someone was preparing to make the leap. A young man would climb up on the rail, stretch, judge the distance, lean forward, and then climb off the rail. He made a splendid picture, slim, great abs, dressed only in a Speedo. All the while, his compatriots worked the crowd getting donations for the brave showman. This was repeated several times until they had gathered sufficient funds to make the jump worthwhile. Then, one of the men in a wetsuit came out, poured cold water on his head and down his suit, and climbed over the rail. He poised at the edge, then bent his knees, slipping off the rail to plunge the 25 meters into the river feet first. He took a long time to come to the surface but emerged to the applause of the crowd. I was told that anyone who wanted to make the jump could train with them to learn the technique and the hazards and, eventually, make the jump. I jumped out of an airplane but had no desire to do this.

I had lunch in the same restaurant and walked thru the old city. Found my flag pin and bought a souvenir. The locals had turned the war into art. Spent shell were used to make fountain pins or vases with drawings carved into the sides. I saw a large picture of a devastated old town Mostar in 1993. Three signs adjacent to it said “No Pictures.” Obviously, they wanted to sell the postcards which I bought. Then one of the bridge jumpers told me I could Take a picture. He remembered that I had given money to him when he had worked the crowd. Everyone was nice to the tourists because tourism is obviously their biggest industry. Our guide told us that the guys who make a living jumping off the bridge “police” the area for any pickpockets or anyone causing trouble. Supposedly, they take them into “custody” themselves before calling the police.

Kotor is a fascinating city. Still reeling from the effects of the war twenty years ago, it has rebuilt the “old town” and survives on the tourist trade. National feelings are still high, which means the people are separated religiously as well, but that seems to be a secondary factor, not the cause of any trouble. Certain buildings have been built with the outside aid, one being a new high school. There is also a brand new administration building, brand new but unused. The Serbs and Bosniaks can’t seem to agree on anything and thus refuse to use a building also occupied by the other group. Kotor is certainly worth a visit.

Got my landlady to take me to the bus for the three hour trip to Sarajevo. It was hot, the bus was packed, and the air conditioning was not very good. We headed east into the mountains, climbing ever upward. An hour into the trip the bus stopped. There had been a wreck in front of us and no traffic was moving in either direction. We could see smoke in the distance but had no ides what had happened. Firetrucks and an ambulance went by on the open lane, followed by a bulldozer. We sat on the side of the road, in the shade provided by the bus, for a little over two hours. When we finally moved forward, we passed a truck lying on its side, completely burned out. It looked like a bleached skeleton in the desert, only it was black. The only things left were the axles and wheel rims standing vertically.
We passed through green mountains that reminded me of the Smokies in East Tennessee, but even more majestic. There were isolated villages and farms, somehow clinging to the steep slopes of the mountains, and snow covered peaks in the distance.

We got to Sarajevo at 8PM. All the signs were in both alphabets. Saw a McDonalds for the first time since leaving Belgrade. My idea was to see Sarajevo in the morning and press on to Belgrade in the afternoon. I asked at the bus station what time the bus left for Belgrade the next day. “6 AM.” Decided to take the train. At the train station, which was about five minutes away, I was told there was no train between Sarajevo and Belgrade. No train between two capital cities that are in neighboring countries. Maybe there were trains on other days, but maybe there were no trains period because of the animosity that still exists between the countries. I didn’t inquire. I went back to the bus station and bought a ticket. My hopes of seeing Sarajevo, which I understand has a beautiful historic center, were gone. I also had wanted to see where Archduke Ferdinand and his wife had been shot, the event that started the First World War. It wasn’t going to happen. I headed for the Holiday Inn sign a short distance away. Their 178 Euros per night was a little steep so I stayed in the Union Hotel for 25 Euros. I got bread, cheese, sausage, and a coke zero at a local market and had supper in my room about 10 PM. There was no hot water so I didn’t take a shower.

Sarajevo, Bosnia, June 18

Got up at 4:30. Still no hot water so I used a wet towel to wiped myself off. I headed to the bus station still feeling grimy from the day before. We left the valley that Sarajevo is in and started climbing mountains again. We passed several cemeteries that had large sections of seemingly recent graves, all with white crosses as headstones. I assumed these were war dead. The road was narrow and winding. We passed A frame chalets nestled in the pine trees. Mists filled the valleys below us. For me, it was a most unpleasant trip. I was getting sick, I think from being on the buses for so long and the poor air conditioning. Add to this the fact that there was a couple on the bus who didn’t sit together. She sat in front of me and he sat behind me and across the aisle to the right, but they talked constantly and very loudly to be heard above the noise of the bus. And her voice was VERY annoying.

At 9:34, we got to the border. The Bosniaks checked us quickly, we crossed a river and then were checked by the Serbians. All went smoothly. The land became flatter but the roads became rougher. The driver drove slowly and wove his way around potholes. At 11:30, we stopped for lunch. When we left, a man got on the bus. He checked our passports. We were not near a border and he showed no identification, but obviously the driver knew that he was supposed to check our passports as we rode. Evidently, another show of animosity between the countries, though the guy was pleasant, nonthreatening, and only doing his job. However, the loud woman in front of me immediately began yelling at him as soon as he took her passport. He didn’t react, only smiled pleasantly in silence. He went back to the front and sat behind the driver. This didn’t deter the woman. She continued to yell at him for a good TEN minutes, yelling loudly enough so that he could hear her as, of course, we all could. No one spoke, including her husband. No one reacted. I wanted to cry out, “Does anyone know how to say, ‘Shut the f*** up’ in her language,” but I didn’t. It was very unpleasant, and I wished the driver had thrown her off the bus.

We got into Belgrade at about 1:30 and, by that time I was really sick. I checked into my hotel, went out and got some medicine, and came back and went to bed. I went out to eat later, got medicine, and then back to bed. It had been a rough day.

Belgrade, Serbia, June 19

Got up and had breakfast. Told the receptionist that I would check out at the last minute and went back to bed. At 11, I left the hotel and went to the spot they had told me to catch the shuttle to the airport. After an hour in the hot sun, I saw a bus which had come from the airport. He was stopped at a light and I asked if this was the right spot. He pointed across the street to a sign about a block away. I went there and waited another half hour before the bus came. Then I waited at the airport. Finally got on the plane and flew to Vienna where I had a three hour layover. Had my first diet coke in two weeks. It was great. Finally, flew to Prague, got to the apartment, and went to bed. I was exhausted and sick. A bad ending to a great trip.

And it was a great trip. Six countries, some seemingly prosperous, some still suffering from the wars. Different nationalities, different religions, different ethnic groups. It’s an area that, I’m sure, will erupt again in the future. Only time will tell.