I'm back to Brazil for almost two weeks now. I'm still a bit dizzy and "lost in translation" after several months in Belgrade, reason why I didn't post anything since I'm back. Actually, I didn't post anything for quite, quite some time...
But I do have tones of writings and things to tell, that shall be posted and told soon, I promise :)
Sunday, 16 November 2008
Saturday, 27 September 2008
Life in Belgrade in 1907
I came across this thanks to Pedro :)
This is a page of a book from 1907 about the Balkans, called "The Near East: the present situation in Montenegro, Bosnia, Servia, Bulgaria, Roumania, Turkey and Macedonia", written by a british correspondent/dandy called William Le Queux. The complete digitalized version can be read here (highly reccomended!!) http://www.archive.org/stream/neareastpresents00lequuoft
"The city of Belgrade is in a transition state. Already in many of the principal streets fine buildings have been completed, and many are now in the course of construction. The roads, it must be said, are execrably paved, so uneven that driving is a torture. But the reason they have not been repaved during the presente regime is because a new drainage system is about to be carried out, and when this is done they will be asphalted and converted into boulevards. The natural situation of "Beograd" - or the White Fortress - is magnificent, high up on a hill at the junction of the Save and the Danube. Behind rises the extinct volcano of Avala, where, according to one tradition, a great treasure is hidden, and to another that the mountain is rich in gold and silver deposits.
The centre of life in Belgrade is the gay cafe of the Grand Hotel. From five to seven in the afternoon everyone is there, card-playing, smoking, sipping Slivovitza (plum gin) or drinking boch, and listening to the excellent band, while the inner hall is filled with smart ladies and their cavaliers. Save the peasantry one sees about the street, the oxen drawing primitive carts, and now and then a man wearing a fez, there is little there is eastern in Belgrade, save the slightly dark complexion and cast of features of the Servians. For the most part, women are very handsome, but they seem, like most Eastern races, to lose their beauty at an early age.
Though I made it my duty to hear and study both sides of political questions in Belgrade, and though I spent many hours with those in fierce opposition to the present regime, I must say that I received on every hand the greatest kindness, while everybody seemed ever ready to render me a service.
The Servians are a highly intelligent and thoughtful race. The young officers in the streets are not of the ogling, giggling genius one knows so well in Germany, France and Italy, but though smarter in appearance than either nation, they are serious, polite, and gentlemanly to a degree. The King, when speaking to me of military matters, pointed out a curious fact, namely, that so intelligent was the average Servian recruit that in six months he usually learnt what in France took him eighteen months.
In feminine circles it struck me that there was a great extravagance in dress. I saw the very latest Paris hats and smart, well-cut gowns, which bore evidence of the expensive couturiere worn by the wives of struggling officials, and I learnt that about then pounds was no uncommon price for a hat. All classes seem to vie with each other to dress well, and in the brilliant salons at night one sees some of the smartest gowns in Europe."
This is a page of a book from 1907 about the Balkans, called "The Near East: the present situation in Montenegro, Bosnia, Servia, Bulgaria, Roumania, Turkey and Macedonia", written by a british correspondent/dandy called William Le Queux. The complete digitalized version can be read here (highly reccomended!!) http://www.archive.org/stream/neareastpresents00lequuoft
"The city of Belgrade is in a transition state. Already in many of the principal streets fine buildings have been completed, and many are now in the course of construction. The roads, it must be said, are execrably paved, so uneven that driving is a torture. But the reason they have not been repaved during the presente regime is because a new drainage system is about to be carried out, and when this is done they will be asphalted and converted into boulevards. The natural situation of "Beograd" - or the White Fortress - is magnificent, high up on a hill at the junction of the Save and the Danube. Behind rises the extinct volcano of Avala, where, according to one tradition, a great treasure is hidden, and to another that the mountain is rich in gold and silver deposits.
The centre of life in Belgrade is the gay cafe of the Grand Hotel. From five to seven in the afternoon everyone is there, card-playing, smoking, sipping Slivovitza (plum gin) or drinking boch, and listening to the excellent band, while the inner hall is filled with smart ladies and their cavaliers. Save the peasantry one sees about the street, the oxen drawing primitive carts, and now and then a man wearing a fez, there is little there is eastern in Belgrade, save the slightly dark complexion and cast of features of the Servians. For the most part, women are very handsome, but they seem, like most Eastern races, to lose their beauty at an early age.
Though I made it my duty to hear and study both sides of political questions in Belgrade, and though I spent many hours with those in fierce opposition to the present regime, I must say that I received on every hand the greatest kindness, while everybody seemed ever ready to render me a service.
The Servians are a highly intelligent and thoughtful race. The young officers in the streets are not of the ogling, giggling genius one knows so well in Germany, France and Italy, but though smarter in appearance than either nation, they are serious, polite, and gentlemanly to a degree. The King, when speaking to me of military matters, pointed out a curious fact, namely, that so intelligent was the average Servian recruit that in six months he usually learnt what in France took him eighteen months.
Belgrade in the 1900's (taken from here)
In feminine circles it struck me that there was a great extravagance in dress. I saw the very latest Paris hats and smart, well-cut gowns, which bore evidence of the expensive couturiere worn by the wives of struggling officials, and I learnt that about then pounds was no uncommon price for a hat. All classes seem to vie with each other to dress well, and in the brilliant salons at night one sees some of the smartest gowns in Europe."
Wish I would've experienced Belgrade in the 1900's :)
Saturday, 6 September 2008
The first burek we never forget
The first burek we never forget.
Fortunate ones had already tasted it. And those sad beings, who still haven’t had the pleasure of tasting a burek, truly should find a way to taste one as soon as possible.
For those who might be wondering “ok, but what the hell is a burek?”, here’s the explanation:
Börek (also burek, boereg, and other variants on the name) is a type of pie popular throughout the former Ottoman Empire. They are made of a thin flaky dough known as phyllo or yufka, and are filled with salty cheese (often feta), minced meat, potatoes or other vegetables. Börek may be prepared in a large pan and cut into portions after baking, or as individual pastries. The top of the börek is often sprinkled with sesame seeds.
(continues...)
My first burek, believe it or not, was not in the Balkans, but actually in Cologne, Germany. It was our 4th night in Germany, and after walking the entire night under a really annoying cold rain (it was December already), from club to club in the search for some good music, we (me, Nara and DJ Kaska) finally decided to stop our search, call Kosta (to see if he was back from Dortmund) and eat something, once we were starving already. The only place still opened at that time of the night was, of course, a Doner. We got into the place and right away, between the many labels for delicious looking things on the display, my eyes stopped on the label that said “Burek”. I immediately asked for one, while Nara and Kaska were still choosing what to have. Of course, as soon as my burek was given to me, they both said they wanted one just like mine, haha. While we waited for Kosta to pick us up we just sat, enjoyed our delicious burek and had a very nice talk to the Iranian owner of the place.
Of course, as soon as Nara and I reached Serbia only a week later, our all time favourite thing was entering the closest pekara (some sort of bakery, “Serbian style”) and asking for a burek.
I can’t help now: every time I eat a burek, I think of Nara :)
Fortunate ones had already tasted it. And those sad beings, who still haven’t had the pleasure of tasting a burek, truly should find a way to taste one as soon as possible.
For those who might be wondering “ok, but what the hell is a burek?”, here’s the explanation:
Börek (also burek, boereg, and other variants on the name) is a type of pie popular throughout the former Ottoman Empire. They are made of a thin flaky dough known as phyllo or yufka, and are filled with salty cheese (often feta), minced meat, potatoes or other vegetables. Börek may be prepared in a large pan and cut into portions after baking, or as individual pastries. The top of the börek is often sprinkled with sesame seeds.
(continues...)
My first burek, believe it or not, was not in the Balkans, but actually in Cologne, Germany. It was our 4th night in Germany, and after walking the entire night under a really annoying cold rain (it was December already), from club to club in the search for some good music, we (me, Nara and DJ Kaska) finally decided to stop our search, call Kosta (to see if he was back from Dortmund) and eat something, once we were starving already. The only place still opened at that time of the night was, of course, a Doner. We got into the place and right away, between the many labels for delicious looking things on the display, my eyes stopped on the label that said “Burek”. I immediately asked for one, while Nara and Kaska were still choosing what to have. Of course, as soon as my burek was given to me, they both said they wanted one just like mine, haha. While we waited for Kosta to pick us up we just sat, enjoyed our delicious burek and had a very nice talk to the Iranian owner of the place.
Of course, as soon as Nara and I reached Serbia only a week later, our all time favourite thing was entering the closest pekara (some sort of bakery, “Serbian style”) and asking for a burek.
I can’t help now: every time I eat a burek, I think of Nara :)
Wednesday, 3 September 2008
Bulgracices & Matrioshkas
Ok, maybe this is a bit (just a bit) off topic on here, but what the hell, this is my blog and I post whatever I want to :D
Felt like showing out the really cute things Fecula (my oldest and best friend ever, along with Nara) is been making, inspired by our Eastern Europe craze. Check out her flickr account to see more and feel free to contact her if you feel like having any ;)
Some more stuff here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/madamefecula/2789790395/in/photostream/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/madamefecula/2789792763/in/photostream/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/madamefecula/2790643690/in/photostream/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/madamefecula/2789754623/in/photostream/
Felt like showing out the really cute things Fecula (my oldest and best friend ever, along with Nara) is been making, inspired by our Eastern Europe craze. Check out her flickr account to see more and feel free to contact her if you feel like having any ;)
Some more stuff here:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/madamefecula/2789790395/in/photostream/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/madamefecula/2789792763/in/photostream/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/madamefecula/2790643690/in/photostream/
http://www.flickr.com/photos/madamefecula/2789754623/in/photostream/
Tuesday, 2 September 2008
Home alone!
After meeting Sanja on our klupa (bench) and talking for some hours, I brought her to visit my place, for the first time. She was very well impressed: as she worked on a hostel before (Green Garden Hostel was a really cool place, too bad it’s closed now) and is now working on another one, she could safely tell me that this place here is really the coolest she had been to. And she was telling me “do you realise that you’re living the life that 99% of people from our age dream to live?”
And you know what? Even though I’m as happy as can be since I got back to Belgrade, I haven’t seen things through this angle till Sanja pointed it out to me.
And now that summer is getting to its end, it’s been a few days that no one else occupies the other apartments here, which means that I actually have a 130 sq metres apartment for me, and for me alone! I mean, how cool is that?!
I was living alone with my sister in Rio since my mom passed away, in February this year. And you know, living alone is something I always wished for since as far back as my memory goes. I remember playing “make believe” with my sister, and our bedroom was always my apartment, where I was living alone – never with a daughter or son (having kids is an idea that always freaked me out a bit, since I was very, very small), but instead accompanied by my “real size” stuffed Pink Panther. Sometimes my sister would ask, in a very mellow cute voice “Heeey, can I live with you?” and after thinking for a second or two, I would always say “hmm yeah, ok, you can live with me in my apartment”.
It’s kinda funny to think that it’s actually what happened to us: we were living alone and together (my sister and I), but accompanied by our two dogs and cat instead of Pink Panther, haha. And despite the circumstances in which we started to live our lives like that, it feels good to be 100% responsible for the apartment, having to clean it and pay the bills, making our own shopping and controlling the money, expenses and all. Of course it was hard to have to do it from one day to the other, but nevertheless, it felt good to have responsibilities. I guess I was yearning for that for some time.
First time I had the experience of living alone was during the months I spent in Newcastle Upon-Tyne, when I was studying in England. I lived in a house of students, where I was sharing a floor with 5 other people. But it was so cool to have a room of my own, going shopping and cooking my own food, cleaning and washing my stuff and all. Maybe that’s why it was so freaking hard for me to go back to my mom-dad-sister-and-dog life when I was back. I mean, imagine yourselves living alone for the first time in the country you always dreamed to live in, and studying your favourite thing in a great university? I was crazy about England at that time, and my first life experience away from my parents was nowhere else, but there!
After England (and my “post-England” depression), the closest I got to another “living alone” experience was travelling with my friends to Teresopolis, where we would always stay in a friend’s house (she was never there) and take care of the entire place, like if it was our own. And it was always SO great! Even cause I have this “leadership” thing on me, so I was always coordinating the whole thing but without being bossy, but in a nice way. Our cooking afternoons in Teresopolis are historical! And people still comment on the big Russian dinner I organized for 2006-07 New Year’s Eve and for the triple birthday party celebration (mine, Nara’s and Rodrigo’s). It’s been a year now, wow!
And now, here I am: experiencing (and loving!) life in Serbia, thanks to the pension that my mom left to me and my sister. How ironic is that?
I guess it goes a bit like a saying we have in Brazil (I’m pretty sure it exists everywhere else as well, just don’t know the exact words in English). It’s something like “God writes it right through tortuous lines”.
And it’s so true :)
And you know what? Even though I’m as happy as can be since I got back to Belgrade, I haven’t seen things through this angle till Sanja pointed it out to me.
And now that summer is getting to its end, it’s been a few days that no one else occupies the other apartments here, which means that I actually have a 130 sq metres apartment for me, and for me alone! I mean, how cool is that?!
I was living alone with my sister in Rio since my mom passed away, in February this year. And you know, living alone is something I always wished for since as far back as my memory goes. I remember playing “make believe” with my sister, and our bedroom was always my apartment, where I was living alone – never with a daughter or son (having kids is an idea that always freaked me out a bit, since I was very, very small), but instead accompanied by my “real size” stuffed Pink Panther. Sometimes my sister would ask, in a very mellow cute voice “Heeey, can I live with you?” and after thinking for a second or two, I would always say “hmm yeah, ok, you can live with me in my apartment”.
It’s kinda funny to think that it’s actually what happened to us: we were living alone and together (my sister and I), but accompanied by our two dogs and cat instead of Pink Panther, haha. And despite the circumstances in which we started to live our lives like that, it feels good to be 100% responsible for the apartment, having to clean it and pay the bills, making our own shopping and controlling the money, expenses and all. Of course it was hard to have to do it from one day to the other, but nevertheless, it felt good to have responsibilities. I guess I was yearning for that for some time.
First time I had the experience of living alone was during the months I spent in Newcastle Upon-Tyne, when I was studying in England. I lived in a house of students, where I was sharing a floor with 5 other people. But it was so cool to have a room of my own, going shopping and cooking my own food, cleaning and washing my stuff and all. Maybe that’s why it was so freaking hard for me to go back to my mom-dad-sister-and-dog life when I was back. I mean, imagine yourselves living alone for the first time in the country you always dreamed to live in, and studying your favourite thing in a great university? I was crazy about England at that time, and my first life experience away from my parents was nowhere else, but there!
After England (and my “post-England” depression), the closest I got to another “living alone” experience was travelling with my friends to Teresopolis, where we would always stay in a friend’s house (she was never there) and take care of the entire place, like if it was our own. And it was always SO great! Even cause I have this “leadership” thing on me, so I was always coordinating the whole thing but without being bossy, but in a nice way. Our cooking afternoons in Teresopolis are historical! And people still comment on the big Russian dinner I organized for 2006-07 New Year’s Eve and for the triple birthday party celebration (mine, Nara’s and Rodrigo’s). It’s been a year now, wow!
And now, here I am: experiencing (and loving!) life in Serbia, thanks to the pension that my mom left to me and my sister. How ironic is that?
I guess it goes a bit like a saying we have in Brazil (I’m pretty sure it exists everywhere else as well, just don’t know the exact words in English). It’s something like “God writes it right through tortuous lines”.
And it’s so true :)
Tuesday, 26 August 2008
To Vienna and beyond - part II (final)
Once I got into the train, I tried to get some sleep, but I couldn’t - the sun was already up, and I can never seem to sleep when there is day light. Anyways, I had some more 2 to 3 hours till Vienna
In the middle of the trip - I don't know exactly why - I got kinda worried about my passport inside my purse: my purse is huge and it can't be properly closed, so it came to my mind that maybe would be better to have it closer to me, in my back pocket.
Ok: passport safely placed and baggage in hands, I jumped off the train in a sunny warm morning inVienna Belgrade
Soon I realised I’d better get used to the idea of staying in a hotel: although hotels inVienna
In the middle of the trip - I don't know exactly why - I got kinda worried about my passport inside my purse: my purse is huge and it can't be properly closed, so it came to my mind that maybe would be better to have it closer to me, in my back pocket.
Ok: passport safely placed and baggage in hands, I jumped off the train in a sunny warm morning in
Soon I realised I’d better get used to the idea of staying in a hotel: although hotels in
After I checked in at the hotel and left my stuff in my room, I went out for a walk in the centre of the city. So nice! Especially because, like I was "warned" by many of my friends here,
The funniest thing ever was, actually, coming across Cafe Lepa Brena, hahaha. I couldn’t stop laughing and I had to get in. Inside the cafe, I was invited to seat with two very, very drunk guys, a viennese and a serbian. They thought I was serbian, and then they thought I was russian (like most everybody in Vienna seemed to think), and after some crazy conversation, I left Lepa Brena for some more walk - and a bratwurst hot dog, haha.
I then sat on an internet cafe for a quick emails checking. As soon as I got online, I was as happy as can be to see that Fecula didn't forget to send me the overture of the opera "Die Fledermaus" - as far back as I can remember, Fecu and I have this deal that, once we visited
I started getting seriously nervous, but on an attempt to calm myself down, I convinced myself that, "of course", I had left it in my hotel room.
I finished my online business calmly and drove myself back to the hotel, to take a quick shower, get dressed, and finally head to Ost Fest - the reason that took me till
As soon as I reached the hotel and my room again, I completely turned the room upside down, trying to find my passport that wasn't there too. This time, for real, I started freaking out.
I decided to re-make my way through
Back to the hotel I decided to call the embassy to see if I could manage to get a new one, urgently. Lucky as I am - yes, once one thing goes wrong with me, everything starts going wrong all together - the person in charge to issue passports for urgent cases like mine, was travelling to Ljubljana, took the keys of the passports' safe with him, and would only be back by monday. Brilliant. That meant that I'd have to wait at least more two nights in Vienna in order to get a new passport aaaand then, if I was lucky enough, one or two more nights waiting for a new serbian visa - that is, if I had the papers needed to get a visa again which, of course, I didn't.
F u c k i n g h e l l
I ran to the nearest police office and registered that I've lost my passport with and officer that, poor guy, couldn't understand almost any english, at all. Even so, he was much nicer than that bastard from the brazilian embassy and made his best to help me, registering everything and all.
I went back to the hotel completely crushed. When I got into my room again I was like a silly little kid moaning around "I want to go back to my
I woke up with the bells of the church at 6 pm. For a few seconds, while still sleepy and not knowing exactly where I was (I could swear I was in
I decided to take a taxi, as I had no idea what so ever where Galopprennbahn Freudenau was. And of course the taxi driver had no idea as well. He asked one of his colleagues and it seemed one of them had a far idea of where could it be. We rode and rode, and I started getting worried when the taximeter reached 10 Euros – and we were not even close to find where the damn festival was. When it reached 11, god was probably already sorry for me and my wallet, and all of a sudden the taximeter stopped working! The driver apologized about it and also for not knowing where the place I wanted to go was, and said the no matter how long it took us to get there, it wouldn’t be more than 10 Euros (a taxi driver would never be that nice in
Anyways, after more than 20 minutes riding around
Getting to the entrance, I felt really VIP when I was told my name was actually on two guest lists: Kosta’s and
As I was approaching the stage, Kosta called me and I headed to the backstage area to meet him. Seeing Kostovinski is always soooo great! Last time we were together was in Rio, in early june, at my “Go East” party. Kosta is, for me, like an older brother, so of course I was missing him a whole lot (yeah, if you read this Kosta, know that you truly are like an older brother to me :)))))
Kosta had to rush though, as he was the next one to go onstage after Mr. Pashm.
Right after that I came across
Kosta’s DJ set was, as always, brilliant. And right after him came Balkan Beat Box: what a b r i l l i a n t concert they did! They managed to be even better than on their recordings, which is usually pretty hard for any band with lots of electronics. New Order, for example, sucks live, although they’re by far my favourite (studio) band ever. And come on, it’s New Order, they even have the right to suck live, haha. But nevermind them.
Back to Ost Fest, I had a quick first meeting with Penny Metal, another greeeat DJ that I always wanted to meet. Lovely funny person, and such a great DJ! She’s known for her big eastern European vinyls collection and her crazy eastern blok ska and traditional music DJ sets, haha.
Come to ska, after Balkan Beat Box left the main stage, Russkaja – a Russian ska band, based in
At this point the night started getting kinda chilly and very windy, what took me (and my short pants) to go inside the club, where Kosta, Penny Metal, Shazalakazoo and the guys from Balkanika were setting one blast of a party, with “DJ duels” and all!
I stayed at the indoor party till 6am, when the festival ended. I shared a taxi back to “civilization” with Kosta, Penny Metal and an Australian guy called Nick, if I well remember. Really nice fellow too.
When I left them at their hotel and started heading to mine, alone in the cab, all the fun was over: I started thinking about the passport and visa issue again, and started planning, in my mind, what I would have to do: look for a cheaper hotel, tell my family in Brazil what happened, call the embassy, call Serbia, call Brazil… I entered the hotel and went to the reception, head down and all, when the receptionist gave me the keys to my room and my passport. My… pass… port! Ahhhhhh my passport!!!
I guess I exclaimed “Oh my god” one hundred thousand times, on every single language I could possibly remember hahaha. And I kissed my passport, and the receptionist, and thanked as much as I could. She told me that the police found it at the station and brought it to the hotel, during the night. How I love the Viennese police, haha.
I ran to my room jumping around, and I wasn’t even drunk! Packed my things and left everything ready to, after a short 4 hours of sleep, check out the hotel, go for a walk around the city and then, at 7:49 pm, finally catch my train back to
After 10 to 11 hours traveling on the train back – with two really cool Bulgarian girls and 3 old Romanian guys – I finally reached
Well… I do, haha
To Vienna and beyond - part I
Ahhh Vienna...
I could never tell that a less-than-48-hours trip to Austria could be so adventurous. But again, is like Kosta says, "you live your life like in a great adventure movie, Tete". And yes, hehe, he's absolutely right.
Plus, I realise now that there's the "Belgrade factor": it seems that everytime I leave Belgrade to go somewhere else, the trip ends up turning into a crazy journey. Like the Shabla episode. And like this one now.
----------------
I took my train to Vienna at 15 past 10 in the evening. After getting informed with an officer on the station which one was my train - and, of course, listening to the infamous line "hablas espanol?" after telling him I'm from Brazil (and I only told him my nationality because he asked if I was russian, haha), I took my seat inside the wagon.
In my cabin there was a south korean girl and two polish, a girl and an old man.
The girl, around my age I guess, was coming back from a volunteer work in Kosovo, with serbian people - people which, both she and the old man said, they were really found of. She told me that once, when they were getting ready for a surgery and the local radio started playing a kolo, all the surgeons started dancing, even though they were about to start a medical procedure, haha. She was coming back to her hometown, but she said she was hoping to be back to Serbia real soon.
Now, the old man really reminded me of a singer I know from the opera theater, in Rio: same way to speak, cool and easy, same beard and face shape. I forgot the polish man's name, but he also had a very interesting story: he's a writter (politics writer) and he was, among other cities, visiting Kosovo as well, and collecting material for his new book, about NATO in the Balkans.
The three of us (the south korean girl spoke almost no english at all, sadly) shared quite really nice talk till we reached Novi Sad, when we fell asleep.
We woke up as soon as we reached Subotica and had to show our passports, to then enter into Hungarian territory. The passport control guy made the funniest face I've ever seen when he saw my huge name in my passport, hahaha. After stamping and giving it back to me, he exclaimed, in a rather funny accent "Name... Suuuuuper!", making thumbs up to me, hahaha. Oh god...
I slept til the sun started rising, right before arriving in Budapest. Looking through the train window and seeing things written in hungarian all around only increased my feeling that hungarian is, perhaps, one of the most unfamiliar western languages I've ever seen before. It'a a language that kinda scares me, haha, don't know why...
Anyways, I jumpped off the train in Budapest where, after looking at the board with the trains' schedule for a while - I was still feeling rather sleepy - I realized that everything was written either in hungarian (ouch!) or german. Lucky me I spent time enough in Germany last year to understand some basic stuff, which allowed me to locate my platform and head to the train that was gonna take me to my final destination: Vienna
Sorry folks, need to move now to meet some friends in Zemun.
Stay tunned in for the next part, hehe ;)
I could never tell that a less-than-48-hours trip to Austria could be so adventurous. But again, is like Kosta says, "you live your life like in a great adventure movie, Tete". And yes, hehe, he's absolutely right.
Plus, I realise now that there's the "Belgrade factor": it seems that everytime I leave Belgrade to go somewhere else, the trip ends up turning into a crazy journey. Like the Shabla episode. And like this one now.
----------------
I took my train to Vienna at 15 past 10 in the evening. After getting informed with an officer on the station which one was my train - and, of course, listening to the infamous line "hablas espanol?" after telling him I'm from Brazil (and I only told him my nationality because he asked if I was russian, haha), I took my seat inside the wagon.
In my cabin there was a south korean girl and two polish, a girl and an old man.
The girl, around my age I guess, was coming back from a volunteer work in Kosovo, with serbian people - people which, both she and the old man said, they were really found of. She told me that once, when they were getting ready for a surgery and the local radio started playing a kolo, all the surgeons started dancing, even though they were about to start a medical procedure, haha. She was coming back to her hometown, but she said she was hoping to be back to Serbia real soon.
Now, the old man really reminded me of a singer I know from the opera theater, in Rio: same way to speak, cool and easy, same beard and face shape. I forgot the polish man's name, but he also had a very interesting story: he's a writter (politics writer) and he was, among other cities, visiting Kosovo as well, and collecting material for his new book, about NATO in the Balkans.
The three of us (the south korean girl spoke almost no english at all, sadly) shared quite really nice talk till we reached Novi Sad, when we fell asleep.
We woke up as soon as we reached Subotica and had to show our passports, to then enter into Hungarian territory. The passport control guy made the funniest face I've ever seen when he saw my huge name in my passport, hahaha. After stamping and giving it back to me, he exclaimed, in a rather funny accent "Name... Suuuuuper!", making thumbs up to me, hahaha. Oh god...
I slept til the sun started rising, right before arriving in Budapest. Looking through the train window and seeing things written in hungarian all around only increased my feeling that hungarian is, perhaps, one of the most unfamiliar western languages I've ever seen before. It'a a language that kinda scares me, haha, don't know why...
Anyways, I jumpped off the train in Budapest where, after looking at the board with the trains' schedule for a while - I was still feeling rather sleepy - I realized that everything was written either in hungarian (ouch!) or german. Lucky me I spent time enough in Germany last year to understand some basic stuff, which allowed me to locate my platform and head to the train that was gonna take me to my final destination: Vienna
Sorry folks, need to move now to meet some friends in Zemun.
Stay tunned in for the next part, hehe ;)
Sunday, 24 August 2008
Quick update - more details soon!
In the past 48 hours, I:
- Travelled over 20 hours by train, from Belgrade to Vienna, and back;
- Got large smiles from serbian people living in Vienna :) ;
- Found Vienna to be rather beautiful;
- Had a funny talk with two drunk guys (a viennese and a serbian), at the Lepa Brena cafe;
- Ate tones of bratwurst mit brot (!!!);
- Lost my passport in Vienna;
- Got desperate for some 15 hours;
- Spent an hour at the Police Station in Vienna, trying to make the policeman understand me in english;
- Rode all Vienna on a taxi for virtually no money at all;
- Met Kosta again, after 3 months (!!!);
- Had 12 non-stop hours of balkan and eastern european music;
- Met Max Pashm (!!!);
- Met Penny Metal (!!!);
- Saw Balkan Beat Box live (!!!);
- Saw Shazalakazoo live again (!!!);
- Met the guys from Balkanizer (!!!);
- Saw Russkaja live (!!!)
- Met a not so cool guy from Russia, that was acting more like a low rate latin lover;
- Almost exploded of happiness at 7 am, when back to the hotel I found out the police found my passport;
- Bought a rather interesting Portugal-related shirt (in Vienna!);
- Had litres of Earl Gray tea;
- Found out I can understand more romanian than I could ever imagine. And even some bulgarian too;
- Slept 10 hours on my super double bed with tones of pillow (!!!).
It's good to be back to my Belgrade :)
- Travelled over 20 hours by train, from Belgrade to Vienna, and back;
- Got large smiles from serbian people living in Vienna :) ;
- Found Vienna to be rather beautiful;
- Had a funny talk with two drunk guys (a viennese and a serbian), at the Lepa Brena cafe;
- Ate tones of bratwurst mit brot (!!!);
- Lost my passport in Vienna;
- Got desperate for some 15 hours;
- Spent an hour at the Police Station in Vienna, trying to make the policeman understand me in english;
- Rode all Vienna on a taxi for virtually no money at all;
- Met Kosta again, after 3 months (!!!);
- Had 12 non-stop hours of balkan and eastern european music;
- Met Max Pashm (!!!);
- Met Penny Metal (!!!);
- Saw Balkan Beat Box live (!!!);
- Saw Shazalakazoo live again (!!!);
- Met the guys from Balkanizer (!!!);
- Saw Russkaja live (!!!)
- Met a not so cool guy from Russia, that was acting more like a low rate latin lover;
- Almost exploded of happiness at 7 am, when back to the hotel I found out the police found my passport;
- Bought a rather interesting Portugal-related shirt (in Vienna!);
- Had litres of Earl Gray tea;
- Found out I can understand more romanian than I could ever imagine. And even some bulgarian too;
- Slept 10 hours on my super double bed with tones of pillow (!!!).
It's good to be back to my Belgrade :)
To my visitants from NORWAY :)
Ok, this is a bit off topic, but it`s been some time now that I feel like asking this to the readers and visitants of this blog:
Accordingly to some tools I have linked to this blog, Norway is the country from where a huuuuge part of my visitants come from, even more than Brazil (where I come from and where most of my friends live).
So, I'd like to know from you, people from Norway, who visit this blog: how did you guys come across my "Wish I could reach you in Belgrade" blog? I'd love to know what bring you people here :)
Feel more than welcome to leave me a comment on here, or write me to teteglitter @ gmail.com
Accordingly to some tools I have linked to this blog, Norway is the country from where a huuuuge part of my visitants come from, even more than Brazil (where I come from and where most of my friends live).
So, I'd like to know from you, people from Norway, who visit this blog: how did you guys come across my "Wish I could reach you in Belgrade" blog? I'd love to know what bring you people here :)
Feel more than welcome to leave me a comment on here, or write me to teteglitter @ gmail.com
Thursday, 21 August 2008
Vienna, here I come!
Dear ones,
My computer collapsed some three days ago, reason why I haven`t updated here for quite some time now. I am now kinda in a rush, just checking e-mails and getting ready to leave to Vienna, Austria, this evening - where I`ll be going to Ost Fest, meeting Kosta after a couple of months and, of course, having quite a lot of fun :)))))))
I`ll try and make a quick update at some point in time once I reach Vienna.
Hopefully, when I`m back, the computer will be back to life as well.
See you soon,
- Maria
Ps.: I just regret not having the overture of "Die Fledermaus" on my mp3 player to hear once I`m in Vienna...
My computer collapsed some three days ago, reason why I haven`t updated here for quite some time now. I am now kinda in a rush, just checking e-mails and getting ready to leave to Vienna, Austria, this evening - where I`ll be going to Ost Fest, meeting Kosta after a couple of months and, of course, having quite a lot of fun :)))))))
I`ll try and make a quick update at some point in time once I reach Vienna.
Hopefully, when I`m back, the computer will be back to life as well.
See you soon,
- Maria
Ps.: I just regret not having the overture of "Die Fledermaus" on my mp3 player to hear once I`m in Vienna...
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