Narnia Discovered in Timişoara, Romania
When I wandered around Timişoara last week, I found beautiful squares, great architecture, and the birthplace of the Romanian Revolution in 1989. But one discovery topped them all: I think I found Narnia.
Our merry band of housewives (and househusband) were walking back from the Fabric New Synagogue via a park. I’d tell you which park it was, but I had no idea, since another housewife was in charge of the map. RHOB was just along for the ride.
Just before entering the park, we passed a factory with a marble sculpture that looked like an open door. I joked that it would lead to Narnia. (Geek alert: code red!) I didn’t realize I was right, so I didn’t take a photo of the sculpture. Live and learn.
We walked on a snowy path for about a mile, enjoying the scenery. We were all alone…0r so we thought.
We didn’t find fauns, but we did pass animal sculptures. It also seemed like it had been winter here for 100 years. (Seriously, is anyone getting these references?) As we walked past the animals, we saw friendly-and not so friendly-faces:
They were next to a mysterious tunnel in the middle of the park. It seemed to have no purpose. But the househusband (it’s always the men, isn’t it?) suggested we walk inside. It was, in two words, really weird.
Yes, those appear to be effigies. WTF.
Where is Aslan when you need him?
My first thought was that the tunnel hosted a Halloween party, but Halloween isn’t celebrated around here. Was it a human sacrifice party? A way to scare local children into avoiding tunnels? We had no idea. The park was silent. Our new friends’ expressions said it all.
We were happy to leave the park and its wintry, mysterious secrets. But once we got out, we were pretty sure we’d never find our way back in. At least no one was tempted by Turkish Delight…that I know of…
Church on Sunday/Synagogue Saturday: Fabric New Synagogue in Timişoara, Romania
I haven’t written about synagogues, mostly because they are pretty scarce in Serbia. But right next door, Romania’s Jewish population was once the largest in the Balkans. So when I went day-tripping with a couple of housewives (and one househusband) to Timişoara, Romania, I knew we had to pay a visit to the Fabric New Synagogue.
Synagogue construction started in the late 1830s and was likely completed in 1889. The building is on a small street, and once you turn the corner, it’s an impressive sight. Even with all those lousy power lines blocking the view.
We walked to the iron gate, but were disappointed to see that it was locked.
Let us in!
Looking inside the gate yielded a bigger disappointment. The inside of the building is dilapidated. But through the dust and rotting wood, stained glass and an intricately carved ark shine through the darkness.
The Fabric New Synagogue was an important addition to Timişoara architecture; the mayor even attended its opening ceremony. But a hundred years later, World War I, the ensuing Soviet occupation, and departure for Israel reduced the Romanian Jewish population from 428,000 in 1947 to less than 8,000 today. The synagogue is currently closed for structural repair, and it’s unclear when it will reopen again. This photo gives an idea of the interior.
Photo from http://tinyurl.com/4r9745o
The state of the Fabric New Synagogue may have been disheartening, but we were glad we saw it. Not only is it a part of Timişoara’s history, but it led us to the strangest park I’ve ever seen. More on that this week.
Slavija Square and the Legend of the Belgrade Phantom
Sounds like a Harry Potter book, doesn’t it? But this story is about a white Porsche, not wizardry. A stolen Porsche that was driven through Slavija Square at breakneck speeds in the middle of the night, taunting police and captivating Belgrade for seven days. You can’t make this up.
Actually, I did think it was made up. I first read about “the Phantom” in Momo Kapor’s A guide to the Serbian Mentality. Kapor has a breezy style, and I wasn’t sure how much of the story was true. Information is hazy in English, but in 1979 there was a man who drove a stolen Porsche through the square in the wee hours of the morning. He taunted police by alerting them that he was coming and evading capture with superior driving skills. People started coming to Slavija Square at midnight just to catch a glimpse of this madman speeding through the square, thumbing his nose at the law. The guy was a combination of NASCAR, Evel Kineval, and Houdini. Beogradjani were enthralled. The police were apoplectic.
Tito was out of the country at the time, prompting speculation that the drive was politically motivated. Some thought he was a romantic. Others believed he was a bored car thief. In any case, he had a great advantage: one Porsche vs. a couple of police-issued Yugos.
Not much of a contest.
After a week, the police constructed a barricade using a bus. The Phantom crashed into the bus but escaped in the crowd. He was caught several days later and went to jail.
The Phantom was Vlada Vasiljevic, a common car thief. Some doubted he was truly the Phantom; but there is a rumor that he escaped jail to complete another night drive, and returned the next day. Vasiljevic died in a car accident several years after his release. The car, a Lada, was stolen.
I'll bet he really missed that Porsche
The Phantom lives on in a Serbian movie that was released last year, and I’m eager to find a subtitled copy. I’ve posted the trailer below. As I hunt for a copy, I’ll think of the Phantom every time I drive through Slavija Square. I imagine many Beogradjani do the same-which explains some of the driving I see there.
Thanks to Belgraded.com for providing details about the Phantom.
Detective RHOB Strikes Again: The Case of the Missing Dumpster
Since I received such a positive response to my previous detective story (one email-that’s all it takes, folks), here’s another installment of Belgrade Mysteries.
Our first few days here were a blur of jet lag and confusion—even without drinking rakija. Despite this, I managed to pick up some cases rather quickly. My first case involved deciphering the coded symbols on our washing machine. It was tough, but easier than translating the Serbian instructions that came with all our appliances. That stuff you’ve heard about English being a universal language? Tell it to Gorenje.
I solved the laundry code, but couldn’t celebrate right away. I had to buy dishwasher and laundry detergent first. However, I bought dishwasher salt and stain remover instead. It seemed that my “Serbian for Housewives” skills had gone missing-though I suspected I had never had them in the first place.
Solving crimes in heels-very Serbian
On my second day here, I solved another case: the Mystery of the Key. I tried to get into our apartment on the second floor, but the key wasn’t working. What happened? Had the locksmiths double-crossed me?
Apparently not. It turned out that floors numbers start at zero here, meaning that the first floor in Serbia is considered the second floor in America. And since the doors looked exactly the same and had no numbers on them, I was using my key in someone else’s door. Fortunately, that someone else was not at home when I solved this mystery, so there was no need to go downtown.
It was my first week in Belgrade, and I was starting to feel as if I could solve any mystery. Sherlock Holmes? Nancy Drew? Columbo? They had nothing on RHOB.
Just as I was starting to feel comfortable in my new digs, I faced the greatest mystery of all: the Case of the Missing Dumpster.
No secret stairs to a garbage room, either
It was time to throw out the garbage, and I looked in our courtyard for a dumpster or garbage cans. Nothing. I looked on the first, excuse me, zero floor for a garbage room. Nishta. Garbage chute? Non-existent. The plot thickened like an old bowl of Ben’s Chili.
Where did garbage go in Belgrade? People couldn’t recycle everything around here. What were they doing with it? Was it all being used for Mugatu’s Derelicte Campaign?
I decided to take bold action. I had noticed small garbage cans in a nearby park and decided to throw our garbage in one of them. We only had a small plastic bag, so I figured it wouldn’t attract too much attention. Was this illegal? Possibly. But a little danger never got in the way of a case for RHOB.
I walked out of our building, garbage in hand, and strolled down the street. Suddenly, I noticed a garbage truck emptying something. Something that looked suspiciously like a silver dumpster. As I watched the waste fall into the truck, it looked like household, not commercial garbage. Once I realized what the big, silver thing was, I noticed something else: they were everywhere. I had been walking by them for days without noticing them. RHOB: super-genius.
I threw my bag in the dumpster and walked to a café, passing the scene below. It appeared that solving The Case of the Missing Dumpster was my official welcome to Belgrade.
Tagging along in Belgrade
On the heels of “The Australian” travel article about Belgrade, the New Zealand Herald published a similar one, titled Serbia: Tagging along to history. It’s a bit of a false lead; the article briefly describes political slogans around town, but not images. To rectify this, I’m posting one of the more predominant political stencils in town.
I’ve seen this stenciled throughout Belgrade. What I like best is that people have started “improving” the images with mustaches, shoes, or pink zombie-looking eyes. Oddly, no one has given him a wig. Or added his beloved tigers to the scene. Yet.
As for the article, it’s a bit lackluster. It’s as though the author was “tagging” along with bored friends while carrying an old Lonely Planet. But I’m glad to see/read about more people visiting Belgrade.
Surviving Slavija Square: Driving in Belgrade
Ricky Bobby would approve.
I am a proud product of aggressive urban driving environments. Thanks to years of driving in NY, NJ, and DC, I think nothing of tailgating, navigating traffic circles, and pulling U-turns on major roads during rush hour. Who cares if I’m among the least knowledgeable drivers in the United States? Urban drivers know all the rules they need.
This knowledge (or lack thereof, according to Business Week) has served me pretty well in Belgrade. I’d heard that Belgrade drivers were crazy, but I don’t think that’s true. They’re just determined to get to their destination by any means necessary. The U-turns, driving in the wrong direction, and tight turns don’t faze me. After a few weeks of driving here, I thought that I could handle it all. Until I drove into Slavija Square. At rush hour.
Aerial view, courtesy of Wikipedia
Slavija Square is a huge traffic circle connecting downtown areas to suburbs. I know, I said I could handle traffic circles, but this one is special. It connects to eight major roads. Busses, trams and trolleys share the road with cars. And to make things even more special, there are no traffic lights and few road markers to guide drivers through the circle.
The result of all this depends on your perspective. If you’re a pedestrian, Slavija Square is a transportation ballet. Vehicles dance in slow circles, curving around each other and miraculously arriving at the proper street. If you’re driving, Slavija Square is a military exercise. You cannot show fear, and you pray that no one will hit you.
I can’t avoid Slavija Square, but I’m not sure I’d want to anyway. After learning about New Jersey jughandles, New York tailgating, and D.C. U-turns, Belgrade traffic circles seem like a natural progression. Next challenge? Maybe a Vespa in Rome…
Church on Sunday: La Seu, Barcelona
It’s a cold and snowy day in Belgrade, so let’s warm up by looking at sunny photos of The Catedral de la Santa Creu i Santa Eulalia (called “La Seu”) in Barcelona, Spain. The Cathedral is named after the patron Saint of Barcelona, Saint Eualia, who was martyred during the Roman Empire’s persecution of Christians from 303-311. “La Seu” refers to the Cathedral’s place as the seat of the diocese. And is obviously a lot easier to say.
Walking to La Seu is an adventure in itself. It’s located in the Gothic Quarter, an area designed with twisting, narrow streets lined with shops and high, stone walls.
Eventually, these streets open up to La Seu with great effect.
Construction started in 1298, with the builders incorporating a Roman Chapel that was built between 1257-1268. Most of the work was done in the 14th Century but (according to some reports) wasn’t completed until 1913. Makes the Sagrada Familia seem like a rush job, doesn’t it? In any case, it was worth the wait. The entrance is impressive- a massive, high hallway with 28 side chapels and a choir in the middle of the hallway.
But the best part of La Seu is when the dark, gothic building gives way to a light-filled cloister with gardens, a drinking fountain, and geese.
These geese have been kept here for 500 years. There’s no clear reason why; explanations range from tradition to symbolism. Whatever the reasons, there is an evident love for animals here. The cloister also featured pheasant-looking birds in a coop, and animal gargoyles line the high cloister walls.
Finally, the church allows visitors to ride an elevator to the roof for a view of the Gothic Quarter and beyond. From there, you can see the architectural history of Barcelona from the gothic quarter to the Agbar Tower.
The view from La Seu
The Agbar tower is in the distance on the left.
I thought La Seu was going to be a “typical” Cathedral, but I could not have been more wrong. Its combination of history, architecture, vistas and animal husbandry are as unique as the Catalan region itself.
Balkan Red Wine and Promises
I’ve mentioned Balkan wines before, but that was about a trip to a lovely winery near Topola, Serbia. While RHOB certainly likes the fine wine lifestyle, we tend to drink simpler (read: cheaper) wine when we don’t have guests. Enter Vranac.
Vranac (pronounced VRA-knots, kinda) is a red grape that grows primarily in Macedonia, Serbia and Montenegro. But to many Beogradjani, Vranac is an inexpensive bottle of wine produced by Plantaze, available at most corner grocery stores. You see, I’m not just cheap, I’m lazy too.
Vranac isn’t considered a fine wine here (there are far better local wines) but it is ubiquitous. I wasn’t sure to be pleased or embarrassed when a Serbian guest saw our Vranac collection and exclaimed, “oh, you drink our wine!”
It may not be sophisticated, but Vranac is a good table wine. It’s dry but not full of tannins. It tastes slightly like berries but isn’t sweet. And the price for a “regular” bottle of Vranac is about $4.00. As Goldilocks would say, it’s juuuust right.
You'll need a cup for mulled wine, young lady
Last night, Muz and I decided to splurge on a more expensive bottle of Vranac. It looked like the regular bottle but claimed to be “pro-corde,” good for your heart. How this was better for our hearts than a regular glass of red wine was a mystery. It was almost twice as expensive as the regular Vranac, but it had a little EKG reading on the label, which meant it HAD to be good, and good for us. (This reasoning is why the FDA labeling program exists, people.)
Our verdict? The subtle difference in taste wasn’t worth the extra markup. And we’re not concerned about the health claims. We plan to leave our hearts in Belgrade anyway.
***
If the title “Red Wine and Promises” sounds familiar, it’s a 1971 Lal Waterson song with great lyrics, begging to be covered by a new artist.
Belgrade’s Banksys
For those of you who don’t read my twitter feed, you may have missed this link to the Economist Blog discussing Belgrade Street art:
http://www.economist.com/node/21014687.
Most of the photos are good, but I couldn’t resist putting up one of my personal favorites that I found in Dorcol. I like to call it “Footless and fancy-free.”
Graffiti removal seems non-existent here, so I hope we can get more murals like this, rather than expressions of love or favorite bands. “Volim te Milica” and “Red Hot Chili Peppers” scrawled on a wall just doesn’t do it for me.
Serbian subservience…psych
Serbians don’t seem to take driving regulations too seriously. Jaywalking, parking in the middle of the street/on the sidewalk, and driving the wrong way on a one-way road are pretty commonplace. One of our friends likes to back up on one-way streets if he’s missed a turn, because “it’s less illegal that way.” I had to admit that there was a certain logic to it.
Apparently, Serbian disregard for the rules of the road also applies to airplanes. As the first leg of my Belgrade-Barcelona trip touched down and started taxiing toward the gate, about 30 people throughout the plane got out of their seats and began to take luggage out of the overheard bins. The plane was turning on runway lanes, but people stood up, put on their coats, and began to queue in the aisles.
The stewardess became apoplectic, repeatedly asking people to sit down. Passengers looked at her patiently, with expressions that seemed to say, “What’s the point? What are the odds that this plane is going to crash while we’re headed toward our gate?” Finally, the pilot had to announce that the plane would come to a halt if people did not get back in their seats. Reluctantly, one by one, people sat down. The luggage bins remained open.
I turned to my Serbian traveling companion, who was laughing and shaking her head. “Have you seen this before?” I asked. “A couple of times,” she responded. I had to admit, I was envious that these people had their bags already. I wasn’t ready to deplane Serb-style, but I did unbuckle my seat belt and turn on my cell phone. It’s less illegal that way.
Gaudi, not Gaudy
Gaudilicious
Gaudi once said, “copiers have no collaborators.” Well, I didn’t want to be a collaborator. I copied the route for a Gaudi tour from our guidebook and a tour pamphlet, and planned our first day in Barcelona to see the Sagrada Familia (enough of that building, RHOB!) and other works by the famed architect.
The first stop on our tour was along the Passeig de Gracia, a broad street flanked by orange trees and posh shops. Muz couldn’t join me-he has to “work to support this family,”-sigh- so I was traveling with a friend. She was looking across the street when we got to the Casa Batllo, so I was able to dramatically spin her and say “look!” I watched her mouth drop at this sight:
Gaudi was largely unappreciated in his time.
Casa Batllo is also known as the House of Bones, due to the skeletal patterns tracing the balconies and the roofline. The building is a combination of pretty and creepy-the trellis of mosaic patterns on the walls look like flowers all year round, while the balconies resemble faceless masks looking over the street. According to one observer, the drooping curved lines resemble folds of skin. Personally, I thought that was gross. But I loved the building.
We next walked to the slightly less dramatic, but no less interesting, Casa Mila.
The Betty to Batllo's Veronica
If Casa Battlo is the dramatic, flamboyant sister, Casa Mila is the deep, introspective one. Both are curvy ladies that attract the eye, but Mila’s most interesting features aren’t visible at first glance. Mila was designed to allow almost every part of the house to get sunlight. It’s constructed entirely of neutral stone, to let you appreciate the bare aesthetic. Mila’s best feature-rooftop chimneys and ventilation shafts that look like statues-isn’t visible to passerby. To our dismay, we couldn’t get in the building at that time. I guess that just leaves something for my next visit.
Gaudi invented the Storm Trooper hat too?!?!
ventilation shaft/sandcastle. Naturally.
Finally, we took the metro and rode outdoor escalators up extremely steep stairs to get to Parc Guell.
Central staircase
It was getting late in the day, so we scampered around, trying to observe all the details of the park before sunset. By the time we got to the famed terrace, it was getting dark, so I skipped taking photos to appreciate the beauty of it all: impossible shapes and colors, musicians playing, parakeets flying through the park, and the scent of trees and dirt. Parc Guell isn’t exactly a Basilica, but it’s a spiritual place nonetheless.
Park entrance at sunset
The making of the Sagrada Familia
Here’s the recipe for the Basilica of the Sagrada Família:
• One religious, genius architect/engineer
• A passel of Easter egg colors
• One teaspoon psychedelic visions
Stir with thousands of construction workers, sculptors, and artists. Bake for approximately 143 years. Yields over 1.5 million visitors a year.
If you’d like, you can add a sprinkle of controversy: does the Sagrada Família reflect Gaudi’s original design? After all, most of his plans were destroyed in 1938, 12 years after Gaudi died from being hit by a streetcar. Look both ways, folks.
A former Mayor of Barcelona suggested that the temple stop construction when people “were no longer sure that this was exactly what [Gaudi] wanted.” But how could one know that? Fortunately, the construction goes on. There is some sense of continuity: the current architect, Jordi Bonet, is the son of another architect that assisted Gaudi. How very Gabriel Garcia Marquez, no?
One thing is for sure: Gaudi designed the Sagrada Família to shock and awe the senses, and the Basilica does exactly that. The skyline is unique: high spires with delicate details and mosaic fruit. Yep, fruit.
Grapes and...wheat? Corn? Bananas? Not sure.
Inside, the church seems to be divided into halves. One is relatively white and serene,
while the side facing the altar is swimming in bright colors with modern and natural symbolism. Gaudi once said he wanted the inside of the church to look like a forest; the light and color certainly give that impression.
It’s hard to believe that after 128 years, the Sagrada Família is just past the midpoint of its construction. It’s estimated that work will be completed in 2026, on the centennial of Gaudi’s death. But construction deadlines have a way of slipping, so feel free to see this masterpiece in action. Even Gaudi knew that the Sagrada Família would be built over several generations. According to records, he felt that “The work of the Sagrada Família progresses slowly because [God] is in no great hurry.” I’m in no hurry either, if this is the result. Besides, the ingredients are awfully hard to find.
Church on Sunday: Segrada Familia, Barcelona
Of the many churches I’ve seen, there are almost none that top the Segrada Familia. (That pesky Vatican is sure hard to beat.) I have a lot to say about this place, but I’ve just returned from Barcelona and, frankly, RHOB is out of juice for the evening. I’ll post more about the church and the trip this week, but until then, I hope you enjoy these views as much as I did.
Fortress Friday: Smederevo Edition
This Friday, RHOB gets medieval on yo’ eyes with the Smederevo fortress. The fortress was built in 1428 by Đurađ Branković, an “independent ruler” of Serbia who was overseen by the Ottomans and Hungarians. At the time, Serbia was somewhat of a buffer zone between the Hugarians and the Ottomans while the Ottomans were at war with Venice.
When Branković came into power, Belgrade was given back to the Hungarians. Needing a new capital, Branković chose Smederevo in 1426 and started building the fortress two years later, on the confluence of the Danube and the Jezava Rivers. The first settlements were completed in 1430.
The fortress contained the entire city when it was first built. It was expanded by Serbians and, later, Ottomans. It’s the biggest fortress in Serbia and, I think, one of the largest in all of Europe.
Donjon Tower (I think)
Turkish influence
Walking through the fortress, it’s tempting to think that the remains were ravaged by time. However, despite numerous attacks from the 15th-18th centuries, the fortress remained relatively intact until 1941. That year, German forces were storing ammunition in the fortress. On June 5, 1941, the ammunition exploded, destroying the fortress and settlements up to six miles away, including the Church of St. George. Allied bombing in 1944 caused additional damage. I’ve read that there is a restoration effort in place, but I didn’t see any evidence of that.
1941 photo of Smederevo fortress
2011 photo
Despite the damage, it’s nice to walk on the winding paths along the river and through the fortress. The fortress is used as a city park and holds concerts in the summer. It felt surprisingly lively on a January afternoon, and I imagine it’s great to be there in the summer. The fortress many have been hastily built, expanded, attacked, and destroyed, but its heart is still beating 580 years later.
Detective RHOB: (Cold) Case in Belgrade
No ice cube trays in the attic, either
Only one day after writing about my Fox Crime addiction, I solved an important mystery: how people make ice at home in Belgrade.
The case began with an innocent observation. I noticed that our refrigerator had a non-functioning icemaker, and that there were no ice trays in the freezer. Using my deductive reasoning, I told Muz, “there’s no way to make ice in this house. I’ll have to pick up an ice tray this week.” Readers, take note: you can’t get anything by RHOB.
I pounded the pavement, but there were no ice trays in the first, second, third, and fifth grocery store I went to. Even Mercator (a toned-down Target) came up empty. “This week” turned into 8 weeks. Then it hit me. I had a serious case to solve: how do people make ice around here?
I thought that answer was simple: Europeans don’t use ice at home. But it was a dead lead. While ice isn’t common in most beverages here, ice is served with mixed drinks or cocktails. In fact, we were caught flat-footed when Beogradjanis asked us for whiskey with ice. We had to turn down their request—and turn up the heat on my not-so-cold case.
I decided to buy a bag of ice. But there seemed to be no such thing. The supermarket manager acted like it was a crazy request. Liquor stores didn’t carry it. “What gives?” I thought. Was a femme fatale slashing all the bags of ice? Was organized crime trying to hone in on the ice market? The mystery deepened like a pothole on K Street.
These two met over a bag of ice....COINCIDENCE?!?
After nothing but dead ends, I questioned suspected ice users (AKA: other expats). My five minutes of interrogation worked wonders. There are three ways to get ice in Belgrade. First, you can order it through an “ice guy” who delivers 20 kilos of ice. I couldn’t decide if this was extravagant or old-fashioned. Either way, it was unworkable: we don’t have room for that much ice. The second method of ice manufacturing is to buy an ice bag, pictured below.
Have you seen me?
This product is promising, but elusive. Finally, I learned that “American-style” ice trays are sold at the Chinese Market in Novi Beograd. One Chinatown chase scene later, I cracked the case by buying two ice trays.
Later that evening, I celebrated my detective skills with an ice-cold Coke Zero. It tasted like victory.
Pardon the interruption
I know this is a departure from my normal posts, but please bear with me.
Today is the one-year anniversary of the earthquake in Haiti. The earthquake killed an estimated 230,000 people, including several RHOB relatives. Another 300,000 were injured. Since the earthquake, Haiti has suffered from health epidemics, dislocated families, and massive infrastructure problems.
There are many charities to give to, and many worthwhile charities in Serbia, but I hope that you will join me in giving to Partners in Health. PIH has a long history of working in Haiti and, in my opinion, is one of the best aid associations working in Haiti.
If you can, please donate, and keep the families affected in your thoughts. If you’d like to learn more about PIH, please click here. For information about the earthquake, click here.
Back to my regularly scheduled blogging tomorrow…
Don’t Follow Leaders and Watch Your Parking Meters
Just a little to the left...perfect.
Parking in Belgrade can be a bit confusing. You can park on certain sidewalks (which makes for an interesting walk down Kneza Milosa), in regular parking spots on the street or in garages. I guess this driver wasn’t sure what to do, and devised a hybrid street/sidewalk method. Ingenuity or drunk driving? You decide.
Either way, I hope that this person paid the parking fee. You can park on the sidewalk in Belgrade, but you can’t park for free.
The title is from Bob Dylan’s Subterranean Homesick Blues.
Ubistvo, She Wrote.
There are several ways to learn Serbian: books, private lessons, eavesdropping in cafes. And then there’s the RHOB way: Fox Crime.
Fox Crime is a channel that airs American crime and mystery shows in English, with Serbian subtitles. Some of them are good (like Numbers) and others are just plain awful, like Early Edition. It’s a show about a man whose cat brings him a newspaper from the future every day. Seriously.
Was there a second season?
I like mysteries, so I watch Fox Crime all the time. The subtitles are a bit repetitive but that helped me learn vocabulary. Using that vocabulary has been a bit of a challenge, though. I tried incorporating it into our Serbian lessons with mixed results:
- Volim da vidim Ubistvo, napisala (I like to watch Murder, She Wrote) made my teacher laugh.
- Dole, imam oruzje (get down, I have a weapon) was met with raised eyebrows.
- Zašto je DNA kaze DNK u Srbski? (Why is DNA called DNK in Serbian?) was answered with a puzzled ne znam (I don’t know), and an implicit “why do you care?”
I’ve stopped trying to use my Fox Crime words in class, but I can’t help wondering if they’ll come in handy one day. Will I become the Miss Marple of Belgrade? Will the Serbian FBI need my special insight to solve crimes? I’m not sure what a ukelele-playing, American housewife/blogger can offer them, but hey, uhvatiti loši muškarac-let’s catch the bad guys. As long as I don’t have to work with a psychic cat.
I'm talking to you, buddy.
Church on Sunday: St. George, Smederevo
Today’s weather was warm and sunny, so we decided to explore nearby Smederevo, home of the St. George Orthodox Church. St. George is the third largest church in Serbia and sits at the base of the pedestrian avenue in town. Its tall bell tower was designed to compete with the call to prayer of surrounding mosques during the Ottoman period.
Once we were inside, we met Saša, a church administrator and guide who provided great information about the church. It was built in 1850-1854 on swampy terrain. This terrain, according to Saša, required giant pillars to anchor the building, and explains why the floor rolls in a wave-like pattern. The distinctive features of the church include an iconostasis in marble (rather than wood), a marble pulpit in the church, and unusual frescoes.
The frescoes were painted between 1934 and 1937 by Russian artist Andrei Bitsenko. He painted, in RHOB terminology, “action scenes” from the bible that included large groups of people-not your typical frescoes. The characters in the frescoes are modeled after Smederevo residents, and we could definitely see a resemblance between the angular faces on the walls and features of the people around us. Too bad you can’t see them-I tried to take a photo on the sly, but it was largely unsuccessful.
Taking photos was discouraged in the church, so I’m afraid I can’t highlight some of the more interesting detail on the marble iconostasis and frescoes. We snapped some quick photos and offered a donation as penance before heading out to see the rest of Smederevo.
Screcan Bozic, part dva
Mural of St. Sava's Cathedral, one of the largest Orthodox Cathedrals in the World
It’s Serbian Orthodox Christmas today. The Orthodox religion follows the Julian Calendar, not the Gregorian, so we can celebrate another Christmas and two New Years’ Eve celebrations. Do Serbians know how to have a good time, or what?
But two Christmases doesn’t mean two days of gift frenzy. As I understand it, Orthodox Christmas is more religious than retail-ish. Instead, people give gifts on New Years’ Eve or on certain Sundays leading up to Christmas.
On January 13th we’ll celebrate Orthodox/Julian Calendar New Year, or Mali Bozic, when people might give gifts, and will definitely celebrate 2011 all over again. So technically, I haven’t broken any resolutions because the new year hasn’t quite begun. Genius.
What does Orthodox Christmas mean for RHOB? It means that nothing is open and the streets are practically empty. And we get to hear kids and their parents lighting fireworks all night long. We’re not lighting fireworks, but I think we’ll fire up A Christmas Story and see if the local Chinese restaurant is open. Fa ra ra ra ra, ra ra ra ra….
Beyond the Yugo: Kragujevac, Serbia
After I published yesterday’s post, I read that Zastava is shutting down. I’m not sure if that’s true-I certainly hope not. In any event, Kragujevac is more than Zastava. After I spent an hour snapping photos of Yugos (I can only imagine what people thought of me), I wandered into Saborna church.
I’m not a religious person, but I always wander into Serbian churches. Every one has been different from the others. This one did not disappoint.
These photos are pretty poor-sorry about that. The inside of the church is a beautiful shade of blue, with paintings on every possible surface. Compared to the stark white and red exterior, I felt like I was breathing in the vibrant colors and soft images. Carved wooden chairs line the walls.
I would have taken better photos, but there was always someone coming in to pray and kiss the icons stationed around the church. It was about 11am on a Tuesday, but you would have thought it was Easter. I don’t know if there was a holiday, or if people are very observant here. It was a lovely sight, and one I didn’t want to interrupt with my camera.
I wandered back out and walked to Sumarice Park. Kragujevac has its share of war damage and tragedy, but perhaps none as brutal as Sumarice. In 1941, Communists staged an uprising against Nazi forces, killing German soldiers. In retaliation, a Field Marshall ordered 100 Communists (Serbians and Romas) to be killed for every German soldier killed, and 50 to be injured for every injured German soldier. In a span of three days, an estimated 2,800-5,000 Kragujevac civilians were executed. The site of their execution is now a park featuring sculptures and a genocide museum.
"Broken Wing" sculpture at Sumarice, representing a 5th grade class that was executed with their teacher
Feeling a bit wrung-out from that experience, I decided to end my day with a trip to the National Museum. A quick note about cities in Serbia-they all seem to have a national museum. I’m not sure if most cities have artifacts from the main National Museum in Belgrade, or if any city museum with artifacts gets to call itself a national museum. It’s a mystery.
The location of the National Museum was also a bit of a mystery. It was dark when I arrived, and I walked past it several times before I saw a small wooden sign in Cyrillic. The museum is a complex of buildings, and it was getting late, so I wasn’t sure where to go. I started to feel like I shouldn’t be there when a man came stepped outside of a door and asked if I needed help. In my halting Serbian, I asked if this was the National Museum and he nodded, motioning for me to come in.
Does this look like a museum to you?
“Do you speak Serbian?” he asked politely, knowing that I didn’t. He explained that he knew English and was a curator at the museum. It was shutting down in about 40 minutes, but he could take me on a tour if I wished. I spent about 20 minutes looking at collection of modern and ancient art, and then we moved to the historical artifacts building, where the curator explained the different weapons and costumes. He even gave me historical gossip: Prince Mihailo (as in Knez Mihailova street) had to build a separate house for his wife when she got sick of him bringing little chippies home. He didn’t have any children with his wife, but did have an illegitimate daughter with an unidentified mistress. Meow!
The Princess' building burned in 1884, but the "Uncle's House" remains
Maybe it was because I had my own curator, but I thought the museum was surprisingly interesting. They had rotating exhibits in several other buildings, but it was getting late. I left the museum, and Kragujevac, in the best possible way: knowing that I’d seen a good part of it, but that there was more to uncover.
I go, Yugo: Kragujevac, Serbia
Statue of the auto worker, Zastava HQ
When I told someone I was going on a day trip to Kragujevac , she paused and said, “Really? I have not been there, and I grew up here.”
It may not be a popular tourist or local destination, but Kragujevac was an interesting, if not inspiring, day trip. Kragujevac (Kra-GOO-yay-vatz) was the first capital of Serbia, and briefly became the capital again during WWI. The city is the home of the first Serbian constitution, high school, and printing press. Kragujevac’s Zastava cannon factory began in 1853, and the city has since become an industrial hub.
If Zastava sounds familiar, it’s because it later became a car factory. A car factory that produced the best-known, worst-ranked car in American history: the Yugo.
I saw dozens of Yugos—old and new—on the streets of Kragujevac. There are quite a few in Belgrade, too. Inspired by the sight, I read “The Yugo-The Rise and Fall of the Worst Car in History.”
Do you remember the Yugo? In 1985, it was one of Fortune Magazine’s 12 “Outstanding products,” right next to…New Coke. What happened after that? Murphy’s law: anything that could go wrong, did. Yugo America’s CEO had a long history of poor decisions. There were clashes between American and Socialist business models. Factory infrastructure was ill-suited to making thousands of Yugos to American standards. Dealers received cars with missing locks, because the parts hadn’t arrived in time.
These had locks
Then there were those pesky safety tests in 1986. Though the tests may have been flawed, the Yugo still had the 8th highest death rate. And the cost of repairing crash damage was greater than the cost of the car.
It wasn’t long before the Yugo went from chic to geek. Corporate bankruptcy, the war/breakup of Yugoslavia, and U.S. sanctions followed. The last Yugo was made in 2008, after Fiat invested a billion dollars in Zastava to make another car, the Topolino.
Italy was not "lovin' it" (see sticker)
These cars may not be able to take a licking, but they certainly keep on ticking. Kragujevac has more to offer than Yugos, but you can’t talk about the city without mentioning the #1 car zipping around town. I’ll write more about the city later.
Let the Great World Spin… around New York and Belgrade
“It had never occurred to me before but everything in New York is built upon another thing, nothing is entirely by itself, each thing as strange as the last and connected.”
This book is a wonderfully written, twisted love letter to New York. It chronicles eleven people with wildly different backgrounds, each struggling to find their way in the city-and in life. I found myself skimming over some character chapters (the grieving mother, the photographer) but savoring others (brothers from Dublin, a prostitute working with her daughter). The centerpiece of it all is Philippe Petit’s walk across the Twin Towers in 1974, though the acrobat’s name is never mentioned in the book.
I’m not going to bore you with my analysis, but I wanted to recommend the book and share the quote above.
I thought the quote was a great description of New York, but then I started thinking it applied to Belgrade as well. A walk in Belgrade is a walk through history. The city has Soviet, Ottoman, Austro-Hungarian and modern influences within a single square mile. It also has a misunderstood population, haves and have-nots, and a will to survive. The city has been in a state of renovation since its inception, and I’m not just talking about the buildings. Centuries of invasions, uprisings, changing politics, and destruction have required the city-and its people-to search for strength amidst adversity and stability throughout change.
I’d love to read the book about that.
Srecna Nova Godina!
Happy New Year, readers! Yes, I know it was technically on Friday but I wanted to delay the New Year until Monday, when I could face all the terrible decisions resolutions I made last week.
We celebrated New Year’s Eve at a Belgrade club. We hadn’t gone dancing since we arrived, which is a little embarrassing. It’s like coming to New York and skipping Times Square: it may be loud, crowded and a little dirty, but you’d be a fool to miss it.
We met up with Serbian friends and walked to the club. I thought I was a badass for wearing high heels in 18-degree icy weather, but I had nothing on the legions of women in 5-inch stilettos, microskirts and battle makeup. Respect.
Once we were inside, we realized we were the only Americans in the joint, and possibly the only non-Serbians. Our friends spoke English, but most of their friends knew few words. The music was loud and entirely in Italian or Serbian. Does this sound awful? I hope not, because it was awesome. People danced all night. Men and women put their hands in the air, cheered for every song, and belted out the chorus. When was the last time you heard hundreds of people singing in a dance club?
Serbian fist-pumping: waive 'em like you just don't care
Even better, no one around us seemed to think of our language barrier as an impediment. Between our Serbian, other people’s English, and pulling in an interpreter every now and then, everyone around us made us feel welcome. Even the strangers at the table next to us called Muz their “American brother” and talked about their family in Chicago.
We started ending the evening at 2:30am-early for Serbians-but it took half an hour for us to leave because we had to say goodbye and kiss the cheeks of everyone we had met at the club, men and women. (There’s no slipping out the door in Serbia.) As we left the club, Muz remarked that he’d never been kissed by so many men in his life.
Ringing in 2011 with classic Serbian hospitality was a great way to start the new year. I could celebrate like this all year long. Once I develop the proper stamina, that is.
Gotta learn this. Fortunately, I found a guide.
Real Housewife of Belgrade 