Friday, July 20, 2007
The hot Hungarian wind blows through the little train station in Kiskunhalas as I wait for the train that will take me to Szeged. The suffocating heat as I move eastward has intensified the yearning in my heart I masked with work the days in Belgrade. A yearning to hear words carried on the wind that I will not hear, and so I keep moving, as we must through life.
Belgrade was a great city. Though I spent most of my days sitting at the internet café on Slavija Square immersed in writing and research and earning the dollars that will carry me to Russia in September, I had, through the graces of the engaging Serbian people, the chance to feel some sense of this ‘beginning of the Balkans’ and to learn something of its suffering and triumph. Belgrade is a city that moves forward; through war, through change, through the highs and lows that this life bring to us as individuals and collectively, and so I follow, best I can, its example.
Rade was my first Serbian encounter. An active CS member and an engaging conversationalist, he was kind enough in hours between his hectic work and travel and family schedule to rescue me from Lexis for a drink and a stroll through town. The Serbians have a great passion for their country, their heritage, and Rade was no exception. His very voice carried a pulse to it, like teenagers in line at a rollercoaster - vibrant, excited, full of life and its experience, of the thrill that awaits. In fact that is in a way the energy throughout the city – this amusement park excitement blended with that day-off-work meandering tranquility. Rade used the word ‘very’ frequently, as did most Serbians, as if everything in its normal state is not enough, good things are v-e-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-y good, with the ‘r’ rolled even more than normal for emphasis. Rade would draw the ‘r’ out a very long time then curve the y up at the end, like a beautiful magician’s helper leading the audience’s eyes to their target with a stretch of her arm and flourish of her wrist at the end.
You could see in his eyes, hear in his voice how much he loved his family, loved his people, loved his country and heritage. He talked freely, albeit painfully at times, obliging my quizzical nature about his people, his homeland, the war, and the years since as the country moves forward to economic and psychological recovery. He cast his eyes to the floor when he spoke of communism and what it tried to drive from their culture – a sense of family and god; though financial times were, for many, better under the communist regime. When he spoke of the NATO bombings, his face clouded, not with the anger of betrayal, but with its sorrow. “We were always on America’s side. Always,” he said to me pointedly. “In the first World War, in the second, always.” He spoke honestly, forthrightly, with never a negative thing to say about the other countries and cultures involved in the war that ravaged this part of the world less than a decade ago. “It takes two to fight,” he said simply. Doesn’t it though….
I wish I had more time to get to know this tall, handsome, devoted father of two young children, and proud entrepreneur, but time and demands of work and home, would not allow our paths to cross again this trip. Perhaps when I return to Serbia, as I will one day.
I returned from our evening stroll along the Knez Mihaylova, to my self-imposed isolation for four more days, though when the evening sun came through the windows of the internet café, making work impossible, I would pack up my computer and walk the streets until nightfall. One such evening walk carried me to Ucse Park where to my surprise and delight there were still tickets available for the Rolling Stones concert. About $30 secured me a spot amongst the 80,000 people who had turned out for the first Stones concert in Serbia. Let me just say the Stones rock! Puns intended.
I would be struck again and again, at the concert and other times, by the paradoxical nature of these people – the calm pulse of excitement, the chaoticness of a people who do not cue, against the calmness of a people who also do not push (except when they move past you at the riverside discos). The concert was packed with people who, unlike other standing concerts I have been to, did not pack together. Rather there were pockets of people gathered throughout the massive green space; none of whom had that concert-space-defense system that Americans invoke that will bring them to blows before they allow someone to move past them. Several times I made my way through different sections of the crowd before finally settling into a spot on the side where I could see both the incomprehensively massive screen and light show (a skyscraper structure in its own right I would venture to guess) and a “Borrowers” sized Mick Jagger running tirelessly across the immense stage.
The man must have found a way to bottle the energy of a three year old. I’ve never seen anyone run, dance, move and grind so much in a two hour period. Thousands of fans would screech with pleasure as he sprinted down the catwalk that ran from the stage into the center of the teeming crowd. At one point, the entire stage moved snail-like along the catwalk, by some mechanism I could not deduce from my removed location, until it reached the center of the audience where the concert continued for several songs sans lights amidst of a sea of people. Belgrad-ians cheered and hollered singing along in English and laughing delightedly at the jokes Jagger was making in Serbian – which by the way he spoke for a better part of the concert.
The Brown Sugar encore brought the concert to a close followed by a small fireworks display. Many of us remained, hoping for one last song, including the group of several young girls and one guy who were next to me. The guy had tried in vain several times to engage one his friends in a dance, but they had shooed him off. Taken, I guess, with the excitement of the night, he turned to me as the fireworks were falling from the sky above and held his hands out in a wordless request to dance with him. I took his hands and he spun me. He was an excellent dancer, one of the best I’ve ever had, leading me flawlessly together and apart, spinning me, stopping me, circling and centering me atop the plastic beer mugs and discarded bottles as excited fans made their way around us. Some actually stopped to watch, creating a small circle of our own little fan group. When the song ended he dipped me then took my hand and kissed it, thanking me for the dance before returning to his friends who I’m sure teased him mercilessly later. It was an odd, enlivening, connected ending moment to a solitary yet exhilarating evening.
Another evening carried me to the Belgrade Fortress. I believe this ranks as one of the most lovely places I’ve seen on my journeys. Set high above the meeting point of the Sava and Danube rivers, you can hear the winds of time rustling through the grass and trees, whispering of days past, of wars and loves fought and lost. The sun was setting as I strolled the labyrinth of layered passageways, criss-crossing above and below in a design clearly intended to confuse invading forces. Each corner brought a new surprise – a church, a turret, a view or statue or charming guardpost, now demure in the evening light despite the bloody history for which they were built.
I had actually stumbled on to the fortress by accident, cresting the stairs to see a sight that looked unexpectedly familiar. It took me a moment to figure out what it was about the tree lined path and the lighted displays that had struck such a resonant cord of memory. Then it registered – it was the Earth From Above photo exhibition. The one I had seen in Madrid, my first stop in this traveling life, my first couchsurf in fact. I remembered writing of the exhibition then, encouraging people to check out the book at least if the exhibition would not come to their town. The photos are truly incredible; intense, beautiful, and thought provoking. This uniquely gifted photographer and activist encourages us to see both the beauty of our world and the destruction we are wreaking upon it in an effort to engage us in these conversations and actions toward sustainable development.
As I walked toward the beginning of the exhibition, I felt as if I was greeting an old familiar friend, and, as we have in those moments, had the chance to see me as I am now in contrast to the me who stood before these photos over a year of traveling ago. The road has calmed me I think. Settled me to the changing winds of time – not in the sense of standing against them or numbing to or ignoring them, but by teaching me how to ride them, to follow the crest of the wave as fully, in its height as it rises as in its crash upon the shore. More and more I find the road brings me to a sense peace with who I am, and, perhaps more importantly, who I am not.
These thoughts washed across my mind as the sun set beyond New Belgrade in the distance, painting the sky with breathtaking hues of purple and blue. Lovers strolled hand in hand, others leaned against each other upon the hill watching the sunset, a young couple stood in the corner of a rampart, intensely making out, hands exploring, oblivious to the world passing by. There was such a calm tranquility in the air. Strange for a place so filled with people. I would come back again later in the sweltering summer heat to find that same tranquility. It was as if the fortress casts its pensive, protective, quiet, reflective spirit upon everyone who passes through its walls.
The best part of Belgrade was when I finally left Hotel Slavija and my work behind and headed to the home of my new hosts Sanja and her brother Branco. Sanja was a delight, intelligent and kind with lovely bright eyes and long hair that accented her long body. I am convinced Serbia has the tallest people in the world. I’ve never felt so short in my life as I did standing on the bus or at the concert or aside my hosts and their friends. Branco was even taller, with dark hair, an incredible knowledge of history, and more energy than his body ever knew what to do with. He would move his body or his hands or nod his head all the time, as if moving to some techno beat the rest of the world could not hear. He never tired of my curious questions about the wars, the people, the politics of today. I think I learned more about history those two days with him then I did in a year course in high school.
Despite her article deadlines (Sanja is a journalist), the two of them made special time for me, taking me out one blisteringly hot summer day to Ada Ciganliya, with its miles of rock-lain beaches aside dance bars and cafes, and the next night to the riverside bars that line the Sava, where anyone can dance the night away to any music style their heart could desire. They called friends to come over and chat and contribute their answer to my oft-repeated question – What is a Serb? I wanted to understand these people, this life, this place in history, and in the present. Unfortunately, the time was too short to barely begin. The time will come though as I will return one day to this land to experience more of its delightful people and calm, vibrant presence.
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