Black Meets The Balkans - Part 106987

Gorgeous pictures of (queen of my world) Grace Jones by Serbian photographer Andrea Klarin





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Fino

Things have been OK, I am just trying to figure out the pace and trajectory of my life at the moment. I have a basic outline, work is in progress.

Here is a brief list of what I have been doing:

• swimming lessons! - As promised, I have been learning to swim at the local pool. I can swim. Not well, but yes, I can! I had a quick dip in the River Sava this Sunday and on Tuesday, we hopped into Lake Bled. I am proud of myself.
  
• work - computer screen staring, keyboard key-pressing, meetings, Excel spreadsheeting, no complaints
  
• driving - Also as promised, I went for about five or six driving lessons, but they were getting expensive, so The Captain has just been making me drive. Things are going well, but I need to get myself a real deadline to be a real driver. I guess I'll give myself until the end of the year.
• socializing - I went to the Captain's family reunion and turned out to be the start guest. People were proud that I could grasp the language and join the fun. The best conversation of the evening was when The Captain took the time to explain that most of the black people you see on television had chemically straightened or fake hair and that my hair was clean and natural.
  

Here are some pictures. I have not been taking many these days, but I will resume.









Hair-ial view

Identifying Features

Once when I was 12 or 13, my family took a trip to Ghana to visit my mother's side of the family. I was certain that, when there, I would fit in perfectly and that my biggest problem would be trying to explain to everyone why I didn't speak the language. I was dead wrong. Everything about me, from my shape to my walk to my clothes to the undertones of my skin, screamed that I was not from there. However all these glaring indicators all took the backburner to the most gleaming one of all: my braces. When I'd smile to meet family and new friends they all peered, and when we posed for family photos they glimmered in the hot sun. So many people marvelled at those thin bands of metal across my teeth that I actually sat down and wrote a funny postcard to my orthodontist thanking him for boosting my fame quotient.

These days I find myself in yet another environment where I am--again--glaringly foreign. However, this time the braces are gone and there is a new site of fascination: my hair. I wear my hair in a dreadlock style that tumbles down my back, and for the past few years I've barely been able to leave the house without someone making some comment. I like my hair and I am pleased with the good job of maintenance I've done, but much like the singer, Indie.Arie, once said, I am not my hair. So it is with some annoyance that I receive questions about my hair on a daily basis, and I really start to tense up with fear and anger when people (without asking) reach out and grab it. While Ihave been curiously peered at in the past, when I had the braces no one ever actually reached into my mouth.

Now there have been full magazine articles and countless blog posts on this topic and I don't aim to type up yet another angry screed....at least not today (too busy). I will accept (for the moment) that the way this happens in America is maybe slightly different than here in Slovenia and thus Slovenians are less deserving of my wrath. And so, while I have no plans to turn everyone's favorite petting zoo into a dangerous wildlife reserve (keep all limbs in the car!), with all the interest in my hair I might just have to find a way to be declared a national monument so I can start charging for admission. With all this inflation, I could certainly use the extra euros.

P.S. I'm not sure why I went two days without posting, I keep going to bed thinking I'd forgot something but couldn't remember what. Oh silly me. Sorry!

Layer(s)

Alright, I'll admit it: I packed totally inappropriately. I'm sorry, so sorry, but I just couldn't bring myself to go out and buy the clothes I really needed for my life here. I did acquire jeans (something I swore I'd never do) and a few warm sweaters, but beyond that I could not. The hiking boots I knew I'd eventually need, the piles of hoodies, I just couldn't. You see, Slovenia is very much like the Bay Area, where I grew up. They are both full of hills and flatlands and small towns and suburbs unto slightly bigger urban spaces, but all featuring large wide open green spaces at nearly every turn. I believe that striking similarity was part of the charm of the place, the feeling of being at home, of course the languages are different and the culture is different but it's very very much the same. Unfortunately, the one place where I so desperately wish the two would diverge is the least likely: fashion.

Yes, you got it, people here dress like people in the Bay Area aaaaaaand I hate the way people dress in the Bay Area. Smart dressing there was all about layers, undershirt under t-shirt under sweater under hoodie. Blech! I have always been a fan of clean lines and I strive to wear clothes that are ever-more flattering to my figure. The bulky bulges and unsightly creases caused by layer upon layer of clothes never struck me as appealing, and so I would often find myself out with friends and either freezing to death or sweating profusely. I didn't care though, because I looked good.

My efforts to look stylish and well-put together got an even bigger boost when I moved to New York City, a fashion capital where even a short trek to the post office was cause to put on high heels and an extra layer of lip gloss. I occasionally spent days just poring through my clothes, trying new ensembles, seeing what worked, posing, posing, posing in front of the mirror. Oh, and I won't even tell you how many fashion blogs I subscribe to...So, naturally, it is much to my dismay that I have put myself in a situation where my pretty dresses and artfully created cardigans have no place. I can scarcely bring mself to look at mine when I open my closet here. For some reason, mouthing the words "I'm sorry" won't cut it, so I avert my eyes.

Yesterday the Captain and I went hiking and he took a few photos of me. Damn those digital cameras! The more I looked at the photos of me, sitting on a rock in flat sneakers, a hoodie, unflattering jeans the more irate I became. As the Captain extended his hand to me to come up to the top of the rock we were climbing, I folded my arms and refused. Not only was I deathly afraid to go any higher but I simply wasn't that girl. He folded his arms and a few minutes of stand-off ensued. Eventually he went on without me as I requested and I stood there and sulked. A few minutes later as he came back down the hill and helped me crawl down, he told me he was proud of me for coming so far up and facing my fear. Later that night as we sat outside in the garden drinking and laughing with our friends from the hood, the temperature began to drop and my body slowly turned into one solid ice block. I stood up and went inside and put on a layer of long johns underneath my clothes. So, it turns out we're gonna have to add an 's' and make that fears, I was facing fears.