Serbia – bruecken_schlag

Schlagwort: Serbia (Seite 1 von 2)

Varadin Bridge in Novi Sad, Serbia

Oktober 6, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / Kommentare deaktiviert

After a lot of bridge posts about Western and / or Northern Europe, today I am taking you back to my beloved Balkans and some summer sunshine while autumn has turned wet and grey in Berlin. This is the view from Petrovaradin fortress onto the city centre of Novi Sad, Serbia’s second largest city. To the right in the picture you can see Varadin Bridge crossing the Danube river. If you want to go to the fortress, you will most likely cross this bridge. From the bridge you have a gorgeous view of the old castle walls sitting majestically on a hill above the city. From the fortress you have this beautiful outlook onto the city.

Novi Sad is the centre of the Vojvodina. Vojvodina is an autonomous province in Serbia, just like Kosovo is considered to be one by the Serbians (who, as you may know, have not recognized Kosovo’s independence). It is also one of the many multicultural areas in Eastern and Central Eastern Europe – easily recognizable by the fact that it has six official languages: Serbian / Croatian, Hungarian, Slovak, Romanian and Ruthenian. I think especially the Hungarian influence on the city is quite noticeable in the architecture and the cityscape. It is one of the areas in which gaps between cultures are simultaneously made visible – via prejudice and exclusion – and bridged – in the necessity to live together in one space.

I f you have read My Mission statement, you know why I love bridges. To me they are the most universal symbol of connection, of bringing people together and overcoming anything that may seperate us. I want to present to you pictures of bridges that I love in places that I love on my blog every Sunday. If you have a picture of a bridge that you would like to share with my readers as a guest post, feel free to contact me!

Bridge in Peja (Peć), Kosovo

Juli 7, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 2 Kommentare

Today’s bridge is nameless and broken.

Peja is one of the larger cities in Kosovo, located in the West of the country close to Albania and Montenegro, in close proximity to the Prokletije mountain range. You can see it in the background of my picture, and I think the mist that covers the mountain tops adds to the idea that is in their name – Prokletije means the „cursed“ mountains. I wish I had been able to see more of the beautiful nature around, and the monasteries that are part of the UNESCO world heritage. I have written more about Kosovo in general in this post.

While I found Kosovo to be fascinating, rich in culture, full of beauty and culinary delights (I have forgotten the names of all the dishes, but I absolutely LOVED Albanian and Kosovar cuisine!!), there was no denying its burdensome recent history. Bullet holes in walls and houses in ruins were to be seen everywhere. What I found interesting was that while usually media show the supression of Kosovar Albanians, I here came across the bombed out Serbian neighborhoods and came to understand a little better that victims and perpetrators are not necesarily easily identified. This destroyed bridge was one of the sights that made me painfully aware of Kosovo’s past.

If you have read My Mission statement, you know why I love bridges. To me they are the most universal symbol of connection, of bringing people together and overcoming anything that may seperate us. I want to present to you pictures of bridges that I really love in places that I really love on my blog every Sunday. If you have a picture of a bridge that you would like to share with my readers as a guest post, feel free to contact me!

Books Shaping Travels – Part II

Mai 8, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 4 Kommentare

I explained last week in Part I of this post how before I left on my big trip to the Balkans in 2010, my friend Christoph came up with an idea. He wanted to give me a book that I could take, and when I was done with it I was to exchange it for a new book, and I was to do that with every book, and bring him back the last one. I loved the idea and agreed. I have told you about the first three books that took me through the first two countries, Hungary and Slovenia. Funnily enough, the next three books lasted me up until the end of my trip through nine more countries.

I couchsurfed in a lovely flat with five wonderful people in Maribor in Slovenia, and I asked them what books they could recommend for me to read that were related to their country or the Balkans in general. They came up with two suggestions: Vladimir Bartol’s Alamut and Ivo Andric’s The Bridge over the Drina. When I went to Lujbljana, after Maribor, I found the greatest English book shop in all my travels, Behemot. They happened to have copies of both books in English and I bought them without second thought. It stepped on the point of having to exchange books for one another a little bit, but I really wanted to read these two novels and exchanging books had proven difficult so far anyway.

Alamut is a novel by Slovenian author Vladimir Bartol – which is why I started with it, since I was still in Slovenia. At first sight one wouldn’t think that it had anything to do with the region. It is a story set in 11th century Persia and tells of the training of assasins in service of a political leader. It is a deeply moving story of almost epic proportions about love and friendship, sacrifice, honour, pride and deception. It would be easy to oversee the actual tie to its author, who wrote it as an allegory for Italian fascism under Mussolini, being part of the Slovene minority in Italy himself. I loved everything about the book that took me through Slovenia and Northern Croatia almost half way through Dalmatia.

I gave away Alamut to a girl I met at a hostel in Split. I had a feeling she would appreciate it and gave it to her gladly.

Following this was the reading of something particularly special to me. I have written about the meaning I attach to Ivo Andric’s wonderful novel The Bridge over the Drina when I wrote about, well, the bridge over the Drina – because it is an actual place in Eastern Bosnia not far from the Serbian border, the magnificent Mehmed Paša Sokolović Bridge in Višegrad. This picture certifies it for me that I did sit on the very bridge as I finished reading the book. It was not just a dream, I truly did it.

Ivo Andric actually won the nobel prize for literature for this book in 1961 – even if the book was published in 1945 already. In it, he connects the fates of people living in the small town of Višegrad to the fate of the mighty bridge. The town’s life seems to circle entirely around it, and as I sat on the bridge, I wished that someone would come by and sell me a piece of water melon, like it was described in the book, so that I could try and spit the seeds as far as I could into the turquoise waters of the Drina.

I finished reading The Bridge over the Drina and couldn’t just get myself to leave it somewhere for anyone to find. Besides I needed a new one in exchange. I went back to Mostar, that city of cities to me, and saw my Canadian friend Aasa again who I had met the time I had been atround before. She knew about the book and had wanted to read it for a long time, and now the prospect of getting her hands on it excited her much. I couldn’t have found a better person to give it to. In exchange, Aasa gave me Rebecca West’s Black Lamb and Grey Falcon.

An absolute classic in Balkan travel literature, Black Lamb and Grey Falcon has well over 1,000 pages and is a non-fiction account of a journey that Dame Rebecca West took through what then was Yugoslavia with her husband in 1937. It is a right brickstone, and quite a few people pronounced me completely whack carrying it around with me through Bosnia, Montenegro, Albania, Macedonia, Bulgaria, Turkey, again Bulgaria, again Macedonia, and Kosovo.

I never finished the book. In fact I was not so much reading it as reading in it. I didn’t do a linear reading, chapter by chapter. Instead I went directly to parts Rebecca West had written about cities I got to know and love. I was indignant over the fact that the chapter on my beloved Mostar was so short, but I loved whenever there was talk of meeting locals and being welcomed with open arms in so many different situations. Often I marvelled at what had not changed, and sometimes I was startled by how different my own impressions were. All of the time I was thinking about how I would describe the places I read about in Rebecca West’s writing.

I left the book with my couchsurfing host in Prishtina, and Irish girl who had as desperately wanted to read it as my Canadian friend had the Ivo Andric novel. Again I am confident that I left it in good hands.

While writing this, I had completely forgotten how the story ended. I was already prepared to have to tell you now that it had just escaped my consciousness what had happened with Cristoph’s and my deal. In fact it only just came back to me that I gave Black Lamb and Grey Falcon away in Prishtina. And similarly, it just now came back to me what I brought back for Christoph. There is another fabulous little bookshop in Prishtina called Dit e Nat. It is a good place for meeting both locals and expats and the have a good selection of English books and delicious coffee – plus and unbeatable atmosphere. There, I bought an English a novel called Ministarstvo boli (The Ministry of Pain) by Croatian author Dubravka Ugrešić that I brought Christoph back to Germany. And thus it was a perfect circle – leaving with a novel in German, coming back with an English translation of a Croatian one, leaving with a book on academia, returning with one on war traumata and cultural identity.

What books in your travel has shaped your experience? Do you read when you travel?

The One Hundredth – Mehmed Paša Sokolović Bridge

April 21, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 6 Kommentare

This is my one hundredth post on this blog. When I think back on the way I started out, I can’t believe what a journey it has been. I was a different person a little over three years ago, and for all the things that I was lucky enough to experience and write about since then, I am nothing but grateful. There is not a day that passes when I don’t think about one or the other experience that I have made travelling and that has shaped who I am today, and not a day that passes without saying a silent quick prayer of thanks for that.

The One Hundredth deserves to be celebrated with a truly special place, and what else could that be than a bridge. Next to Mostar’s Stari Most, this is the Bridge of Bridges to me: Mehmed Paša Sokolović Bridge in Višegrad, Bosnia & Hercegovina.

And what else could have inspired me to desperately want to see this beautiful and powerful piece of architecture, this work of art in itself, than literature. I mention Ivo Andrić’s monumental book Na Drini ćuprija (The Bridge on the Drina) in My Mission statement. It is a nobel prize winning novel about the small town of Višegrad, about its inhabitants and its culture, and the bridge around which the town revolves – from its construction in the 16th century to its destruction during World War I. The book encompasses four centuries of joy and pain, laughter, tears and blood. It is a collection of anecdotes and a compendium of beautifully drawn characters, a lesson in history as much as a lesson in humanity. No one who loves the book could possibly finish reading and not want to see the bridge.

I was so lucky as to come to Višegrad on a beautiful day in May three years ago, on a quiet and sunny day at that, and I sat down on the bridge an finished reading the book about the bridge. Words cannot express the elation I felt in that moment. Different parts of my world were coming together. Everything made sense. Surely it is my analytical mind that looks back on that day and notices how perfect it was more so than my actual self back then, but I do remember being completely and unconditionally happy in that moment when I sat on the Kapia and read the book. The kapia is the little balcony that you can see in the middle of the bridge, across from the stele you see rising up.

The Kapia

Central stele – the inscriptions are in Turkish, but they are mentioned in Ivo Andric’s novel and according to that, they tell of the construction history and ask God for his blessing of the bridge.

I only passed through Višegrad, I never spent the night. It is a small place that except for the bridge has not got a whole lot of amazing sights to offer. So I had my pack on me as I sat on the bridge. Walking by were two German soldiers I chatted up. They were stationed in Foča, if I remember correctly, and told me a bit about the international military supervision Bosnia & Hercegovina is still under after the wars of the 1990s. It felt weird to speak about this when all around me and inside of me there was this great sense of peace. I have another favorite book that is set there by an author who is not much older than me. He is called Saša Stanišić and the novel „How the Soldier Repairs the Gramophone“. It is set in the 1990s and deals with the Balkan wars. I only read it after my trip down there, but I would like to go back to Višegrad having this second literary perspective on the town. It is, after all the sight of the Višegrad massacre in 1992 that included Bosniaks being murdered by Serb troops on the very bridge you see in these pictures. Now of course there is no talk of that in the novel by Andrić, which was published in 1945. History is yet more multi-layered than can be covered by the four centuries Andrić describes. Through all the history and all that can be learned from being in a place like the monumental Mehmed Paša Sokolović Bridge, however, what sticks with me more than anything else is the beauty of the ancient construction, the coolness of the stone, the color of the Drina river and the peace and quiet that filled my heart and soul on that beautiful day in May 2010.

A World of Its Own – Kosovo

April 16, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 7 Kommentare

This post is based on this German original / Dieser Post basiert auf diesem deutschen Original.

While I figured fairly early in my big Balkans trip three years ago that I probably would not get to see all the countries I had originally thought about, I also knew that there were certain countries that I would most definitely not skip. Mainly those that my mum would have felt better if I’d skipped them. „Honey, you sure you need to go to Albania and Kosovo, all by yourself?“ Hell yeah. I’m not going to go to Serbia and not also go to Kosovo! There was a story there with those two countries, and one I had not the slightes understanding of, and I was not about to let that be the case for much longer. So I did go to Kosovo. And the country surprised me in all the right ways.

I went into Kosovo from Skopje in Macedonia. If you enter into Kosovo from Albania, Macedonia or Montenegro, you won’t be able to leave the country straight to Serbia, and if you enter it from Serbia, you won’t be able to leave straight to Albania, Macedonia or Montenegro. Getting into Kosovo from Skopje was certainly the easiest route in my time, if only for the direct bus connection between Skopje and Prishtina, but that may have changed and other options may be available. So why is it so complicated again?

Kosovo declared independence from Serbia in 2008, after there had been war there from 1998 through 1999, followed by a long UN administration period. I won’t go into detail because I don’t know much about it myself, but as is custom in the area (note the irony!), it was mainly a conflict of ethnicity, religion and possession. Serbians see Kosovo as an area of their cultural heritage, with beautiful Serbian orthodox monasteries and the site of the Battle of Kosovo – a founding myth of modern day Serbia, if you will. It took place in 1389 between the Ottoman Empire and the Serbians and delayed the Ottomans taking over the area for a little while. Today, however, Kosovo is mostly populated by Albanians who are Muslim. And that is where the problems start. Serbia does not recognize Kosovo’s independence, so if you enter Kosovo from, say, Macedonia, through Serbian eyes you have entered Serbia already, but don’t have an entrance stamp which is why you cannot cross the boarder from Kosovo to Serbia. And if you enter Kosovo from Serbia, in Serbian eyes you have never left the country.

Going to Kosovo was, considering all of this, not at all a big deal. The boarder police asked me if I was coming on holiday, and bid me good day. I never even got a stamp, which I chose not to mind because I wanted to return to Serbia at one point and knew that a Kosovo stamp might give me trouble. I am still a bit sad though that I have no sign of having been there in my passport.

Prishtina was grey and ugly, and the traffic was pure craziness – but downtown there was a pedestrian zone where the atmosphere was that of an on-going fair. Hideous plastic toys of all provenance where sold, and I immediatly felt the information to be proven that the average age in the country was 25. There were no old people – not even older people, it seemed to me. But there where children – everywhere! They ran and played and screamed with the joy of life, and they made me smile with the realization that beauty exists even in a grey, dull pedestrian zone with ugly plastic toys and socialist concrete buildings. And sitting or working in coffee places, the Kosovar people laughed just like the children of their country – open, untainted, honest.

Peja reminded me of Ulcinj in Montenegro and Novi Pazar in Serbia – formerly Yugoslav cities with a big Muslim minority and influence. I had a cappucino in a street cafe. It was pouring rain. Just outside the terrace that I was sitting on, there was a fountain. The waiter put the coffee on my table, had a water glass in his hand, went over to the fountain to fill it, and put it on my table where it was dripping water on the notebook I was scribbling my impressions into. The waiter gave me a big smile with this. Then electricity stopped going. I had heard the generator all the while. Kosovo runs on two power plants, and one had gone broke that morning, so half the country was on generators, and a bit overstrained with it, I take it. No one seemed to mind, though – and that fact calmed me with quiet joy.

Prizren, which I have written about already, was certainly the prettiest town there. I had met an American guy on the bus and we went to see the Serbian Orthodox church up the mountain. Meters of barbed wire and KFOR protection. We were not allowed to enter even the premises.

Back down in the town, we passed the Catholic church, and two teenagers that saw us asked us right away if we wanted to go in, and fetched the priest. He spoke German very well and I translated to English for my American friend. „We don’t need military protection down here,“ he said, „but in my opinion the Serbian churches don’t need it either.“ In the yard, yellow and orange roses were in full bloom. There was peace.

Every coffee house had me meet someone who I had a quick chat with. I got asked on dates and invited to house parties in Kosovo, had delicious Albanian food and bought an English book in a great little international book shop. War? Please, that was more than ten years ago!! Still there were the occasional reminders. Bombed out Serbian houses. A long fence showing pictures of missing relatives.

And the big statue of Bill Clinton in a suit with a briefcase, waving fatherly – I almost broke into loud laughter at the sight of it because it seemed ridiculous, but it is a serious matter for Kosovar people. The States have supported the country massively in its fight for independence.

I had asked couchsurfing hosts in Serbia what the big deal was with Kosovo – a naive question that might have gotten me in trouble in the wrong company, but quite usually the answer to me was simply: „What would you say if a part of your country decided to break away and be independent?“ I didn’t say it, but thought: „Well, some Bavarians would like to do that, and to be quite honest, whatever, you know, let them do it, only the German economy would break down and not be able to handle it I guess.“ Kosovo is not economically relevant to Serbia though. So I still didn’t quite know what to do with that argument. I understood, though, that it was really mainly, if not purely, cultural.

One impression was particularly overwhelming in Kosovo: This was not Serbia. It was not Albania, either. It was Kosovo.

What is Bravery?

März 14, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 14 Kommentare

As some will know by now, I am drawing most of my writing inspiration from my 5 month trip around South Eastern Europe that took me to twelve different countries.

The beauty of Bulgaria… this was taken at Rila Monastery

I have written about the surprised, if not shocked reactions to this plan. Common questions and their answers went like this:

„All on your own???“
– „Yes. I’m gonna love it!“
„Wow… you’re so brave!“

„But – is it safe?“
– „Come on, it’s Europe, what’s gonna happen, really?“
„Wow… you’re so brave!“

„So – do you have everything booked, like, flights and hostels?“
– „No. I have a list of countries I will go to. That is the extent of my plan.“
„Wow… you’re so brave!“

„Wasn’t there a war there recently?“
– „That was 15 years ago. I really don’t think that should be a huge issue.“
„Wow… you’re so brave!“

„Uhm, but aren’t there Muslim countries down there?“
– „So?“
„Wow… you’re so brave!“

I’m going to spare you more because all these talks went pretty much the same way and after a while it was really neither interesting to be confronted with so many ridiculous stereotypes nor flattering to be called brave. However, at some point it struck me as remarkable that „You’re so brave“ was a reaction so versatile, and I was wondering what people actually meant by that. Obviously they thought there were fears to be overcome. Now I am going to say this straight away: I never felt brave. Because I was never scared of any of the things people proposed to me to be scary.

Not being particularly brave on the ferry back to the mainland from Vis island in Croatia

In the five examples I have given, the things that my conversation partners thought to be scary about my endeavour were loneliness, safety, (lack of) planning, history or the political situation that would be met and the issue of religion. And here is why those things didn’t scare me:

1. Loneliness

Lots of articles have been written about the issue of solo travel, and surely I will write one too before long. The essence of what I have to say on the topic is: being alone is very different from being lonely. I was hardly ever lonely, even though I was alone a lot. I think a lot of people are afraid of being alone, but they have never really tried it. If they did, they might find that it is the best way to come to terms with yourself and the people around you.

Not being particularly brave – or particularly lonely for that matter!! – in Albania

2. Safety

Granted, I may have been naive when I left for the trip, but I really never felt unsafe in any of the countries I went to. People hear Albania and they go „unsafe“. Often it seems that „poor“ equals „unsafe“. I find that dangerous. Again, people are scared of something they haven’t seen or tried. The best thing to promote your own saftey, I have found, is what Sarah of Yes and Yes calls the Don’t Mess With Me Walk. I’ve got that down and I think it saved me from many unpleasant experiences.

3. Planning

I did not even know how right I was not to plan when I didn’t plan. But once I was out, I noticed quickly that plans never stick anyway. So being flexible and trying to make up your mind as you go is really the best way. Plans don’t give you control over things. It is more likely that they will fall through, which will be much scarier. Not having a plan was very liberating.

Granted, Studenica monastery in Serbia would actually have been easier to find with better planning…

4. History and Politics

I think if you’re curious and sensitive to the cultural specifics of a new country, there isn’t much that could go wrong in this department. Be at least a little bit informed and try to just find out more. As a foreigner in the company of open, well-travelled locals, you can also get away with some stuff. Today I think back with slight discomfort at the few times that I bluntly asked people in Serbia what the big deal with Kosovo was. That could have gone very wrong, but I was lucky.

Even with barbed wire and KFOR signs, Prizren in Kosovo was beyond peaceful, and the locals told me that all the precautions do more harm than good.

5. Religion

It is a bit of a pet peeve of mine that people will be scared by Islam as such, and I never was scared or extra careful about going to Muslim countries. I think nearly every religion has the potential to be really beautiful and enriching while also possibly turning radical and then becoming scary and restrictive. When equalizing Muslims with islamists, people forget that certain Christian sects have equally radical and, from the standpoint of humanity, inacceptable opinions. I learned so much about Islam in Bosnia, Albania and Turkey and I think it is a lovely concept.

So since I wasn’t scared of any of the mentioned things, I never had the feeling that I was generally being very brave. However, there were numerous occasions on the trip when I was scared of something. Sometimes I overcame my fear, and then I did feel brave. Like when I jumped that 14 meter cliff in Greece. Sometimes I backed out. Like when I did not jump the much lower cliff in Macedonia, because the water looked shallow. And then I did not feel like I wasn’t brave, but that I was being reasonable.

Not being particularly brave with this tandem paragliding either. I felt completely safe in the hands of my friend who took me.

Some fears are to be overcome. Others aren’t. Sometimes it’s all in the moment. And sometimes, when you look closely, there is no fear to master, but there is just something you don’t know yet, and that someone or something else has suggested to be scary. Ask yourself if there is an actual reason to fear it. Will it threaten you? Does it have the potential to harm you? If the answer is yes, your fear is there to protect you. Respect it. Surprisingly often, however, the answer is no. And then you don’t have to be brave, but just a bit faithful. I have found that to be the most rewarding feeling in the world.

What’s one more Identity?

Februar 28, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 25 Kommentare

A couple of weeks back I was having drinks in Berlin’s Prenzlauer Berg district with Adam of Travels of Adam – if you haven’t yet stumbled upon his great blog you should make up this oversight as quickly as you can. We had a great evening of drinking wine and chatting about travel, life in Berlin and blogging. We finally left the bar to walk to the tram stop together, and when we had just one more pedestrians’ traffic light to cross, we saw the tram get in to the stop. The traffic light was red. It was obvious that we’d miss the tram if we waited for it to turn green. Adam asked: “Wait or run?” I said: “Run!”, and so we did. As we got on the tram, Adam said: “You are so unlike any other German I know, I love it!”

This got me thinking back on all the times my German identity has been questioned – even if in jest.

In Bristol, England, I walked into a coffee shop to buy a latte. After taking my order, the barista asked: “So how are you today?” I replied: “Really grand! Enjoying being away from home for a bit.” He asked: “Where’s home?” I said: “Germany.” He looked up puzzled: “I thought you were Canadian! You don’t have a foreign accent in your English!”

In Mostar, Bosnia, hostel owner Bata gave me advice on how to get into one of my favorite sights, Blagaj’s Tekkija, without having to pay an entrance fee. He said: “You’re almost local, you just tell them ‘Gdje si, legendo!’ [which roughly translated to ‘What’s up, my man!’] and pass right through.”

Tekija, Blagaj, Blagaj, Bosnia and Hercegovina

The Tekija of Blagaj, one of my favorite places in the world

In Rijeka, Croatia, we were having a lovely night in someone’s back yard singing, dancing and, again, drinking the night away. I sang songs in Croatian and was totally in my happy place. My friend Nina said: “You have strange hobbies for a German girl, Maki. Shouldn’t you be working in a Hypo Bank and have a boyfriend that you see just once a week?”

In Nis, Serbia, I was hanging with hostel people in the smokers’ lounge when the phone rang. The hostel owner, Vlad, ran to get it, leaving his cigarette in the ashtray. When he didn’t come back after a while, I took it and said: “Vlad won’t finish this, eh, I might as well.” His co-worker by the same name looked at me in awe and said: “When you try to get back into Germany, they won’t let you. They will think you’re Serbian.”

In Novi Sad, Serbia, we were singing, drinking and eating Ajvar in my friend Lazar’s kitchen well into the night. Ajvar is a delicious paste made from egg plant, tomatoes and peppers. There was a large jar of it and one spoon, and it circled. When the jar was almost empty and Lazar was scratching remains from the ground, I advised him to do it with the spoon’s narrow end to get even the last bits out. His face split into a grin. “You blend in very well here.”

In Gdansk, Poland, I was visiting a conference, but hanging out nights with my friends who use a lot of swear words, especially the infamous “kurwa”, an approximate equivalent to the English f-word. Finally one night I told them: “Guys, you gotta stop it with the swearing. I almost said ‘kurwa’ at the conference today!” They all broke into laughter, and my friend Karol said: “Marielka, I think you may have deserved the right to Polish citizenship now.”

This is me at the Sejm, Polish parliament, in 2007. I wouldn’t have thought back then that anyone would ever attest me a Polish identity…

It looks like I’m not your prototype German. I’m not sure what that would be, but apparently not someone who crosses red traffic lights, speaks foreign languages, tries not to let food go to waste, sings Balkan songs, finishes a stranger’s cigarette, or swears (in Polish at that!). When writing about this, I noticed how many of these stories involve people in foreign countries that I consider friends. It also brought to mind that I have a Croatian nickname, Maki, and a Polish one, Marielka. I realized how integrated, how much at home I feel in so many different places.

When I posted this photo of my Australian friend Steve and I, taken at Lake Shkodra in Montenegro, on facebook, my German friend Stefan (who speaks approximately every language in Europe) commented it in Bosnian by the words: “Ti ces nam vratit kao prava Bosanka” – “You will come back to us like a true Bosnian girl”.

When someone attests me a new cultural identity, it is the ultimate step from being a traveller to being a part of the culture in some small way. It makes me very happy to think that I am a little Canadian, a little Croatian, Bosnian, Serbian and Polish, and of course also a little German. I like to think that I have been drawn to Middle Eastern and Eastern Europe because part of my soul has always been there, because there is something inside of me that has always been Slavic – while that doesn’t mean that I don’t appreciate and identify with my German heritage. Don’t get me wrong, I’d never want to get rid of that! I throw on black, red, gold colors when we play international soccer tournaments just like any other German, and I am ready to sell Germany as a lovely travel destination to anyone who wants to hear it. I am most certainly German, and as difficult as it sometimes feels to say this: I love my country.

The beauty of all these little anecdotes, however, is that I don’t have to be exclusive on this one. This isn’t a monogamous relationship. In a globalized, fast paced, cosmopolitan world that asks of young people to be flexible, variable, willing to adapt and open to new things, I seem to have taken on multiple identities already – and with every new one that is added to that, the only question that comes to mind is: “What’s one more?” I have a beautiful summer love affair with Croatia. I have a strange fascination, an infatuation if you will, with Serbia. I have a difficult, but serious relationship with Bosnia. The US are like an ex-boyfriend who I still think very fondly of – in other words, yes, we’re still friends. Poland is something like the love of my life. I well think I could get married to Poland. And Germany – Germany is my parent and my sibling. Germany is family.

What do you think? How many identities do you have? How do they show? And do you strive for more?

Ura e gurit in Prizren, Kosovo

Februar 3, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 3 Kommentare

This week’s Bridge on Bridges on Sundays comes to you from a county that is often forgotten on the European map – partly because it isn’t recognized officially by every other country.

I am talking, of course, about the Republic of Kosovo. When I went to the Balkans with nothing but a list of countries in my head for an itinerary, my mom asked me: „But can’t you skip Kosovo, maybe?“ My answer was: „I am not gonna go down there and see everything but one country!!“ And going there was the best possible choice indeed. Kosovo is an interesting, rapidly evolving country full of energy and potential – and full of expats, for that matter.

This bridge crosses a tiny river that has different names – Lumbardh in Albanian, Prizrenska Bistrica in Serbian. The Bridge itself also has two different names: the Albanian which I used in this post’s title, Ura e gurit, and the Serbian Stari Kameni Most. Albanian is one of the languages that I have not the slightest understanding of, but the Serbian means Old Stone Bridge, and I am guessing that the Albanian might mean the same. At least the city where I took this picture, Prizren, seems to be called the same in both languages. When researching information on Prizren online, you will find bits that only use the Serbian names and bits that only use Albanian. I only just noticed that even when you google „Kosovo“, wikipedia will lead you to an article about the „region“, not to the article about the country. I haven’t grasped the conflict entirely and am sure to dedicate more posts to it. Surely though, Kosovo is a place where bridges have to be built and kept more urgently than elsewhere.

„Eastern Europe? Why???“

Januar 31, 2013 / bruecken_schlag / 44 Kommentare

Ever since I have more seriously joined the travel blogosphere, I have met all kinds of great people, read very many wonderful stories, narratives and articles on all kinds of different destinations, been part of a few excellent twitter chats on travelling and gotten to know a lot of different travel ways, fashions and likes. I am learning so much and I really love the community. There is just one thing that strikes me again and again, and it is time that I took up the cudgels for something that is almost ridiculously under-represented in the travel blogging community – and that is my beloved Eastern Europe.

Montenegro – did you know that Eastern Europe was this beautiful?

When I told people that I would travel for a while after grad school, the most common response was: „Oh cool. South East Asia or South America?“ When I said: „South Eastern Europe!“, faces went aghast and a little freaked out. The most common verbal response: „Whyyyyyy???“

I never really know what to say to this. I guess „Why not?“ is an appropriate response. Or more like „Why the hell not??“ I do notice that both in- and outside of Europe, a lot of people still think that Europe ends at the Eastern boarder of Germany. Travel bloggers write that they have been to Europe, but by that they mean Rome, Paris, London, Barcelona and Berlin. There are the few odd exceptions that include Prague, Budapest and Krakow. But while no one would have to justify why they want to see Bretagne or Andalusia or Tuscany, a lot of people don’t even know about Mavrovo, Tatra or the Curonian Spit (FYI, those are in Macedonia, Poland/Slovakia and Lithuania).

There are still many misconceptions about the countries that used to be hidden behind the iron curtain. I would really love it if I could eradicate some of them here. Most of the things I have heard are variations of the three things I discuss below.

1. There’s not really anything to see in Eastern Europe. It is ugly and has nothing to offer apart from relics of its Socialist past.

If you think this is true, you could not be more wrong. Eastern Europe has it all – thriving cities, gorgeous little villages, beautiful mountain ranges, beaches, swamps, forests, even what is widely considered the last European jungle (in North Eastern Poland, it is called Bialowieza). It is both for the nature lovers and for the culture lovers amongst us. It is extremely rich in history; from the Balkans that used to be under Ottoman rule and show the Muslim influence via Central Eastern Europe with its Austro-Hungarian grandeur to the Baltic Republics with their very own strive for freedom after being forced to be a part of the Soviet Union. Or would you say that this is ugly or uninteresting?

Bosnia and Hercegovina – in Sarajevo, you have a minarette and the towers of the orthodox and the catholic cathedral all in this picture.

Macedonia – at Lake Ohrid you have a gorgeous view onto Albania

Albania – yes, Eastern Europe holds beaches that can stand their ground in an international comparison!

Slovakia – this beautiful town, Kosice, is actual European Culture Capital 2013!

2. People in Eastern Europe are rude and unfriendly. They don’t like Westerners there.

Ok, this must be the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. I have never experienced hospitality like this anywhere else. Couchsurfing hosts insisting on me sleeping in their beds and taking the floor instead. The genuine interest in any traveller and the smile on someone’s face when they learn that you are in their country just to see it for its beauty. The enormous amounts of food people will get from the most hidden corners of their houses when someone comes to visit. The bus driver in Albania between Tirana and Berat who didn’t speak English, but called his son, passed us his phone and had his son tell us in English that if we needed anything, he’d gladly be of service. The girl in the internet cafe in Plovdiv in Bulgaria that ran after me for two street blocks in 40 degrees heat to bring me my water bottle that I had forgotten. The boy in Riga in Latvia who took us to the train station personally when we had asked the way. Need I say more?

Bosnia and Hercegovina – Hostel hospitality with Bosnian coffee in the morning

3. Travelling in Eastern Europe is challenging because the living standards are low and they only speak those weird languages with the many consonants.

Clearly anyone who says this has never been to Eastern Europe. Most of the countries that fall under this category are part of the European Union. Even if they aren’t, the Union is funding lots of projects in other European countries to maintain infrastructure and help growth and development. Out of the Eastern European countries that did join the EU in 2004 and 2007, Slovenia, Slovakia and Estonia have the Euro. This is where another misconception comes in – Eastern Europe is not necessarily cheap anymore. I found places like Tallinn, Estonia to have higher prices in their downtown coffee places than Berlin. Living standards rising is a complicated issue, and sometimes I wish my favorite places could forever keep their morbid, slightly run down charme (like the Wroclaw Train Station in Poland). It is a fact however, that travelling in Eastern Europe is hardly a challenge anymore. All the young people speak English, and if the lady at the ticket counter doesn’t, someone is sure to help you out (see above). And the languages are weird, but really, are the languages in Asia any better? At any rate, Eastern Europe is more Western than Western Europe at times. Capitalism has hit hard and fast. Coffee places, bars, clubs, restaurants, but also opera houses, museums and theatres will shower you with a diverse offer that you won’t even be able to digest so fast. How about a visit to one of these places?

Ukraine – Opera House in Lviv

Serbia – National Museum in Belgrade

Estonia – having the richest hot chocolate ever in a living room coffee house in Tallinn downtown

Summing it up, I really don’t understand about the weird looks and shocked reactions. I can just strongly advice everyone to go and experience the amazingness of Eastern Europe for themselves. But hurry. Once word is out, the place will be flooded with tourists.

Have you been to anywhere in (Central, South or North) Eastern Europe? Did you love it or hate it? What other places are there that people are suspicious of travelling to?

Sofia / Prishtina / Peja / Prizren / Niš

Juli 6, 2010 / bruecken_schlag / 4 Kommentare

Von Istanbul nach Sofia zu kommen ist ein Schock. Nach der menschlichen und klimatischen Waerme in der Tuerkei ist die bulgarische Hauptstadt grau und kalt. Ich habe zwar im Nachtbus gut geschlafen, bin aber einfach kaputt von der Reise – ich bin Istanbul-verkatert. Ich schlafe sogar fuer 20 Minuten am Anfang des Fussballspiels Deutschland – England einfach ein. Dafuer bin ich abends aufgedreht und feiere mit vielen Reisenden im Hostel bis spaet in die Nacht. Mein Rhytmus ist voellig durcheinander. Auch das gehoert zum Reisen dazu.
Am zweiten Tag in Sofia schaue ich mir die Stadt an. Sie ist viel huebscher als alle immer sagen, und die Sonne scheint auch wieder.

Die gelbe Kopfsteinpflasterstrasse, die an allen huebschen Gebaeuden vorbeilaeuft, zwingt zur Referenz auf den Zauberer von Oz. Mir fehlen nur Dorothys rote Schuhe. Abends gibt es wieder viele spannende Geschichten im Hostel auszutauschen. Ein Schwede radelt von Stockholm nach Jordanien. Ein Amerikaner ist gestrandet, weil er sein Visum fuer die Tuerkei ueberschritten hat und nun nicht zurueck kann. Vier Maedels aus Hamburg haben gerade Abitur gemacht und strahlen die besondere Lebensfreude aus, die einem das Bewusstsein von Freiheit nach dem Schulabschluss gibt.

Am naechsten Tag fahre ich nach Skopje. An der Grenze zu Mazedonien behalten sie das erste Mal meinen Pass ein. Sie winken mich raus und zeigen immer wieder auf das Deckblatt. Ja, da steht „Reisepass“ drauf… Ich verstehe gar nicht, was los ist, bis einer von den Grenzern zum anderen etwas sagt, was ich deute als: „Und in Albanien war sie auch!!“ Ich denke: Mann, so ein Mist, daran wollen sie sich doch jetzt nicht aufhaengen? Ich versuche auf serbisch meine Reiseroute zu erklaeren. Endlich winken die Grenzer ab und geben mir meinen Pass wieder. Viele Mitreisende fragen mich auf deutsch, ob alles klar ist, und regen sich fuerchterlich auf. „Keiner versteht unsere Grenzbeamten,“ sagt eine junger Mann, „das ist nicht nur die Sprachbarriere fuer dich.“ In Skopje bleibe noch einmal eine Nacht bei Mariska. Sie hat noch zwei deutsche Maedels zu besuch und wir schnacken den Abend so weg. Am Tag darauf geht es in den Kosovo.

Von Skopje nach Prishtina zu kommen ist ganz einfach. An der Grenze fragt mich der Beamte nur kurz was ich hier mache und wuenscht mir dann sehr hoeflich einen schoenen Aufenthalt.
Prishtina ist grau und hat ein fieses Verkehrschaos, aber die Stimmung in der Fussgaengerzone ist, als waere Jahrmarkt. Ueberall wird sinnloses Spielzeug verkauft und es faellt sofort ins Auge, dass der Altersdurchschnitt in diesem Land bei 25 liegt. Aeltere Menschen scheint es nicht zu geben, geschweige denn alte. Kinder dagegen – ueberall! Sie rennen und spielen und schreien, dass es eine Freude ist. Englisch ist allgegenwaertig, das Land ist voll von internationalen jungen Leuten, die fuer die NGOs taetig sind, die sich hier nach dem Krieg angesiedelt haben. Die Kosovaren in den Cafes lachen auch wie Kinder – unverschmutzt, ehrlich, offen.
Mein Eindruck ist vor allem: Das hier ist nicht Serbien. Es ist auch nicht Albanien. Es ist Kosovo. Vermutlich sagen die Serben, dass man in anderen Laendern auch regionale Unterschiede bemerkt, aber Kosovo einfach weiter als Serbien zu bezeichnen erscheint mir absurd. In Peja und Prizren, den zwei Staedten, die ich besuche, bekomme ich allerdings auch ausgebombte serbische Haeuser zu Gesicht. Da wird es leichter, auch diese Perspektive zu begreifen. Es gibt in dieser Region nie das reine Opfer und den reinen Taeter. Alle Seiten haben sich gegenseitig unendliches Leid zugefuegt.
Peja erinnert an Ulcinj in Montenegro und an Novi Pazar in Serbien. Ich trinke Cappuccino in einem Strassencafe. Es giesst in Stroemen. Vor der Terrasse ist ein Brunnen. Das Wasser zum Kaffee holt der Kellner mit dem Glas von dort, er haelt es einfach in den Strahl und stellt es mir triefend nass auf den Tisch. Dazu grinst er wie ein kleiner Junge. Dann faellt der Strom aus. Alles ist chaotisch. Keiner stoert sich daran.

Prizren ist die huebscheste Stadt, die ich in Kosovo sehe. Ich steige mit einem Amerikaner, den ich im Bus kennen lerne, hoch zur serbisch-orthodoxen Kirche. Meterhoher Stacheldraht und KFOR-Wachschutz. Wir duerfen nicht hinein.

Wieder unten in der Stadt zeigt uns der Pfarrer, den zwei Jugendliche fuer uns herbeigeholt haben, die katholische Kirche. Dort ist kein Wachschutz noetig, „aber,“ sagt der Pfarrer in exzellentem Deutsch, „meiner Meinung nach brauchen auch die serbischen Kirchen keinen Wachschutz.“ Er erzaehlt ein bisschen schuechtern, aber sehr lebendig von der Kirche und der Gemeinde. Im Kirchhof bluehen gelborangerot die Rosen.

In jedem Cafe in Prishtina lerne ich jemanden kennen. Das Fussballspiel gegen Argentinien schaue ich im Irish Pub zwischen lauter Deutschen, es ist wie zuhause, alle liegen sich in den Armen und singen und jubeln und fluchen. Abends gehen wir auf Parties von den Kollegen meiner Couchsurfing-Gastgeberin Claire, essen herrliches albanisches Essen oder trinken Kaffee in einem internationalen Buchladen mit Gastronomie. Krieg? Bitte, das ist 10 Jahre her! Am eindruecklichsten erinnern die Bilder der Vermissten an einem Bretterzaun in der Innenstadt und die Denkmaeler, an denen man im Bus auf dem Weg nach Peja oder Prizren vorbeifaehrt, daran.

Das Lebensgefuehl in diesem Land trifft mich als zukunftsorientiert und froehlich. Hier muss man alle paar Jahre hinkommen und schauen, wie sich alles veraendert – das geht sicher rasend schnell!

Von Prishtina fahre ich nach vier Tagen ueber Skopje nach Niš in Serbien. Die Sonne brennt, als ich vom Busbahnhof zum Hostel laufe – ich frage drei verschiedene Leute nach dem Weg, alle auf serbisch. Keiner kann mir helfen, aber alle reden mit mir und verstehen mich gut und ich finde das Hostel dann schliesslich von ganz alleine. Ich gehe frueh schlafen, ich habe noch was aufzuholen.
Am naechsten Tag ist das Wetter wieder wunderbar. Ich liege zwei Stunden auf einer Bank in der Burganlage und werde braun. Danach trinke ich am Ufer des Flusses Kaffee. Neben mir sprechen sie in einer Gruppe von etwa 10 jungen Leuten deutsch. Dann fangen sie an zu singen! Mehrstimmig! A capella! Mit Stimmgabel und allem! Natuerlich komme ich sofort mit einem von den Jungs ins Gespraech. Wir singen gemeinsam Brahms. Sie sind von einem europaeischen Jugendchor und haben am Samstag ein Konzert hier in Niš. Abends gehe ich erst mit den anderen Leuten aus dem Hostel essen, danach mit den Chorleuten was trinken. Ich kann mich nur immer wieder fragen, wie Leute auf die Idee kommen koennen, dass ich einsam oder gelangweilt sein koennte. Absurd.

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