Now don't get me wrong, I love the Slovene language. I work on it everyday, practicing with whomever is nearby, listening to others speak, asking questions, doing vocabulary drills. I reckon I learn about a few dozen new words everyday. I am doing what I can to make this relationship work.
But I have to face the facts, and admit that I am not ready to move to the next level. I tried to be agreeable when I downloaded Firefox and found that it automatically set itself to Slovene. Great!, I thought, another handy way to learn the language. No problem. So I've left it that way, but then more and more programs decided to follow suit and I soon found myself staring at a small indecipherable error window, racing to my slovar to find out what had happened. It was just too much. So yesterday when I downloaded GIMP and saw that it had been "auto Slovenicized" I searched around trying to figure out how to un-poslovaniti it. Luckily the forums had an answer..I had to delete everything but English. And so I did, and it was solved.
But never fear! While Slovene may be deleted from that program it will never delete from my heart. We're just taking it one step at a time, so I'll give it the keys to my apartment.... but it can't move in yet.
Friday, November 30, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
I am sitting here now considering whether or not to go see Laibach tomorrow, and I just came across this.
Now I would probably never go see 50 Cent in America ever. I am definitely a hip-hop fan, but hip-hop shows are notoriously not very dynamic. However, in this case, there is this little part of me that is curious to watch the spectacle of a hip-hop show here as I'd probably be the only non-performing black person there. It'd be like the old Apollo in Harlem or something with all white audiences watching black people shimmy and shake across the stage. I am curious whether I would cry or laugh or double over in pain. I guess the only way to know is to go. I wonder whether Laibach might show up?
Monday, November 26, 2007
This funny little story caught my eye the other day. Opera singer Tony Henry was tapped to sing the Croatian national anthem for the England - Croatia game and apparently may have made a tiny linguistic blunder that really pleased the Croatian fans, many of whom are still singing his praises on message boards. Watch it with (a possible) translation below.
Friday, November 23, 2007
I have met some of the most avid travellers here in Slovenia. While I have no doubt that this has much to do with how interested and open-minded they are, I also think this wanderlust can be attributed to the fact that the country is pretty small and (depending on where you are) if you go out on a long walk you might just find yourself in another country anyhow! I just discovered the website of one of Slovenian's most avid travellers, photojournalist ,Zvone Šeruga who just published a very interesting-looking book, Nazaj v Afriko (Back to Africa) about a return trip to Africa after a decade.
The website is in Slovene, but you can click here to see more of his beautiful photos from this book and others he's taken around the world (including Slovenia, below).
Thursday, November 22, 2007
Yesterday a very kind friend invited The Captain and I to join her in fancy box seats for the Drama production of Tennessee Williams' Orpheus Descending. The Captain had been itching to go to the theater for a while, but was worried that I wouldn't understand; so this was the perfect opportunity. My friend gave me a brief synopsis of the plot beforehand and would kindly lean over a few seconds after a pivotal scene and quickly explain what had happened. While a lot of the language flew right past me, I still had a fairly good understanding of what was happening, and I think I must attribute this to the skill of the actors in acting out the story not only with words, but with their bodies. I must especially highlight here the great physicality of award-winning actress, Silva Čušin. With a small but strong dancer-like body she seemed to leap and glide across the stage, and I was gripped with her every move. She is an interesting person to watch (she reminded me a bit of Broadway star, Donna Murphy) and I would definitely love to see her perform again.
Since I spent so much time watching the bodies, I was also pretty focused on the clothes and I must also commend the great Ljubljana-based costume designer, Alan Hranitelj, for a job well-done with the women's costumes. While they decided against making it all look retro 50s, the clothes still had a great vintage feel. There were some ensembles that I coveted and frankly I had to restrain myself from jumping onstage and grabbing a few. Hranitelj is one of the big creative talents of this country and his name keeps coming up in conversation. In fact, I actually found myself lunching (with Dr.Fil) one table away from him about a month ago. He was the subject of a large museum show last year and the exhibition was well documented, after all these encounters I think it is time for me to finally "study up" on this very smart and stylish man.
So, all in all, I give my first theater experience a big thumbs up. I noticed The Captain picking up the season schedule on our way out, so I am certain we will be back soon. Bravo!
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
For some reason, I turned to The Captain the other day and queried, "What's going on in Bosnia? I haven't heard anything in a while. Maybe I should drop them an email." Well A Fistful of Euros has posted that Bosnia's government is in the midst of collapse and explains what that means exactly.
Also, on Fistful is an excellent update on the status of the Balkan states in their race for EU membership. I am really disappointed to hear that the EU is not taking a harder line on social justice issues and trying to bring war criminals to justice before granting S&A status. I was a young punk rocker and while I have grown up and out of a lot of my "anti-everything" attitude, I am still looking at the EU and some of its policies with a very wary sideways glance (hey I'm also a political scientist). I am interested to see how things unfold so I'm glad to have found the Fistful website.
In other Balkan news, on the heels of the Croatia - England game, the Croatian football coach was arrested last night for shoplifting stationary... I find this ironic considering the horrific time I had sending post in Croatia this summer. Nonetheless, I can't shake have the sneaking suspicion that this might be a slight English conspiracy. I don't much care about football, but if I did I think I'd root for Croatia this time around.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Monday, November 19, 2007
If I had to name the one thing that I missed the most about New York it would have to be the subway. One simple egalitarian system for anyone to get just about anywhere they needed to go. My friends took it, my foes took it, even the mayor rides it to work. It's pretty fast, pretty reliable, pretty clean, and it runs 24 hours a day. What else could you ask for?
In NYC, people with cars were only of interest when it was cold and/or when you had something heavy to move. When you rode with them you usually got an earful of their car-owning woes from the high cost of gas and insurance to the endless parking tickets and the difficulties of finding a decent parking spot. So, most everyone I knew was moving by subway, bicycle (in the warmer months), and the occasional yellow cab ride when we were too drunk or tired to safely descend the subway stairs. It was a sweet situation that ensured that you could make it to just about any cool event your heart desired, even last minute. But, alas, I don't live there anymore. I live here in Wheelville, and while there is the trusty train to get me to and from Ljubljana, it seems that it is simply not enough. I feel like I am missing out on a little too much. And in order to rectify that I am going to have to accept that this--like many places in the world, including where I grew up--is a car place and, as much as it pains me, I am going to have to become a car person.
You might be wondering how I managed to grow up in such a car-centric place and still not be a decent driver. Well, without getting into the torrid story of my sad past with cars, I can tell you that--while I tip my hat to the people that helped me--I just didn't get the best instruction and I had far too little driving time. I had a few shakey sessions with my father, a few more with my stepfather, and quite a few better ones from a grad student I found on craigslist who I paid to let me tool around in her old stickshift Volvo. These lessons were enough to get me through my driver's test and have my smiling face stamped onto a driving license at the ripe old age of 21, but right after I got that license, I graduated from college and moved straight to New York where I drove a car a total of two times. The second time ended in peril and destruction and I felt certain I'd stay in New York forever, take the subway everywhere, and never think of driving again. As time has moved on however, I've thought more and more about how unfortunate it would be if I let that one accident close the door on my driving career. So it was with much pleasure that I was given the news that The Captain had arranged some professional driving lessons for me.
I have never had formal driving lessons since they are not required in California, but I think that may be just the ticket. In fact, I think that's what I've needed all along: a trained professional who will not flinch and jump at everything, someone who can give me calm succinct instructions in exchange for payment. Someone cool behind the wheel who will teach me how to be almost as cool. I think that is worth the price he's asking; so, hopefully, this week, I will be gliding down the road relearning the moves. If all goes well I will, slowly but surely, rejoin the ranks of the well-wheeled. Here goes...
(btw, in case you were wondering after reading both this and the swimming post in less than a month, yes I am brainstorming new year's resolutions. 2008 will be a big year.)
Friday, November 16, 2007
Yesterday I bundled up and trudged out to the mailbox. I was going out to the garden anyway¨, so despite the fact that I most likely didn't have any mail, I didn't mind grabbing the (mostly junk) mail for my house mates. But luck of lucks! Not only did I received a small package from my dad (the 3rd one in as many months!), but I also finally received my belated Halloween package from a new friend in Iceland. An orange envelope with a letter written on orange paper and a CD (not orange) in an orange case! Fun, fun, fun.
I've always loved getting mail, but when it comes from an ever greater distance it is all the more sweet. A kind little reminder that someone somewhere cares about you though you may be very far away.
Oh and despite some horror stories I've heard, I've (so far) found Slovenian Post to be super-reliable thus far!
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
(via The Glory of Carniola) I just read this incredibly insightful article by Croatian writer, Vladimir Arsenijevic, about the history of the conflict in Kosovo.
Here are some of the most amazing quotes
But right at the very bottom came the Albanians who lived in the southern Serbian province of Kosovo. Their language wasn't a Slavic language. They were poorer than the rest of us. Their culture was pretty alien. In the motley collection of different kinds of Yugoslavs they, as the southernmost ethnic group, were condemned to play the role of the absolute outsiders.
Anything that the rest of us in former Yugoslavia claimed to know about the Albanians was put together from a hodgepodge of offensive cliches.
A few years ago the Serbian media reported for months on end on mass graves whose dead had been identified by forensic experts as Kosovo Albanians. One of the most horrific images was that of a refrigerated lorry out of which murdered Kosovo Albanian women, children and old people were disposed in Lake Perucac, near the mouth of the river Derventa. On our screens we saw half-decayed, clothed corpses being pulled out of the water, we heard the shocking confession of the driver, who had been told to transport the dead out of Kosovo in order to cover up the crime. At the time a Belgrade television station broadcast an interview with a man bathing untroubled in this beautiful lake from whose green waters the corpses had just been pulled. When the reporter asked whether this bothered him the simpleton stood there shaking his head as the water dripped off him. Blinking innocently and smiling laconically, he looked at the camera and said without turning a hair: "To be honest, I don't believe all that," and dived defiantly back into the water.
This article is definitely a must read. When I tell friends and family where I have moved, I always inevitably get questions about these Balkan conflicts. My friends here sometimes try to argue that this is a totally unique situation and push "ancient enemies" explanations on me. I know I still have lot to learn, but when, in the first sentence, the writer says "Kosovo Albanians used to be simply 'our negroes'", I know I am not treading on terribly unfamiliar territory.
Definitely check out that article!
There is something about an event that starts with the word "Girls'", "Ladies'" or "Womens'" that strikes fear in the heart of many a man. Alas, though I've tried (and will continue trying), The Captain is no different. When I told him I was going to an expat "Girls Night Out" I think he immediately got the vision of a veritable United Nations of women coming together to devise ways to draw and quarter him for his many (real? imagined?) indiscretions against our fairer sex in his youth. While I did little to disuade his fears he was still kind enough to promise to pick me up when I was finished.
And so, yesterday evening I went to my first official expat event and the first proper female gathering I've been to in a while (not counting the day of my unfortunate accident). We handful of ladies gathered at the big soulless cinema to grab a pizza and check out a film. I had a great time enjoying the company and being regaled with great stories from a no-nonsense New Jersey native who's been here for 20 years. Later, while we sat in the film, I was able to help translate a few of the Arabic scenes for a Dutch member of the group using the Slovene subtitles (she's been here for a month longer than me but my Slovene is progressing faster since she spends all day speaking Dutch at the embassy!). So that was also fun.
When the movie ended, The Captain called to say he was almost there. I hugged all the women quickly, with promises to meet up again soon. As I skipped out to the car with a big smile on my face, The Captain grinned and flicked the door knob up. He was pleased to know that we'd only had light discussion over pizza and that his certain doom had been averted for at least one more day.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Friday, November 9, 2007
Early this spring, in anticipation of my sailing trip in Croatia and as part of a new year's resolution, I decided to tackle a big fear and take a swimming course. I'd been needing to learn how to swim for a long time. Before you ask, let me tell you there was no swimming requirement in any of the physical education/fitness classes in school and quite honestly if they had required it, I think I would have protested and accepted a failing grade instead of hopping in. I remember standing in the group with the other black girls at many a pool party with our freshly straightened hair flinching at the slightest flick of water in our direction. None of us were going to risk having our tenuously straight hair shrink up to a very unstylish (in our minds) tight curly afro in exchange for one or two rousing matches of Marco Polo. No way were we gonna face the wrath of the hot comb (the source of many a scorched ear) so soon.
And so I found myself at the YMCA amongst the few other adults humble enough to step forward and say yes, we can't swim. I was looking forward to gaining some real practical skills that would help me avert death if our boat were to have an unfortunate accident or become besieged by pirates. Unfortunately for me, my instructor did not see fit to teach me all those handy things like dead man's float and doggie paddle; he chose, instead, to focus on the Total Immersion method in which I spent 6 weeks only learning how to breathe and kick and nothing of how to use my arms or actually stay alive in the water. I tried to speak to my instructor about this and express the urgency but I think he had to much water and chlorine on the brain so in his peculiar fake Austrian accent he would just nod and say "I know, but I just wanna see you kick right now. Kick kick kick". At the end of the first 6 week section when I told him I was now off on my way to the sailing trip he looked me sternly in the eye and said "Don't get in the water. Wear a life jacket the whole time."
Luckily, I had a wonderful trip and despite going without a life jacket there were no mishaps and I lived. I returned to Brooklyn ready for the next session of swimming, but after about two crummy lessons and frustration (mostly because I couldn't find a large enough swim cap-- i tried many!-- and the chlorine was drying my hair out and causing chunks to just fall out) I stopped going.
So it is one of God's cruel jokes that I am now a member of the gym where many members of the Slovenian National Swim Team train. Everytime I go into the locker room it is a serious reminder that I have unfinished business. Their slick smiling faces taunt me with the knowledge that if we fell off a boat, I'd better "come with them if i want to live". And so, I am filing for an extension of last year's resolution and hoping that I can get the job done next year.
There is one small consolation in all of this, if I fail to accomplish this goal my gym has a fully functioning liquor bar (pictures coming soon!) where I can drown (no pun intended) my sorrows. But here's to hoping that'll be a celebratory drink!
Wednesday, November 7, 2007
Yesterday I went over to Ljubljana for the first time in what felt like ages. It was a bit of a shambles. I had to meet a colleague for dinner and as I waited I realized my phone had run out of credit and was running low on juice. Alas I missed meeting with the fantastic Dr. Fil, and so I ended up meandering through a very bizarre exhibit at Mestni Muzej, where I encountered a hyper little pig with a small video camera on its back walking around the space and wagging its tail. Despite that and my general aversion to going back into the cold, I was too incredibly bored after about five minutes to stand around there any longer, and so I left. I walked the cold streets of Ljubljana a bit more and ended up at Cankarjev Dom where I went to catch three New York grand dames of avant- garde jazz. I am no big fan of the genre but I needed a little culture in my life. It was an interesting show.
Anyway, here are some pictures.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
Mighty Boosh and the Nanageddon song
The other day as I was complaining to a new translator friend about the aging of the Slovenian population and the lack of a great feeling of youthful energy here (I think the words "this is old people heaven" were uttered), and he gave me a very interesting fact. Apparently in previous generations your grandparents and elders were referred to in the plural. This means that when referring to your grandmother, instead of saying ona je (she is) you would say oni so (they are). Meaning that your grandmother (or grandfather) was held up as this superhuman, larger-than-life, so nice they named it twice being, more than just a mere mortal, she was Supergranny!
Now, I am all for respecting my elders, but that just seems excessive. No matter how lovely your grandparents are/were they are certainly human and fallable. Now I don't know why this terminology went out of favor; my friend suggests that the country changed over from a feudal way of thinking and oni so went out "their" door. I can't be sure, but I am glad to hear it is gone. I know I am biased in this regard, but I like to hear about positive change here. While I respect aspects of the past, I'd be horrified to have to live in it.
Monday, November 5, 2007
The Captain and I walk around Lake Bled at least once a week, usually in the evenings after dinner. However, thanks to the holidays last week, we got a chance to walk around during the day. I encountered this marvelous statue and became a little obsessed with photographing it. Here are a few images.
Friday, November 2, 2007
I managed to drag The Captain down to the cemetary yesterday for Dan na spomin mrtve (Day of the Dead/ All Saints' Day). He hadn't been in years. We got there late and his family were all surprised to see us as we walked up to his father's grave/ family plot. I was pretty dressed up (new 60s style swing dress from H&M, hair in an updo, and my big shades on) and as I clomp clomp clomped down the hills and through the old stone alleyways , I felt very French new wave. Some strangers were staring at me as if I was ruining the solemnity of the thing, but really I think they were angry because I was slightly taking away from the "check out my new Benz, peep my new Prada boots" parade. The Captain was kind of enjoying it all as it meant the attention was off of him, so I was glad to be of service. Anyway. Here are some pics (sorry I forgot to take a pic of myself).
Yesterday was shockingly clear and beautiful, these days have been the most beautiful autumn I've ever experienced. I need a new camera.