Teenagers in a foreign country

Two got in trouble for having a little teenage adventure. One got in trouble for standing at the bus stop. The kids at the international school in downtown St. Paul are just like any other teenagers going to high school. They like nothing more than to be around friends and have a good time. They have the added luxury of doing it in a foreign country surrounded by new things to see, places to explore and experiences to have. A large chunk of what they knew of the US before coming they gleaned from Hollywood interpretations. College is all about frat parties with binge-drinking and sex-crazed coeds while African Americans are all dangerous gang-bangers. A hope is that their experience going to school in the US will dissolve these generalizations and negative stereotypes and expose them to a perspective that is positive.

Andrea, Zana, Fer and Pam have all been going to school in St. Paul for at least a year. They are 17 and 18 years old and see their high school career in the US coming to an end soon. When they got an invite to a party on a St. Paul college campus, how could they say no? Sure, they've had fun the past year, but this would be a totally different experience that they may not otherwise have a chance at. They could take the bus to the party, have a good time and take the bus back home in time for cerfue at their host parents' place. No problem . . . ?

Host parents are pretty keen people. They have an extra eye open. When Zana was missing from class for the week and sitting by the office all day every day, it was clear something wasn't right. "I'm in trouble, miss, and I'm going to have to go home to the Ukraine." In another class, Fer had to give up on hiding the tears and let the waterworks flow. "Honey, go to the bathroom if you need to." Between student rumors and the input from other teachers in the know, it became clear that the girls carried out their little college party adventure and were busted for it. Having broken the law and drunk alcohol as minors, their natural parents were called immediately and arrangements were made to send them home.

Lin, on the other hand, is a boy you couldn't bribe to break a rule. He's on time, has his homework done and puts in that extra effort with just about everything he does. When he didn't show up for the usual Friday quiz, it raised questions in class. "Where is Lin, today? I can't believe he's not here." "He got beat up. A black man beat him up." When that whole story came out, it turned out that Lin and his friend were simply waiting for their bus after school. They were surrounded by a group that was saying racial slurs to them, and Lin was punched in the face several times. They were saved by the arrival of their bus and the police were called by Lin's host family once he made it home. And yes, it was black people that did it to him.

So there you go, the chance of stereotypes being broken is gone, kids got sent home and hurt physically thanks stereotypes living up to their potential. DAMNIT!

"Detoxing" from the latest fix

Still addicted. It's the basis and the theme of a lot of what she writes. This horribly wonderful thing that she is not sure she will ever be able to live without. Her biggest challenge will be to figure out how to fit it in. She moved back to to her home town to settle down a bit. Get a job, buy a house, be around family and eventually start her own. It became obvious after ten years and four moves that it wasn't going to happen if she continued moving around at the pace she was going. And besides, saying good-bye, the inevitable leaving that happens in an expat's life and entering "detox" was just getting to be too much.

However, last week she got on an airplane once again. Headed to the Dominican Republic to celebrate the wedding of a couple of wonderful people and great friends in the city of Cabarete, just outside of Puerto Plata. The beach resort and 85 degree weather were pretty amazing. it wasn't an adventurous trip by any means. Nothing like her last trip, other than Christina was again with her. She got her "hit" instead with the people she was surrounded by that week. On the last day, after spending days on end dancing, drinking daquaries, walking he beach, talking about travel, culture, experiences, sex and all aspects of life, she sat by the pool with one last Presedente beer and sat witness to it once again. Call it astrology where libras and aquarians are matched, call it chemistry where people are inexplicably attracted to each other, call it human nature or free will where people consciously decide who they spend their time with, but she was somehow surrounded once again by the people she needed in her life. By no means were they the people she knew the best at the party. She found those she had partied with during her New York days to be on the opposite end of the pool every day, and rarely if ever did they even enter her mind. The people she was attracted to, the people she wanted to spend her time with were people she had never met before, yet people she felt like she met years ago. They were single, they were married, they had kids, they had traveled, they lived in New York and Texas and on the west coast and in Mexico City. They were 5 years-old, they were 25 and they were 35 and all week she was perfectly "high" because of them. She soaked it in on that last day because she knew she was heading into cold-turkey.

It was just a week away, but in that week she was wrapped all up in the power of travel again. After 5 months of meeting very few people in the home town, it took a foreign country for her to find the people she needs. That's what it's always taken, that or a major metropolitan area. Somehow the home town doesn't provide her with that. She has never been successful in finding what she needs in the place she grew up. Does the "drug" create a false sense of reality? A lot of her family tries to convince her of that. That reality is a job you probably don't want, but have because you need it. That reality is friends that all have their own things to do and you're lucky if you see them a couple times a year. But she wants to believe that she can have it all. The family, the house, the job and the friends that give her a steady dose of adventure, exploration, discovery of something new and companionship that offers new perspective to all of it.

Is life with the "fix" always going to be temporary and fleeting? Something that she is inevitably going to have to say good-bye to, leaving her with a high from which is going to have to crash?

This is when she laughs at herself for being such a romantic who believes and fears that it has to be one or the other. If it's not perfect it's going to suck. Of course a week on a beach with constant reason to party with cool people is not sustainable reality. It's not the place that makes the moments perfect, though. "Turns out not where but who you're with that really matters." She holds onto the hope that the life she seeks can exist in a realistic setting. She just needs to find where they drug dealers are in that damn town.

Back at it

I am a teacher again. Started last week at St. Paul Preparatory School in down town St. Paul working on orientation and team-building activities with the 50+ new students who just arrived to the tundra from all over the world. They are 14-18 years old and come to this international high school primarily to improve their English and to prepare themselves for college in the US. They stay with host families all over the cities and take public transportation to school every day, sometimes commuting over an hour, maneuvering bus transfers and city skyways.

I love working downtown. It’s just St. Paul, but it is a city . . . and the skyway system is the most amazing thing ever! Walking 4 blocks to get a coffee without stepping foot outside! Walkers are everywhere whether it's on the coffee mission or the fat-burning mission. It's people and energy and I love it! I take public transportation to school too. Park the car about a mile from dad's and hop on a bus for a 15-minute ride into town. Brilliant!

I teach a high intermediate level of reading and an advanced English composition course. Once again, in a different city with diverse-background teenagers, my never-ending observations come to the same conclusion . . . teenagers all over the world are the same. The new ones in the school are scared and shy, afraid they won't fit in and fearful of failure. The ones that have been around for a while - or just six months - think they rule the roost, having earned their position high on the school's totem pole. They of course have had their speed bumps and growing pains, but they survived and spread the wings they believe they've earned. That's what's visible. What isn't visible is that they all are vulnerable. No matter the veneer, they are often a pile of scared goo underneath. Success to me happens when I can get them to reveal some of the goo. Encourage them to own it and see that they will be successful and loved despite or even because of it.

Being it’s my first semester and I am only a part-time teacher, I am the lowest on the staff totem pole. It’s always a good place to start, though. Easy to stay below the radar and get my feet wet while figuring things out. The Assistant Principal is really good at trusting her teachers to do their job and not be controlling at all. It allows me to do what I know how to do. The resources aren’t abundant. I move around from room to room, hanging my coat in the conference room. But that just means that it’s easy to hide if I want to. However, my colleagues are extremely nice and willing to answer any question that I have and that is always good. They are young and seem like they could be good fun too. Look forward to the opportunities to get to know them better. So here I am, beginning my teaching career in Minnesota!

I was handed some flowers

2009 is only a couple of weeks old and I feel like a year's worth of stuff has happened. It began on the 2nd while I was on my way home from the gym. No new year's resolution involved. As a matter of fact, I hadn't even gone into the gym because of the fleet of cars parked outside while the weight loss resolvers were sweating away inside. Figured I'd return after prime-time. The day was sunny and had been warmer than the week before. Roads were wet, but didn't seem to be slick . . . but that was my opinion. About 200 feet from my driveway, there was a car approaching me from the opposite direction and it was swerving all over the road. I thought it was someone playing around and would stop once he realized other cars were on the road. that is precisely when the car crossed the center line and torpedoed me up into a snow bank and into someone's yard. To say I was furious is devaluing the purity of my emotion of the moment. The 16 year-old driver of the other car that was bawling as I threw every curse word at him that came to mind might describe my reaction differently. The cops came, the medic trucks came and finally the tow truck came and hauled HS away from me forever. That's where the anger and the tears were coming from mostly. Yea, the reality of the inconvenience of shopping and buying a car as reliable as HS was a factor as well, but what really got me was that, the thing that had kept Grandma Helen with me since she passed away, her 1995 Ford Taurus, I killed . . . or a 16 year-old kid talking to his brother on his cell phone and "sliding on the ice," killed.

In the next couple of weeks some flowers were sent my way in the form of positive job interviews. The first one reconnected me with some old friends and introduced me to some potential professional contacts. It also was a bit of confidence boosting after being basically unemployed with no leads for that past 5 months. To talk about my professional-self and successes to respected educators reassured me that I was worthy of employment. A week later was a second interview and I really believed that one of them would hire me. The Monday after the Friday of the second interview, I got the phone call with a job offer. The irony is that it was the same morning that I found out Wendy had passed away. A smack in the face delivered with a bunch of flowers. Did you plan that, Wendy?

That exact weekend before Wendy smacked me and handed me the boquet, I bought the car that would replace HS. I like it and do feel that it's her bunch of daisies to give to me and that HS is still hanging around making sure I stay safe with her. And it's only January 21st!

A Comedic Tragedy

Never would I mean to suggest that the death of a good friend could be comical. Losing an amazing 35 year-old friend, instructor, mother, daughter, grand-daughter, sister, aunt and wife can't be anything but tragic. Wendy was struck down when there was still so much life for her to live. The magnetic field that followed her around drew people toward her. It held family, friends and students close to her. It also drew in strangers that, when introduced to her, wanted to be amongst Wendy's first-tier circle. Wendy, you spread life and confidence to everyone you touched with your beautiful smile, caring embrace, endless energy and love of a good laugh. You found good in everyone you met and were sure to tell them about it. You were to me the friend that gave it to me straight. Whether it was an outfit, a job or a boyfriend, you laid it out and made your opinion clear . . . and most of the time you were right, whether I listened to you or not.

I lived thirty-five years of life without having to deal with death. Now, in the past thirteen months I have said good-bye to four dear loved ones. One was my 93 year-old grandmother who was ready to go after raising and loving a huge family of kids, grandkids and great-grandkids. Her life was lived to the fullest. The other three were all taken way too early . . . taken in the middle of what were their greatest moments of life. This is where the "comedy" comes in. Comedy in its absurdity. Comic because, how in any real world could these lives be taken like that? It has to be a joke . . . right?!

People will often say that the bad things happen in 3's, or that it's just a string of bad luck . . . the good stuff is around the corner. I'm not so sure of the amount of truth to all that. Things like this are said in order to hold onto hope of life getting better, but they seem to suggest that all the bad will suddenly stop. What I'm finally learning after 36 years is that, yes, you must always hang on to the hope, but don't be surprised when life throws those unexpected blows, whether in 3's or multiples of 3. They can happen when things are good and they can happen when you think things couldn't get worse. That's life - cliché or not. And just as life throws its blows, it also sends flowers. It can all be spread out or it can all happen at the same time. It's the good, the bad and the time in-between and it let's us know that we are still here!

I take from these things the tragic yet comical lesson . . . . I am still here! I've lost Julie, Thor, Grandma Helen and Wendy who were all inspirations in my life. But, I AM STILL HERE!! And the greatest thing is that they were all with me in my first 35 years of life. I had them, learned from them, laughed with them, followed them, cried with them, hated them and loved them and THANK GOD for all of it! And now, I see that, because I am still here, it is up to me to make sure I continue with my life, all of the good things they did in their lives.

Maybe the comedy is the absurd. Maybe the comedy is the irony of such tragedy having to happen in order for us to see life's beauty. Maybe everything I just wrote is the comedy because it sounds completely rediculous. Whatever, I'm here and I must thank everyone in my life, currently breathing or not, for being a part of it now and forever!

Building Castles in Apple Valley

Man, I've taken one long break from doing this. I think the knee injury, sudden move from Kosovo, surgery, the loss of Grandma Helen, return to Kosovo, directing three weeks of camp and coming back to Minnesota for real . . . for good has all been a bit more than I could keep up with. No excuse I know. And now that I am marginally employed and staying in the extra beds of family and friends, well, the exact opposite seems to be the case and there is next to nothing to write about. But that doesn't mean that things aren't on my mind and there aren't good stories to tell.

Since I've been back in 'Sota, my time has been spent with family!! From being the live-in nanny for my nephews, Shane and Will - 5 and 3 respectively - to time with my sister-cousins Tess and Polly, cooking dinners with Dad and seeing movies with Mom, I have had things to fill my days. Being able to spend a few days with them all and say good-bye while knowing that I would likely see them next week has been a significant and welcome change for me. I have strong family bonds and the value of them has not dwindled with distance.

I have also tried to be "professional" with applying and receiving my Minnesota State teaching certification. Once that happened, I became eligible for real teaching jobs here. Too bad there aren't any openings in October. To fill my time and my bank account, I have taken on the not-so-coveted job of substitute teaching. Every day it's finding a new school, meeting new "colleagues," learning 30 new names and earning the respect of eight-year-olds . . . or eighteen year-olds who never saw you before and will likely never see you again. Challenging and draining, yea, but definitely full of some chuckle-worthy stories.

While teaching a third-grade math lesson on great-than/less-than, I had a bit of a mind melt and forgot that zero times anything equals zero. Now, instead of calling me out in front of the entire class, little Tiera igot up out of her chair and walked up to me. My first response was to insist she sit back down. However, in the most tactful way possible, she walked up to me and whispered in my ear the root of my error. "Miss S. the answer is < because zero times anything equals zero." What else could I do but admit fault, and have the students come up one-by-one and correct my mistakes on the board.

In another third-grade class the following week, the teacher has me read a book during math that was all about 1,000,000 and contemplating how much that really was. When I asked the students what they would buy if they had a $1,000,000 (so wish I had my Bare Naked Ladies music with me) they had the predictable answers of iPods, Wii's, cars and houses. One girl said that she would buy a castle. "Where would your castle be," I asked. It took her about a second-and-a-half to come out and say with confidence, "Apple Valley!" Now, nothing against this southern Twin Cities suburb, but if they are building castles in Apple Valley these days . . . well, although they might not quite fit in with the typical neighborhood style, I guess they might be affordable with current real estate prices.

So here I am, making my transition back into the twin Cities after nearly ten years of being away. It will fall into place eventually. i'll get myself my own classroom to return to every day, and I just might be building the first castle of Apple Valley!

The ACL Injury

This article i quite timely and strange to read. I mean, it's my story, sort of. When I first read the headline and the first couple of pages, I was a bit upset at the idea that women need to be taken care of more than men because of the injuries they suffer while playing sports. I mean, come on, the bench of the men's team has the same injuries, right? Well, as you read on the statistics show up saying that a larger percentage of the girls' bench suffers the knee injuries as the boys bench. Only the boys football team has similar percentages rates of knee injuries.

I think just about every team I played on from high school on has someone on the team that had the surgery. At St. Olaf we called one girl "blue-knees" because she wore the braces on both legs! I have been able to make it through 35 years without the injury. It was the injury I always feared most. The popping noise, the knee going out of whack, the surgery. In the back of my mind, though, I knew it was just a matter of time. And here it was in Kosovo with a Frisbee. The same jump I've made thousands of times and it just took one to make it happen. Nothing different than the previous thousands, as the article states. Just one.

So I've taken the business class flight back to The States in order to get it all taken care of. Although I had to leave Kosovo way too abruptly, I'm glad I'm here to deal with it all. I'll be recovered and back in action in no time!!

Is it getting any better?

One minute it seems as though the dust is settling and hands are reaching out. The next minute it appears as though those hands are holding rocks, grenades and Molotov cocktails. March 17th was the 4 year anniversary of riots carried out by Albanians on Serbian communities where 19 people died. It was also the 1 month anniversary of Kosovo's independence. There was bound to be some sort of excitement on that particular Monday. People were expecting something, anyway.

The prior Friday, a group of Serbian protesters entered a courthouse in North Mitrovica to symbolically take over the institution from the EU. The following the UN police and KFOR troops organized a operation to reclaim this courthouse. In the process of this at least one was killed and over a hundred sent to the hospital wounded. The link above is a good international news perspective. Mitrovica, the "flashpoint" for the majority of the newsworthy conflict due to its proximity to Serbia itself, is at least 50 miles away from Prishtina. As I may have mentioned in previous posts, the Serbs near hear, the Serbs that participate in my class, are geographically quite far from the country they claim as their own. they are in an isolated pocket surrounded by the majority Albanian population without a river and a bridge separating them. This could either make them easier targets to crazy Albanians around them, which many of them fear they are. For nearly four weeks, I prepared for my entire class to be there. The Albanian kids showed up, we waited, and decided to wait until next time. Maybe they'd come then. For nearly four weeks, I talked to the Serbian students who told me, "tomorrow, we'll be there." The Albanian kids, showed up . . . and we waited. It was discouraging for me and for the Albanian kids, who felt they had been given up on. As frustrated as I became every day, I saw hope in the fact that Serbian students were even entertaining the idea of coming. Even though they usually didn't show, they said that they would, which meant that they wanted to. So, eventually, maybe they would.

Well, the effect geography and isolation seems to be one of the many of the Serbs near Prishtina realizing that they have to face reality. They do and always will say that, "Kosovo is Serbia." However, in many cases, I think some are realizing that no matter how much they say it, it doesn't make their daily lives any easier. And so believe some of my Serbian students . . . maybe I should say a FEW of my Serbian students. Most of them have not returned, and I don't expect them to ever come back. There are quite a few reasons for it. Some may say fear of those crazy Albanians in Prishtina, but most of them would say that wasn't a major issue. For most of them I think it's pressure. Government, parents, teachers and friends, although probably not threatening them if they do come, are telling them that coming to Prishtina to be in a class with an American teacher and a bunch of Albanian teenagers is wrong and is contradictory to the Serbian cause they are fighting for. That could be a whole lot of pressure on a sixteen-year-old.

The beauty is that, despite any pressure, there are about seven of these kids that don't care. Seven of these kids still want to see their Albanian classmates, still want to come to the American Corner of the National Library, still want to see their American teacher and still want to work together and have a good time. And for about three classes we have done just that, almost like nothing had ever happened . . . almost. There is still some whispering, some looking over shoulders, small sighs of distrust. But that is all easily forgotten when they are facing each other with the task of telling each other what their "highs" and "lows" of the day were. We've all got them and very few of us don't want to talk about them, and to share them with each other once again puts everyone on the same level, on the same page, facing very similar daily ups and downs.

The Other Side

If February 17, 2008 was the best day in the lives of Kosovar Albanians, it was the worst day in the lives of Kosovar Serbs. The exact same flags that were waved in Prishtina with pride and gratitude were burnt in Belgrade in hatred and spite. Although Serbs are the minority here, they say it is their cultural and historical cradle. The battle of 1398 where the Serbs and other Balkan nationalities fought and lost to the Ottoman Empire is what they keep referring to. The beautiful Serbian Orthodox churches with deep cultural meaning here are also something they are holding on to. Right now, the biggest thing they are holding onto is their pride.

On February 21, the Thursday after the declaration of independence, there was a massive protest in Belgrade. The Serbian government declared all public transportation to Belgrade on that day to be free of charge in order to encourage people from all over the country to come and show how important it was for them to hold onto Kosovo. Official totals range from 200,000 to over 500,000 people that gathered. The government insisted the protests be peaceful and without violence, but they obviously insisted that it be loud as well. However, apparently the government didn't insist that the embassies of independence supporting countries be protected by police. A crowd of about 1,000 people broke away from the larger group and headed straight for the US Embassy and others. They were able to break in, ransack it and start it on fire because there was no one to stop them. It took police 45 minutes to arrive and do something to stop the mob.

On the same day I had every intention to go to see my Serbian students in Gracanica. They have not been coming to Prishtina and probably won't be coming soon. In order to connect with them, to show them that I want to know how they are doing, I worked out with the US Office here to get a ride there in order to spend some time with them. At 10.00 that morning it was all set. At 12.00 I got a phone all from my contact there who said that, for reasons she couldn't explain, US Office security was saying that I could not go. She said she tried to fight for me, but security section would not allow it. I asked my UN friends to see what their security was saying about Gracanica that day, and they got nothing. I have no idea what happened that made the US office decide this, but I had to call the students there and tell them the change in plans.

I called Milica and told her that for reasons I didn't understand, I couldn't go to see them. She didn't understand. "Did someone tell you it wasn't safe? No one knows you're coming. It's quiet and safe for you here." I had nothing to give her other than, "I'll try again next week." When we said good-bye she said, "Will I ever see you again?" All I could say was YES and hang up. That 's when I broke down. This girl is barely 10 miles away from me and there is a real chance that I will never see her again. Maybe her family will move to Belgrade. If they don't, there is a good chance that none of the students will ever come to class again. As I write this, it sounds to me to be a bit extreme. If I get a chance to go and talk with them, I know I can get them to come back to class. I know that I can convince them that, among us, nothing has changed from one week ago.

In my mind, if there is to be any chance for these people to ever live together, it will be in these kids. I have been telling them that from the beginning. I want to keep telling them that. But I don't know. Maybe their hate and fear is too deep. Maybe it's over.

A New Country is Born

For the past few weeks everyone was talking about it, but no one knew for sure when the dates would be. They had narrowed it down to a Sunday. That way, those opposing Kosovo's independence in the UN Security Council couldn't call an emergency meeting on the international day off. Then, on around the 8th of February, people were quite seriously talking about it being the following weekend. By Valentine's Day the talk was that it would be that Sunday and the schedule of Independence Day celebration events for Sunday the 17th was unofficially set.

The tapestry of national flags was apparent everywhere from Friday on. The red and black Albanian flag was the background and the flags of any country that showed support for Kosovo were scattered throughout. No doubt the red white and blue US and British flags were the most abundant. Kosovar Albanians are fully aware that none of this would have happened if it hadn't been for the support they have received from their allies. I can't begin to count the number of times that I have been thanked for supporting Kosovo and its independence. "We would be dead if it wasn't for the USA. None of this would have happened if it wasn't for the USA." At one point during the celebrations I felt like I was witnessing the 1980 US Hockey Team win the gold medal. Chants of, "USA USA USA USA," were echoing louder than the traditional Albanian music at moments.

One corner of town was dedicated to the idea of Kosovo being reborn. A giant structure spelling out NEWBORN in yellow letters standing about 8 feet tall was unveiled on Sunday night. I watched from above as the crowds surrounded a big blue blanket. The event was choreographed perfectly with a motorcade of police, diplomatic and government cars driving down the hill with their blue lights flashing. They stopped in front of the blue blanket and the crowds split like they were making room for Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie to come out of their limo onto the red carpet. Just as the crowd split, the blanket was removed releasing hundreds of yellow and blue balloons and the sunshine yellow letters. The president and prime minister were lead by their posse through the crowd up to the structure, and with black sharpie in hand, they signed the giant B. Just as quickly as they arrived, they were swept away and the crowds were released with their own black sharpies to make their mark on their new status.


Thousands of people from all over the Balkan region showed up for the party in Prishtina and in major cities around the world. As we watched the declaration live here, we also saw online that in Skopje, Tiranna, Stockholm, Vienna and New York City all had thousands of people gathering to recognize and celebrate the historic event. Although there were some signs of showing spite towards Serbia that included words starting with F and Y, there were no obvious incidents of hate or revenge. Not a flag was burned and not a person was nor has yet been intentionally hurt. The feeling is pure joy and hope.

Seeing my students on the Tuesday after was pretty cool. They walked in the room with the biggest smiles on their faces, of course thanking me and my country for our help. It was of course obvious that our Serbian classmates weren't there, and they wanted to know why. I told them that I couldn't speak for their classmates, but I told them that the feelings of their friends was most likely the exact opposite of what they were feeling. Emotions like fear, anger and humiliation were very likely to be in the minds of the Serbian kids. Form the point of view of the Albanians, this independence is their reward for living through hell. Living through Serbian attacks, living through ethnic cleansing and horrific crimes that were committed by Serbs. For most of them, it's a relief to have come out on top. What they would like is for the Serbs that live 10 miles away to feel welcome in this new country of theirs. They want it to be a place where they can all live together. They don't understand the fear and don't know why things have to be different this week from what they were last week. I'm not sure I can answer that either.

Excellent weekend!!!

I don't have pictures and I don't have a link, but I do have the memories of one of the best weekends in Kosovo that I've had in a long while!!! Started with a Friday night dinner with my favorite ladies here at one of our favorite restaurants, which is nothing new. But it nice to be able to have that group of great women to spend a Friday night with. That night, Gail had the inspiration to try the local ski resort, Brezovica, out on Saturday morning. After a couple of bottles of wine and a long week, we were all less than ambitious about the venture and went home giving Gail unenthusiastic maybes.

At 7.30 the next morning I had just woken up and Gail called looking out the window at a blue sky and doing what she could to convince me. Sofia had said no and I was the last chance at a ski partner for her. My bed, book and a cup of coffee were just too attractive of an option at the time. We hung up and I went to my reading only to get bored after about 20 minutes. I went to my closet to pull my skiing gear out and the thought of hitting the slopes for the first time this year became much more appealing. I called Gail back and we were on our way in 30 minutes.

Brez is a socially owned Serbian run ski resort that hasn't been updated since Tito, I'm sure. Gail and I arrived by 11.00 to a small amount of eager skiers waiting for a chair lift to start running. We went to a cozy little restaurant, had a coffee and some eggs and asked when the lift would get going. We were assured that it would be running by noon and sure enough, we were heading up the mountain by 12.30. When the lines at Brez are long, they are deadly. Proper queing techniques do NOT exist here. Instead the often get into line, take their skis off and PUSH their way to the front. But not on Saturday. There was no need because there was no waiting. Just a massive white mountain with almost a food of fresh powder to ski on. Skiing can bore me after a while, but this was like learning all over again. I felt like an absolute clutz, but I was skiing like I had never skied before. AMAZING!!!

Saturday night brought another great dinner to celebrate a friend's 30th birthday. A day of fresh air, tiring skiing and a few drinks had me sleeping like a baby. Sunday morning I was invited by a Swedish friend to the Swedish KFOR camp where they serve waffles on Sunday afternoons. He got me in and when we walked in, the MESS was packed with soldiers eating their waffles, drinking fresh brewed coffee and listening to an incredible live military band singing U2 and Van Morrison classics. Young blonde, buff military men were every where so my senses will delighted by music, men and waffles! Then it was off to the Sunday ultimate game and a dinner out after with the team. The power was out when I got home, but who can complain about a candle lit shower?

I complain a lot about this place. More often than not I feel like there is something seriously missing and blame it on the Kosovo and the people here. After the past couple of months I have felt like it's even gotten worse with being sick and dealing with the deaths of people I love. But the months of blah that I've recently seem to have forced me to really recognize the positive things that I have. This weekend wasn't really unusual or special. These are all things that I have had here for the past year and-a-half. The difference is that I'm realizing that, despite power cuts and bad drivers, there is very little to really complain about here and truthfully quite a lot to be grateful for. I don't write like this in the blog too often, but I want to remember this weekend and felt it was worth sharing it as well.

THOR!!!

A small world brought these two Oles together in a place far far away from The Hill. Their St. Olaf ties made the only three months of them being in Kosovo together seem like a lifetime of friendship. Just over a year after their first meeting, it was a big ugly world that ended the life of Thor Hesla.

I've talked to most of you about this big Scandinavian man I met when I got here. I wish I had done more than just talk about him though. I'm sorry most of you will never know who Thor was. Those of us that did know him are better people because of it, honestly. We play Ultimate Frisbee because of him. We go eat forbidden pork because of him. We are surrounded by more and better people because of him. We love American politics because of him. We spent 5 days standing in pee mud listening to the Red Hot Chili Peppers and The Who because of him. But Taliban terrorists in Kabul, Afghanistan won't allow any of you to meet him.

I promise you, though, I'll tell you all about him!

I love you Thor!

Unable to let go

Yes, today is another deadline, probably one of the bigger ones . . . but it's only 7.30 am right now . . . the day could very likely go by quite quietly. A lot of talk and fear travels around this place, maybe a bit justifiable, but mostly not . . . at least not here right now. maybe a few extra gun shots - "celebratory fire" they call it - but as far as daily life . . . not much. There will be protests and demonstrations all over today and if I had class it would be cancelled, but I don't so no big deal. my fight out of here is on the 14th and they should go out with no problems. it's when, if the government unilaterally declares independence that it might get a bit louder. but who knows. that will wait until after the holidays when all of the internationals working have been able to cgo home and come back. i do wonder, though, if i will continue to have my classes in Januray. depending on what happens, my serbian students might be too afraid to come into town . . . who knows.

The link above goes to a blog about the current campaign being carried out in Serbia, "Kosovo is Serbia!" It goes on to show very prominent images of British and American leaders known for making great strides in times of trouble. The intent is, "To remind Serbian citizens the gravity of what they are fighting for in Kosovo." It's propaganda at it's finest. Imagery, manipulation of using quotations out of context. It claims that Serbia is more American than America!

Knowing my Serbian students and their distance from what is happening between the governments and knowing the conditions in which they are currently living as marginalized minorities in Albanian dominant Kosovo, my heart softens and I want to back the plight of the Kosovar Serbs to maintain their national identity. However, as soon as I read this sort of media manipulation being spun by the government in Belgrade, my sympathy melts for the Serbian movement. One of their leaders, Tadic, claims to be working toward EU standards and recognizing an independent Kosovo defies those standards, and he is one of the more liberal thinkers in the government. Most others look down upon the EU and would feel better siding with Russia in opposition to the EU. They are trying to build a wall to block what is coming at them in full force and that is the European Union.

December 10th will come and go. There will be some noise from both sides, but what decision will finally be made, when and what will the ramifications be . . . I might be here to see it, but wouldn't be surprised if I wasn't.

Decisions being made?

It's been a long while since I wrote about the political situation here. To be honest, I got a bit tired of all the talk and nothing really happening. Didn't seem like much worth writing. Crucial dates come and go with not much new to report. That could very likely be changing soon, though , , , maybe.

Yesterday Kosovo held elections for prime minister and parlimentary seats. The opposition party, PDK, has taken the unofficial lead which would mean that a former Kosovar rebel fighter would be Prime Minister. Not surprising, really. Thaci's campaign poster was one of the biggest and most abundant in the city. His along with one of a current war criminal awaiting trial in the Hague and another of a dead guy. December 10 is the newest "deadline" for negotiations between Kosovo and Serbia. If no resolution has been made by then . . . which it of corse won't be . . . Thaci and his people say that they will unilaterally have a declaration of independence. My ticket out of here for the holidays is booked for the 14th. Hope it takes at least 4 days before the shit really hits the fan.

The international community here does a really good job of getting scared. The streets on election day were more dead than normal, mostly because the internationals were locking themselves in until things supposidly settled. But there was nothing to settle. I was out walking and the only unusual site was adults coming out of the school buildings after voting instead of kids playing in the school yard after class. The hype, the talk and the anticipation from the international community always makes one a bit nervous of what might explode in front of them on the street. But so far nothing has. These dates of reconing come and go and all is good.

So the next date is December 10. Theyre already talking about how THAT will be the day to stay inside. I guess we'll see. And of course I have to wonder how it will effect my classes. Will the Serbian students keep showing up? If they do, what sorts of conversations will be had between the Albanian and Serbian students? If there are conversations, how headed will they be? I guess we will see whether something actually comes of any of this or whether it will just be another date come and gone.

My Aunt Julie

My aunt passed away on Saturday. My uncle’s wife, my cousins’ mother. I was on the phone that day talking to only some of the people that took up an entire floor of a hospital. Brothers, nieces and nephews, in-laws and friends all together to embrace four people that were losing their wife, their mother. I almost feel sorry for anyone else on that floor that had to be pushed out by the crowd. But on the other hand, I am envious that they were there to see the strength of the bond that group of people has with each other.

Having something to say about Julie isn’t hard. From the time I was four with my first memory of Julie before she and Kevin were married, I saw her as a woman that wasn’t like most. In the 70s she stood out as someone that wasn’t going to do something just because it was expected of her. I believe she saw life for its opportunities. She knew what she wanted and had the intelligence to know how and when to achieve it. She was the kind of woman I wanted to be.

I remember when us older cousins – Chris, Jen, Josh and myself – used to play this make-believe game in Grandma and Grandpa’s basement. We each took on identities of cool teenagers and created our own sort of Hays Happy Days. If I remember right, Chris tried to be this blonde Fonze-like character and made Josh, who was all of 2, be his little side-kick. I clearly remember the small battle Jen and I took on with our identities. We both wanted to be intelligent, independent and of course beautiful young women. That was easy. The battle happened over what our names would be. Before we could begin playing, Jen and I would argue over who could claim the name Julie. At the impressionable ages of 4 and 6, the woman that would become our aunt was, to us, the woman we wanted to be when we were 20- something.

When I was eleven Julie had earned her MBA and a great career. At that time she had known what she wanted professionally. It was also at that time that she had Jessie. In the early 80s women were beginning to find a place in the work force. The drive was for women to fight to prove they could work right along-side men just as well as they could be house-wives. I wasn’t old enough to understand exactly what that decision meant to Julie and the family. Some people probably thought that giving up her career to be at home with her children at that time was a mistake. To Julie, however, it must have been the next opportunity, to give herself to building a family. What I clearly remember is thinking that it was one of the bravest things she could have done. That was the woman I wanted to be when I was 30-something.

Then once Jessie, Jake and Abby were all in school, Julie broke the norm again and went back to get her PhD. She knew what was next for herself, found the opportunity and took it. I remember her laughing about being the oldest person in the class, but it clearly didn’t bother her too much. There was still a career to be had and she was going to have it despite the voices that might have said she was too old. I remember looking at her and believing that a woman can have it all. She can be a fully active stay at-home mom and have a career, in her own time. I remember thinking, that was the woman I wanted to be when I was 40-something.

Whether it was planning for life and family or reusing birthday candles and wrapping paper, Julie always did it for her reasons and didn’t care about the flack people might have given her. She figured out how to balance her own needs and desires with the needs of her family. And it is because of her life choices, her independence, determination, sense of humor and love for her family that, Julie could create a Hays/Mountain core that is about as solid and strong as it can be.

After finding out on Saturday that Julie wasn’t going to make it, I thought about Jessie who had to travel alone for hundreds of miles. I imagined what it must have been like for her to be alone for those hours. When family is such a major part of your life and you decide to leave it for a while, the experiences you have away from them are priceless, and it’s because of their love and support that you can succeed away from them. But when something happens to one of them, it must feel as if that core is breaking apart and holding it together can only happen when you are back around them. I imagined that for hundreds of miles Jessie traveled knowing that her core was near bursting. I then imagined what it was like for her to see her dad, brother and sister when she arrived. I imagined that core coming together with palpable strength. That hold between Kevin, Jessie, Jake and Abby was probably not only felt by them but by every person on that floor of the hospital.

It’s that hold that will keep their core together. The core has a big hole in it now that might not ever be completely filled. There is no doubt in my mind, though, that the four of them are strong enough to hold it together. Their lives will continue and other things will move into that core including new lives that will live because of Julie’s. I have no doubt that Kevin, Jessie, Jake and Abby will keep that hold strong. The memory of Julie will also be there with them, holding them. And when it’s really hard for them, the rest of the family and friends that took up the floor of that hospital will be there for them.

As I said before, having something to say about Julie isn’t hard. I’ve thought these things about her for 30 years. It’s saying them that’s always the hard part, and I’m sorry it has waited until now to be said and that poor Jessie had to say it for me.

I have always admired you Julie and have to thank you for the place and the impact you have had in my life. I love you!

Birthday in Brussels

There is a special kind of Karma that presents itself to travelers. When touring new places in the world, there are inevitably times when you need some help and the amazing things is that more often than not there is a kind and considerate person that will offer you that help. The thing is that, in turn, when you notice a traveler in need of help, it's always a good idea to do what you can for them in order to keep your good travel karma alive.

About 4 years ago, my friends Christina, Sarah and myself were at or favorite Manhattan bar, Scruffy Duffy's. We would always go to this place because they serve the best buffalo chicken wings in town. On this particular night the three of us were REALLY hungry and amibitiously ordered a basked of 50 wings for the three of us. Needless to say, we didn't finish the entire baskiet. Three men from Belgium that had just arrived in NYC were at the bar and wondering what these things were. Since we weren't finishing the 50, we offered them to have a try. They in turn bought us beers and we all ended up spending the weekend hanging out together and a string of good Karma began. These guys said that because of our kindness and willingness to be their NYC tourguides, they had an amazing hoiday in New York. A year later they even retunred to the city and for another week we all lived it up with drinks, dinners, parties and again, they were very greatful for our hospitality.

Sarah is now taking a tour of Europe, staying with a friend in Rome, visiting a friend in Prague and in between she decided to head to Brussels where Kris, Wim, Kun and Gerrt live. It was my 35th birthday so I treated myself to a trip to join them. From the moment the boys picked us up at the airport to the moment they dropped me off yesterday morning, Kristen, Sarah and myself were treated like queens. On the day of my birthday, they drove us to the city of Brugges about an hour drive northwest of Brussels. This city is called the Venice of Belgium with its river, stone roads and bridges. We walked around, ate chocolates and drank good beer during a long leisurely lunch. A good friend from Kosovo who is now studying in Brugges even met us for a drink or two during lunch. That made the entire day even more amazing because I had Sarah whom I've known since St. Olaf in 1992 and Pascal whom I met in 2006 in Kosovo together with my Belgian friends I met in New York together in the same place. My lives past and present were together in one place for a couple of hours on my birthday. Amazing!! The guys then told us not to eat too much because we were expected for dinner at 8.00 that evening.

After a short rest from a great day, the boys once again picked us up and escorted us to what they said to be the best restaurant in Brussels for true Belgian cuisine. The table was set, the champaigne was ordered and for the next four hours seven people that have, over 4 years of visits, become good friends celebrated being together again. My birthday was toasted enough times for each year of my life. Between toasts we ate mussels, steaks, chocolate mousse and profitteroles while taking endless amounts of pictures. Over and over again us girls said how blessed we were to have such amazing hosts. Every time we said that, they replied with the same grateful words. The travel karma had done something to all of us that we didn't dare question for fear of it all falling apart.

The next day Sarah, Kristen and I had the day to ourselves to be tourists in Brussels. I have to admit, my knowledge of the city isn't much more than it was before I went there. We did see the little peeing boy statue - Manneken-pis - which is one of the biggest attractions in Brussels. Wim also told us about the lesser known Jeanneke-pis, a more modern statue of a little girl peeing which was erected in 1987 by what had to have been a women's libber looking for equal rights. I've got more pictures of it all on flickr. But because it was our last full day in Brussels, the touring was limited because I had to do some serious shopping knowing that once I was back in Kosovo my chances of buying good clothes that fit were gone. They met us once again that night for drinks where another friend from Kosovo came from his home just ouside of Brussels to meet us. We told our story to Bram and he couldn't believe it all. The night continued until 3 in the morning when I went to bed because I had to wake up for the airport in 4 hours.

So early Sunday morning, Wim picked my up at our hotel and took me and my new purchases to the airport where I had to say good-bye to the guys. The last time I saw them in New York I truely did not think that I would ever see these guys again, especially not in Brussels. When and why would I have ever gone to Brussels?! But that Karma is strong and when I said good-by to Wim this time, I felt pretty sure that I would see them all again, somewhere. We all agreed that the next time we met it would be in a country that none of us had ever been to . . . South America, Africa . . . who knows, but I can't wait!!

Sarajevo

And I still remember it for the 1984 Winter Olympics . . . but how much has happened in this beautiful mountain city since them. I hate to keep giving Wikipedia links for information on the places I go, but it's conscise and pretty darn accurate. The stories and still clear evidenc that this place was the target of some of the worst attacks in during the Bosnian/Serbian conflict add so much to the experience that goes beyond the river, mountains, cool clubs, great restaurants and cobblestoned old roads. Living in Kosovo where the Serbian population is marginalized and living in harsh conditions compared to the Albanian majority here skews the perspective a bit on who deserves the term "victim" here. Traveling to Bosnia/Herzegovina gave me a perspective of the conflict that I don't get here in Prishtina. The Serbian government of the 1990s did some disgusting and horrifying things to people and it is all there to be seen.

We were fortunate enough to have a friend with a flat right in the center of Sarajevo, who happened to not be in town when we were there, so he left us his keys and we moved ourselves in for two days. Once we found a place to park pumpkin, we were free to roam the city. The historic city center is not all that big, but there are a lot of sites to stop at. Huge cathedrals, mosques everywhere, jewelry shops and the old market, which is still remembered for the bomb that was dropped on it in 1994 killing almost 70 people and injuring at least 200. It's back in action now, and unless someone tells you that it was the place, you'd never know it. Then you walk to the other end where the national library sits. Obviously not open for business, this was also a Serbian target due to it's housing of so much Bosnia history and culture. It remains with pullet holes and bombed out holes, open to the public only for special occasions. The Sarajevo film festival was there right before we were and the library was open during it.

The tunnel museum is about 20 minutes drive from the city center. It is the home of a bosnian family who risked their lives and their realestate to save the people of their city. it was the city-side of a 800 meter tunner that went under the airport away from the war zone. It was the means of transport of food, weapons, fuel and electricity while the people of the city were being beseiged by the Yugoslav army. The tunnel museum c ommemorates what the tunnel meant to the survival of hundreds of thousands of citizens of the city. You can walk the first 25 meters of the tunnel yourself to get a sense of what these people had to count on.

This all happened in my lifetime while I was graduating from high school, attending my first college classes, going to house parties with my friends, starting my first job, going to graduate school . . . All of this happened in my life while people were being attacked and killed by what was meant to be their own government. Until this trip, Sarajevo was simply the sight of the 1984 Winter Olympics.

Driving along the Adriatic

A broken down rental car, cops and out of date car registration, no insurance at the border . . . we laughed at the little orange Chevrolet Matiz when we first saw it. All right, so maybe it wasn’t clean and it had a few dents in the doors, but it had Albanian license plates which was enough for us. A road trip to Bosnia and Croatia could not happen with Kosovo plates which most European borders do not recognize. The down side to that is Countries might recognize them and accept them through their borders, but they’re not often recognized and liked. And on top of it, taking a short-cut through Serbia was not a plan because the company said that it would not support us if anything were to happen in Serbia. But, we were renting form Hertz and figured a reputable company like Hertz would rent out well maintained and reliable cars.

NEVER assume!!! We hadn't gotten 50 kilometers before the little pumpkin started making a banging noise, would not accelerate and started to smoke. turned out there was no water in the radiator. We had to sit on the side of the road and wait for Hertz to drive out with another car which ended up being the twin sister of car number one. Needless to say we were a bit wary of taking pumpkin #2, especially since its "check engiine: light was on . . . but we were already 3 hours behind and had a lot of driving to do, so we were off up the mountain into Montenegro where we had to stop for our first night. After one night in the classic communist Hotel Palace, it was off to the Croatian Border!!!

As soon as we saw the blue water of the Adratic the worries about the car vanished. We had entered an unreal Disney World type dimension that was unbelievable to look at. Despite the two cruise ships filled with people that had just entered the harbor, Dubrovnik was like a fairy tale. An old waalled city with narrow cobblestone streets that took you up into nooks and crannies where people actually lived real lives. Church bells rang and street performers played traditional music while the people walked by on their way to cafes and restaurants.

After a night we started up the Croatian coast to Bosnia. I have driven the highway coast road down the Pacific to San Francisco, but the site wasn't even close to what this Balkan shoreline had to offer. Colors, mountains and islands got more breath-taking with every turn. I was the lucky one behind the wheel that made Bram take pictures, but none of them does justice to what my eyes saw. I wish everyone I know to be able to see the site.

The next stop was Mostar, Bosnia which was even more unreal. I can't even begn to explain the set-like surroundings with true turquoise blue rivers flowing hrough stone built homes, restaurnts and cafes built on the river's cliffs. The new "Old Bridge" perfectly arching 21 eters above the river that begins with an N, mosques and calls to prayer on one side, churches and bells on the other. First the Bosniaca and the Croats fought the Serbs Yugoslav army together which united the city divided by a river. Then something happened that turned them against each other as well. Their guns then pointed across the river. The bullet holes and mortar wounds still exist everywhere here. Seems as though a limited amount has happened to bring it back, other than the bridge and the perfect setting surrounding it. Shooting from inside out, inside in and outside in, all still very visable. Strange how they keep the memore of the anger aorund them while trying to rebuild and reconnect this little town in the middle of a valley.

We stayed in the home of a man named Omer who is a retired French and German professor at the University in Mostar. Bram called him and asked iin French if there was a room available. As he talked, Bram started laughing when Omer identified immediately that Bram was from Belgium and that Flemish was his first language. For some reason Omer who was frail and nearing 80, opened up his home to travelers roaming through his town. he had 2 rooms with 4 beds and the sharing of a bathroom was compensated for by the hominess of his residence.

These first few days of our trip might have strted out rough, but pumpkin #2 rolled us through this amazing countryside and these amazing towns that I never expectd to exist in this area called the Balkans on the Adriatic coast that a year ago I would never have imagined I'd ever be.

I Want

I want to be the sun
to shine during the day,
I want to be a star over the sky
to show the road to unknown man.

I want to be angle
with God to discuss. (talk)
I want to be a bird
in freedom to fly.

I want children in peace to live.
I want happiness
everyone to share.

I LOVE you Bitola very muchhhhhhhhhhhh . . .

Urim

Pelister

Before I came to Pelister I expected to meet new friends, new games, new language, new places. In Bitola I heard Macedonian language for the first time. The children were very good. We played new games every day. But the day after I felt sad because I have left my village and my family. Anyway, day passed very quickly and I didn't feel sad anymore. Now I am happy. My first impression is that the national park is very good and modern. I also liked nature very much.

Blagoje