Flipping Out Over Serbia

Sunbathing at the Fortress... This is the life.

Manga hostel staff is nuts! Love them!

On my last day in Belgrade, I found myself flipping a coin, surrounded by new friends, trying to decide whether I should stay or go. I desperately wanted to stay because I hadn’t had this much in a while and the staff at Manga Hostel really opened their city up to me. However, I also knew that I needed to go in order to stay on schedule. So there I was stuck in an R. Kelly moment of indecision (sing with me: “My mind’s telling my no…”). Leaving it up to fate, I pulled out a Serbian coin. “The shield is stay, the building is go!”

When I told people I was going to Serbia, they immediately started talking about war. For many Americans, the Bosnian war is all we know or can associate with Serbia. However, the beautiful thing about traveling is creating new associations. For the remainder of my life, when I think of Belgrade, I will think of amazing culture, fantastic food, friendly locals, and incredible fun. I think it's a fantastic place to vacation and I really encourage others to get out and visit. So here I go spreading the word.

Salsa dancing in the middle of Republic Square!

Belgrade is one of those places that doesn’t sleep; it’s a hedonists paradise. It has a reputation for being the party capital of Europe and I think it may be well deserved. To me, the city wasn’t a spring break type of party place, but more of a grown folks type of party place (think: Love Jones, Carlos Santana, Crush Groove, and George Micheal thrown into a blender; random and full of energy). The nightclubs close around five a.m, sometimes later, and the entertainment options are endless and so is the shopping. Further, no entertainment is complete without good food and Belgrade’s Kafanas are prime for filling that role. A Kafana is a café/bar/restaurant/music venue similar to any neighborhood Friday’s, but far more Eastern European in décor, food and people. In general, Serbian food is rich, hearty and deliciously sinful. Cabbage rolls filled with meat and placed on top of mashed potatoes swimming in broth leave me licking the spoon and counting carbs like crazy.

Nicole, my Aussie travel buddy, serenaded at Tri Sesira.

While in Belgrade, I fell in love with one particular Kafana, Tri Sesira (Three hats in English). Tri Sesira is popular in Belgrade and in the bohemian neighborhood known as Skadarlija. The food there was so amazing that I ended up eating there three times over next four days. It helped that they make my new favorite meal: Mućkalica. Mućkalica, which means mixed up, is made of grilled pork pieces in stewed vegetables. DELICIOUS! I’m posting the recipe here, in case anyone out there is interested in trying something new.

Mućkalica

"Europe, Nothing Without Serbia"

1 1/2 pounds boneless pork shoulder

2 tablespoons vegetable oil

1/4 cup water

3 medium onions, sliced

1 medium tomato, chopped

1 1/2 teaspoons salt

1/2 teaspoon paprika

1/4 teaspoon pepper

1/8 to 1/4 teaspoon crushed red pepper

1 medium green bell pepper, cut into strips

2 ounces feta cheese, cut into 3/4-inch cubes (optional)

Hot cooked rice (optional)



Trim fat from pork. Cut pork into 1/2-inch slices; cut slices into 1/2-inch strips. Heat oil in skillet until hot. Cook and stir pork in oil over medium heat until brown, about 15 minutes; drain. Add water, onions, tomato, salt, paprika, pepper and red pepper. Cover and simmer until pork is tender, about 30 minutes, adding water if necessary.

Add green pepper. Cover and simmer until green pepper is crisp-tender, 5 to 10 minutes. Top with cheese.

Serve with rice.

Yields 4 servings.

**Recipe taken from www.7thspace.com***

Inside of the National Theatre

After a fatty food fest at a Kafana, you have too many possibilities for nightlife. During first night in Belgrade, my options were between a number of night clubs all with different themes from Latin to Pop to Hip Hop to Metal, or a blues festival, or a young composer’s concert. I also had the option to go to the Opera: Madame Butterfly. I opted for the Opera. The Opera is held at the National Theatre, which is an incredibly old, gilded and beautiful building. All of these events were taking place during the middle of the weekday, so I couldn’t imagine how much fun could be had during the weekend.

The daytime can also be fun.. Belgrade, like many large European cities, offers a free day tour. So many of the main tourist attractions can be viewed with a knowledgeable guide. The tour cover places like Knez Mihajlova street, Belgrade Fortress, Kalemegdan, Bohemian Quarter (Skadarlija), Republic square, and the  National Theater. A visit to the Cathedral of Saint Sava, the largest Orthodox cathedral in the Balkans and one of the largest Orthodox cathedrals in the world, is a must as well. Aside from tours Belgrade also has a plethora of museums that can be visited. These museums cover everything from African art to automobiles and there are actually over forty museums in Belgrade alone. My favorites are the Nikola Tesla Museum and the Museum of Ethnography.

Cathedral of Saint Sava - this place is massive!

While in Belgrade, I also went to a wine maze in the dungeons of the fortress. Table after table of small wine makers mingling with tasters among a setting of ancient ruins created a night to remember. I, honestly, nursed entirely too many glassed of Serbian, Croatian and other Eastern European wines, but I had an incredible time. Before this night, I had no clue that wine was even made in this region of Europe. After that night, I’m intent on learning the process of wine making while here. Stay tuned…

Beautiful old walls of the Fortress.

So here I was… Should I stay or should I go?  “Sade will be here in a few days, you should stay for the concert,” friends reminded me. “The international jazz festival is next week, you should stay!” others said. I used to be so good at goodbyes, maybe even a tad bid cold hearted I’ve been told, but lately I’m finding it harder and harder to meet awesome people, travel together, and then separate not knowing if you’ll ever see them again. Thank God for Facebook.

Flip…

Building it is! Time to go.  Sarajevo here I come. Bye, bye Belgrade. I’ll try to tell as many people about you as possible.

Parliament

Playing music on the pedestrian walk

Yum! Chicken Gyros!

Electricity at the Nikola Tesla Museum

The President's Offices

Children's clothing at the Museum of Ethnography

The cobbled streets of the Bohemian Quarter

Big Ups to Teachers: The Balkans

As I travel, I see more and more families with young children, backpacking together and learning about history, art, language and working with people from all walks of life by exploring countries foreign to their own. Of course, they are typically non-American and typically Caucasian; regardless, I find myself both envious and hopeful that one day when I have children of my own, I will have the wherewithal to expose them to other cultures through travel.

St. Alexander Nevsky Cathedral  - Bulgaria

When my mother was traveling with me, I asked her why she and my dad never thought to take me and my brother to countries outside of North America and her answer was that they simply didn’t know that these things were possible. The thought of packing up your family and going someplace like Vietnam was so foreign that it wasn’t even a thought. It occured to me that at times, parents can only teach their children the extent of what they know.  However, good parents, like my own, will always try to make sure that their children grow to know, see and experience more than they did.

Statue of Skanderbeg - Albania

I can recall getting signed up for everything under the sun, when I was a kid. I went to pottery classes, clarinet and piano lessons, taekwondo classes, the Math Olympics, 4-H, and Girl Scouts. When you’re a kid, you don’t appreciate these things. I just wanted to watch Thunder Cats, collect Garbage Pail Kids cards, and play with my brother’s Castle Grey Skull and that’s it! Now that I’m older, I recognize that my mother understood that you have to enlist the help of good neighbors, knowledgeable friends and family, and more importantly effective teachers in order to erect a solid base for your children to stand on. Without knowing the word for it or having studied the concept, my parents were practicing synergy. Synergy is the idea that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts; it’s teamwork.

So, when people learn about my trip and say, “Wow, who told you that you could do this?” or “Who gave you the idea to travel like this?” I can’t say, “Oh, I grew up traveling. My parents took me on excursions through South East Asia as a kid.” However, I can point to the multitude of people who my parents introduced me to and who at one point or another poured into me. 

Kale Fortress - Macedonia

It was my mom’s friend Shari Hamilton, who was very passionate about doing the things she loved and would quit her job in a heartbeat to follow her dreams. She was the first black woman I knew personally who fearless, worldy, well read, and well traveled.

It was my elementary school teacher, Marty Richardson, who taught me what stereotypes were and systematically tried to break them by exposing me to Homer’s Iliad, figure skating and the wonders of Folk music. “You can like what you want. Do what you want and be what you want. You are not a stereotype,” she would say.  

The Prizren Hammam  - Kosovo

It was my middle school geography teacher, Mr. McCord, who made us listen to Pink Floyd and watch slides of his adventures backpacking through foreign countries. He jump started my wanderlust. It was a high school economics teacher, who taught me about Adam Smith and the concept of making choices and accepting consequences. 

It was my Aunt Johnette, who would pull me to the side, give me a dollar or two and whisper, “It doesn’t matter if you are married or single, a woman should always put aside some money for herself.” All of the people worked like a team with my mom, who along with our prayers would make my brother and I recite “when I grow up I want to be self-sufficient, independent, and very intelligent.”

Memorial House of Mother Teresa - Macedonia

Teachers, both formal and informal, are the greatest resources in the world. Period. Hands Down.

So, I’ve written this entire diatribe and you have to be wondering where this is all coming from…. Well, Chad and I just finished traveling through major cities in a good part of the Balkans (including: Greece, Albania, Kosovo, Macedonia and Bulgaria) and my mouth is on the floor!

Let’s be honest...We ate our way through many of these countries. So my mouth could literally be on the floor because it’s exhausted from chewing big hearty meats, enormous vegetables and ridiculous amounts of bread. Side note: I have never in my life walked away from a table and while trying to keep my tights from automatically rolling down, longingly wished for the prospect of diarrhea. Yet, I did this almost nightly.  Great food!

Where was I?

Changing of the Guards (President's Office) - Bulgaria

Yes, my mouth is on the floor because I am seeing and walking into places that I only learned about from teachers and it’s absolutely surreal.  I’m looking at castles in the countryside of Albania and Kosovo that once housed the Kings in the history books my teachers taught from; ruins in Greece and Bulgaria that were the backdrop to stories teachers introduced me to; stomping grounds for Jesus, Paul and all of them that preachers use teach me about; and massive and old churches and cathedrals that were built before them. 

For example, we walked up on a statue the other day and I asked Chad, “Who is that?”  “Alexander the Great,” Chad responded. “I thought he was Greek,” I said. “Nope. Macedonian. Do you remember when…” he continued in a history lesson that I recalled having learned in school. This was another, “Holy crap! That happened right here!” moment and I was feeling really overwhelmed; overwhelmed by my surroundings; overwhelmed that I was getting the opportunity to see these things first hand; and overwhelmed by my journey. I am immensely grateful and God is so awesome that it’s scary sometimes.

 Czar Samuil Statue - Macedonia

I know I write these “I’m so grateful” posts often and it can get tiring, but please bear with me, there’s a purpose.  First, I have to pinch myself sometimes to realize that I’m actually doing this, that I’m actually here, and writing it down is the best way I know to make it concrete. Secondly, I think it is vital to expose yourself and your children to international travel and all that can be learned from it (especially black folks). Again, writing it down and sharing it is the best way I can express the emotional and social impact this trip has had, in hopes that others will take the leap. Lastly, I am nothing but a dwarf standing on the shoulders of giants, so I absolutely need to pay homage and say thank you to any and every teacher who has poured into me. I am in the midst of living my dreams and it would not have been possible without the teachers in my life.

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!

War Memorial - Kosovo

Partisan Statue - Albania

Ivan Vazov National Theatre - Bulgaria

Alexander the Great - Macedonia

Sunset - Patras, Greece

Ampitheatre at the Acropolis - Greece

St Alexander Nevsky (Daylight) - Bulgaria

George W. Bush Street (He is loved in these parts) - Albania

Millenium Cross - Macedonia

Dreamers vs. Realists: India

Not right, not wrong; just different.

My place is down this alley! Yes, he is zipping his pants.



I flew into New Delhi from Hong Kong really late in the evening, but had already arranged for the guesthouse’s driver to pick me up due to the hour and so I waited. He arrived very late and looked severely disappointed once he saw me. I wasn’t sure if it was because I was a young woman and not a man, if it was because I was an American, or if it was because, like him, I was dark skinned. Whatever the case, he walked twenty paces ahead of me as I nearly ran to keep up with him and off we went in his beat up little car whose engine took three minutes to turn over.



We made it to the guesthouse, which was located in Paharganj, a backpacker’s district that looks worse than anything I’ve ever seen in the States. In shock that I was actually staying there, I stumbled out of the car certain that this wasn’t the right place and that I was about to be robbed. Maybe I was moving too slow for the driver’s comfort, because he reached back, grabbed my bags and while asking me for a tip (which isn’t customary in India, but tourists typically don’t know that), he proceeded without me down an alley that smelled like curry, cigarettes, and really strong urine due to the open urinal at its entrance.  Not wanting to be left on the street by myself and without my bags, I followed. As we made our way through the back alley towards my home for the next few days, the driver stepped forward like a soccer player and kicked a sleeping dog that was in our path.

Welcome to India…

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NOTE: After I left India, I read reviews of Paharganj and many writers suggested that first time visitors to India should not stay there, but spend a little extra money and stay in Connaught Place. I could not agree more with this statement. The locals actually refer to Paharganj as the backpacker’s ghetto. It is physically shocking to see and can turn you off of India; especially if you come from a developed country. The experience is similar to coming to the United States for the first time and being dropped off in Marcy Projects in New York. You may get used to it, but It will take a while.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Maybe too simple?

Typically when I arrive in a new country at night, things tend to look worse than they actually are, so I try to keep a positive attitude, wait until the morning and not let it get me down.  I explained this theory to an older couple during breakfast at the guesthouse the next morning. “Well Dear,” said the wife in a grandmotherly tone, “I’m afraid that India will look just as bad, if not worse, in the daylight.” Great! I spent the entire day in my room! I didn’t even go eat lunch or dinner. I emailed my husband telling him that I had made a mistake. I shouldn’t have come here. I’ve been traveling for almost four months through ten countries and I have never seen anything like this in a major city!  I can’t believe this.

The Red Fort in New Delhi

To admit this revelation to my husband was actually a humbling experience. Before I left New York, I had been nagging him about a book I read called Holy Cow: An Indian Adventure by Sarah Macdonald. It’s about the life and experience of the author who moved to India to live with her ex-pat boyfriend. The novel is funny, but there’s a part in the book where an older, Indian, gentlemen Sarah is talking to says that the problem with Americans is that we are always looking at the person above us (financially, educationally, etc.) and we look at them saying, “I wish I had that! I wish I was that!” So, we are never happy because we are always seeking and working harder to obtain more. This gentleman told Sarah that in his culture, they look at the person below them and they say “Thank God I’m not in that position! Thank you God for everything I have.” Therefore, they are always happy and thankful for what they have and are ultimately content in life.

At least one wife is always going to be sick of your crap!

Now, I realize that his viewpoint isn’t reflective of ALL Indian’s views, but I spent days arguing with Chad about the nobility of simply being happy with what you have; never stressing to have or to reach for more. This is the right way to move through life! His response: “Nah babe, I just don’t see it. Where’s the motivation to improve?” Writing him off as confused, I let the argument die; but, now that I was actually in India looking at contentment in the face… I wasn’t quite sure of my position. Was this right or was this wrong?

The Taj Mahal - a love story! "Chad, will you build something like this in my memory?"

Dancing to the song in his head! Love it!!

After a highly stressful prayer session, I eventually made it out of the guesthouse. I visited Ghandi’s home and memorial museum. I walked around the Red Fort and saw a lot of what New Delhi has to offer. I even managed to make it all the way to Agra, where I saw the Taj Mahal in all of its grandeur.  Agra is just as challenging as Pararganj with its plethora of rickshaw drivers speeding down the streets, dodging camels, dogs, and cows, and always attempting to up sale you on a tour or rip you off. Despite the surroundings outside of the Taj, I found myself walking around the Taj at peace and people watching for hours. Happy, smiling, families eagerly enjoying one another while running shoe less across the grounds of one of India’s gems. Maybe, this is right?



I stretched a bit further and made it to Goa in the southern part of India. There I spent my days walking the streets with bulls, monkeys, goats and stray dogs and I learned to make the best chicken curry I’ve ever tasted from the owner of a local restaurant. Thanks Guarav!

Ahhh.... Goa.....

I also had a very unique experience at an Ayurvedic Spa Resort in Goa. While there I spent three days butt naked getting massaged, bathed, scrubbed, and beaten for three hours a day by two men. I actually paid for this! Even though I left looking like Don King when they dripped two gallons of oil on my head during the Dhara (Shiro Dhara) and even though I felt like that soldier in Platoon that was beaten with a bar of soap wedged into a tube sock when they pounded me with a round bolus of herbs wrapped in a cotton cloth during the Kizhi, I still loved every minute. The only awkward moment was the post shower everyday… “Uh… thanks, but I can wash my own pocket book.”

I'm feeling the shirt, man! Can I get a smile?.

During my trip, I realized that in order to enjoy India, I had to throw away the rose colored glasses that being an American affords one and see this country for what it is and not what I thought it should be.

Then Let me explain…

My first day walking around the Main Bazaar in New Delhi, I met two young ladies who were selling beautiful, vintage Indian quilts. I bought a few and ended up talking to the youngest girl who asked why I had come to India. “This was my dream!” I told her. She replied that going to New York has always been her dream as well. “However, it is not possible for my dream to ever happen,” she continued very nonchalant as if she hadn’t just dropped a bomb.  To give up on your dreams with such ease at the age of seventeen is wrong! I was hurt and outraged for her and her statement proved just one more reason why India was starting to become a “horrible country” in my mind.

What is this animal?!

From the kicked dog, to being spat at by a beggar after being denying her money, to slipping in cow crap and having it end up under my toe nails, there were a thousand different situations similar to this that could have continued to build my case against India. “Everything is wrong with this place!” Yet, after that conversation with the girl in the market, I remembered another conversation with my friends from London who I met at Mount Bromo. They had visited the U.S during the previous year and commented that they had never felt so embolden. “Your music, your commercials, even the advertisements on the streets are all so empowering. We left feeling like we could do anything and then we got back to our country,” they said laughing.

The Neighborhood Boys! Smile?

Hearing about my own country through the viewpoint of another gave me so much clarity into my own mental state. They were right! I live in a country that tells ordinary people that they can do anything. Can be anything. Can go anywhere with hard work, perseverance, and a dream. Even the pages of my passport are stamped with messages that support this theory. “Democracy is based upon the conviction that there are extraordinary possibilities in ordinary people – Harry Emerson Fosdick.” No wonder I was having such a difficult time accepting India as is; I was looking at it and measuring it against an American standard that praises the extraordinary and reminds us that we are Dreamers and “Do-ers”.  While I looking at India as a checklist of what it could be, Indians were living their lives amidst what it was.  Dreamers vs. Realists.

In the end, I think that India has taught me a very important lesson: No matter how “open” you think you are, you have to understand how your own mind set colors your perception of the world, in order to see and accept that someone else’s isn’t right or wrong, just different.  

Smile?  Indians take very serious pictures!

Title: Tuk Tuk Chic

If my kids do this to me, then I'm having corrective surgery!

Stairs, escalators, and elevators are for wussies!

Hi Baby! Please smile...

Parliament

Going to the chapel and we're...

The last steps of Ghandi as as he made his way to pray right before he was assasinated