February

by their own hand, alone in a room
changing the meaning of February
this is the time of year when friends die

Mostar

I shouldn't have sounded so negative about school starting. I always kind of dislike the first day of school. It feels like it carries too much weight - like if you screw up on that day, the rest of your module is shot. So far, though, my students seem pretty dang nice and hard working. For the first time, I have a group of repeaters, meaning they are taking the intermediate level a second time because they didn't pass the previous module. The repeaters get a bad rap as being all of the unmotivated and disruptive students, so I was a little nervous...picturing spit wads getting caught in my hair and chairs unexpectedly flying across the classroom. But shoot, they seem great so far. No spit wads or flying chairs. Knock on wood. As a person who sucks at learning languages, I'm pretty sure I'd be in the repeaters' class, so I think I can relate. 

Another reason why going back to school was difficult is because of places like Mostar, Bosnia, where I was wandering around just over a week ago. Where I would gladly wander around all day, rain or shine, for the rest of my life. 

Here are some of my favorite Mostar bits...

• A train ride through the lovely Bosnian mountains and about 39 tunnels, give er take 10. None of the pictures of the view out the window turned out, but I kinda liked this one. If you've been with this blog and my flickr page for a while, you might recognize a lil similarity with Romanian trains. I love trains.
  
     
• Stari Most, or Old Bridge. Mostar is famous for this bridge. It was built in the 16th century and worked just fine for 427 years until it was blown up in 1993 during the Croat-Bosniak war. It was rebuilt and reopened in 2004. Everybody we met talked lovingly about this bridge. The way that people in Reno used to talk about the Mapes. There was a video playing in the museum bookshop that showed Stari Most being blown up. The bridge is there, a few people run across it, and a few seconds later there's a red flash and a loud explosion, then a few more explosions, and 427 years of a city's pride is turned to dust and swept away by the river below. I'm glad they rebuilt it.
  
      
• Rain! I normally don't dig walking around all day in rain, but it didn't bother me here with my trusty umbrella and rain appropriate shoes. I'd say it actually added a bit of a dreamy effect to the city.
  
   

• Coffee Shop Lady. I should have taken her picture, but I didn't. I took a picture of her coffee, though. She sat down at our table and showed us how to make proper Bosnian coffee, then gave us two extra cookies. Because we were American and Americans love cookies. She told us she couldn't speak any Turkish, but then taught us the Turkish vocab for everything on the table. She hung out with us and treated us like old friends and I didn't really want to leave, but you have to at some point. 

 

• Stairs. Climbing stairs in pretty much any city is almost never disappointing. Here's what we found at the top of one set of Mostar stairs. Mostairs. 

  

  A house growing some trees.

  
  

    

  
  

  

  See-through old buildings and churches

  
  
  

  

  and some Nine Inch Nails

• And finally, graffiti. 
  
  
  
  

Up next: Dubrovnik, Croatia. Mostar and Dubrovnik were my favorite parts of the trip and I wish we could have spent more time in both cities. But that's how I feel about most places.  

There and Back Again

I'm coming down off of two weeks of vacation and I wish I felt just a glimmer of excitement for class tomorrow. But I don't. I am, however, excited for the provided lunch and all of the salad options and the coffee machine on the second floor. Sometimes I wonder what's wrong with me, sometimes I think I'm pretty okay.

During vacation, I went on a week long trip that went like this:
Home (bus, taxi) Antalya Airport (plane, plane, taxi) Sarajevo Bosnia (taxi, train, car) Mostar Bosnia (taxi, bus, taxi) Dubrovnik Croatia (long walk, shuttle, shuttle, shuttle, plane, plane, plane, taxi (to be explained)) Pristina Kosovo (taxi, plane, plane) Antalya (taxi) home.

Here are the bits of vacation that I remember the most and don't want to forget. It was a good vacation, despite the 20-odd forms of transportation required to make it happen.

In Sarajevo...

• Roses. A lot of bombs went off in Sarajevo not that long ago for reasons that, even after visiting and reading about, I still don't understand. Many went off on sidewalks. In these places, they have filled in the missing chunks with red cement and now call them Sarajevo roses. Here's one in front of a church in the main part of town:

• Graveyards and other frequent reminders of death and war. You don't have to walk very far to find a massive graveyard or a tribute to a group of victims from the war. I didn't need to visit these places - Sarajevo, Mostar, and Kosovo - to realize that I hadn't lived through much in terms of suffering, but visiting and seeing these things does something humbling to your brain. And knowing that every single person around you over the age of 20, every kind person who calmly gives you directions in broken English, every waiter who smiles as they take your order, every shopkeeper who meekly watches you look at their dusty items on the shelf, every one of them once feared for their life and for the lives of their loved ones. Every one of them saw their city torn to bits and undoubtedly lost friends and family members. Every one of them survived something awful, and now there you sit, waiting for them to fill your glass with water and bring you some bread as you plan out your next day of sightseeing. Oof.   

• Residence Rooms Hostel. This was my favorite hostel of the trip...center of town, interesting and kind owner, old building, lots of floors and rooms to wander around in. I found myself drawn to the living room, where there was an incredibly out of tune grand piano, at least 5 couches, Christmas lights that twinkled nonstop, and old books. I didn't think to take any pictures inside the hostel, but here's a little GIF animation thingy from the stair well. It's the first time I've made such a thing. Please enjoy:

• And, lastly, intriguing and weird statues:

Next up, the delightful city of Mostar. To be continued soon.

Finally

I found a song. It's been a while, and this one is very short and I don't think it's quite finished yet. But I think I like it so far. I found a way to record the keyboard, too, instead of the blinds, so that's weird and fun. And pretend the sound is that of a grand piano in Carnegie Hall, not that of a cheap, emotionless mock piano.

These are not my cookies.

I don't get many emails from students, but I got one yesterday. From a quiet student who seemed to want to blend into the wall during class. So much so that I barely knew her, though she did very well in class. In the email, she asked for the recipe for the cookies I had shared with my students on the last day of class. I sent her a link to the recipe ( http://bakeoff-flunkie.blogspot.com/2010/07/kaitlyns-outrageous-oatmeal-chocolate.html if you're feeling bakey) and a follow up email explaining how I chopped up dark chocolate to make chocolate chips. I also bid her good luck and figured I'd never hear from her again. This morning, I got a second email from her with the above picture attached to the below message:

"Good morning miss Erin :) I did cookie yesterday night they turn out well but absolutely yours is more delicious than mine. Thanks for your help have a good time :)"

Being me, I can't think of a better email to end this semester on. Here's to the quiet quirky wonderful kids, to spreading the love of cookies, and to two weeks of vacation. G'night.

Dear Warrior,

I sat in your tomb yesterday. In the sacred space encrusted with a spear-pierced shield where your broken body was placed. I sat there, heard my laugh echo, had my picture taken there, ran my hand through the moss growing in the corner, sniffed the moldy lining, in the tiny concrete box that your family, your friends, your enemies, all thought belonged solely to you. A space where you could rest, in peace, forever. Where your loved ones could kneel and drop tears and flowers onto the rocks, where they felt you were safe from further harm, from further desecration. You are no longer there, though. Your organs have long ago dissolved, your hair has been woven into ancient bird nests, and your bones have been scattered across the land, by the hands of thieves and the teeth of dogs. Not a trace of you remains there, where I sat yesterday, feeling alive and whole and happy. And now I wonder whether I should apologize or say thank you.    

howl

it's a pity the moon can't howl back. just to let us know that she's listening. snout to the stars, ears sharpened points, eyes zipped shut, fur on end, paws firmly planted, tail slowly pushing pine needles through the dust. and howling till there's nothing left to howl.