Month 11.2. Thoughts on the Balkans.

Part A.

One interesting thing about living in the Balkans is finding out what the Balkans actually are.

I remember hearing a long time ago about an outbreak in a region called "Kosovo" that wanted to separate from some other region. I didn't know what that other region was. I had to look at a map to locate Kosovo. Once I saw where it was, the news still meant nothing to me. I remember wondering, somewhat guiltily, why I should be concerned. I didn't know anyone there. I didn't know the region's culture, geography, language, religion, or history. It only seemed important because it was everywhere on the news. It was also in Europe, and I had family there. And finally, there was a song I really liked that mentioned Sarajevo – and that was somewhere near Kosovo, and had to do with some kind of separatist movement too. The song was by my favorite band at the time, the Cranberries, so I figured something important must be happening over there. (That really was my reasoning. I felt emotional about the war in so far as there was a pretty song about it. My Istanbul roommate later made it clear that I have absolutely no understanding for wars or sympathy for the people involved, probably due to my peaceful upbringing in a peaceful country.)

Now, ten or fifteen years later, I live "over there." I've learned a few things since first finding Kosovo on a map. Kosovo separated from Serbia, which still doesn't recognize Kosovo's independence. Kosovars are mostly Albanian-speaking Muslims. In some towns, Serbian and Turkish are also spoken. Kosovo is landlocked and hilly. The people are relatively poor, but have been more consistently helpful, personable and hospitable than in any other country I visited. Sarajevo is the capital of Bosnia and Herzegovina. It was one of the central areas of fighting when Yugoslavia broke apart. Bosnia is divided between Muslims in the north and Catholics in the south. All speak the official language of Bosnian, which is basically another dialect of the ex-Yugoslavian language of Serbo-Croatian (and the meaning of "Serbo-Croatian" is a whole other story).

So where is "over here"? Many travelers have asked me about what the term "Balkans" actually means. Is it a geographical term? Political? Cultural? From what I've researched, there is no consensus. Greeks, Croatians and Turks have told me that "Balkan" is officially a geographical term, sometimes defining the regions south of the Danube and sometimes defining other borders. But then one Greek guy went on to say, "I have no job, I drink espressos all day, and I don't worry about the future. So, you see, I'm Balkan." For him, the term "Balkan" has a de facto cultural meaning regardless of its official geographical meaning. And the Turks who agreed upon the geographical definition did not see themselves as Balkan even though they fit their own criteria.

The lines are equally blurry along the northern borders. Slovenia lies north of the Danube. Its geography is similar to Austria's. It's an EU member. But Slovenia is an ex-Yugoslav country. The language is closely related to Serbian and Macedonian. The cultures are similar. The term "Balkan" is often contrasted with "European," and Slovenia is torn between the two. As is Croatia. You can see Austro-Hungarian influence in the north and Italian influence in the south. Everyone is talking about when Croatia will join the EU. And yet, the daily life resembles the "traditionally" Balkan countries of Serbia and Macedonia. Unemployment is high, students stay students as long as possible, family is important, coffee is important, meat and alcohol are popular, most people smoke, men are manly and women are feminine. (I noticed around Split today the same half-built block concrete houses as I saw in Albania, Macedonia, and Kosovo. So even the architecture ties Croatia to the east.)

So now that I've lived here almost five months, I can't really tell you where the "here" is that I now feel close to. Yes, I feel linked to Croatia. But I also feel linked to Slovenia. And I don't feel linked to, say, Dubrovnik or Rijeka. Within Croatia it's really just Split I feel, because here everyone sees themselves as different from other Croatians. And everyone everywhere in Croatia seems to feel different from everyone everywhere else in Croatia. So when I try to think of where my home is now, I can't tell you if it's Split, Croatia, the Balkans, Europe, or just my own little room in our apartment on top of Marjan Hill. Things are blurry. Borders are blurry. And therefore they're not really worth fighting over.

Part B

Mornings were priceless in Split. It was mid-November. Cheesy woke up early and left the house without a coat on. The sun was white and the sky was the kind of deep, pure blue that you only get in autumn. The mandarins were ripe and the vines were shedding their leaves. She walked down a side street to get to the center, dodging construction workers and dog-walkers. She saw the burek-man pushing his cartful of pastries from the bakery to the shops. She was going to the fish market. It was a calm, clear day, so the catch would be good. She smelled the market before she saw it. As always, it was buzzing with people and flies. She wandered around a bit, observing some monstrous creatures she could never imagine being in anyone's stomach. Finally she bought a kilogram of mullets for $2 and brought them home to refrigerate.

The point of this story is that there is so much beauty in such simple things. Sometimes only foreigners can see it. That's why there are still tourists, even though everyone always complains about them. When you see something from the outside, you see a beauty that gets lost when you get caught up in all the complications within. This is why storybooks always end when the love-stricken man finally gets the beautiful woman: after that, the simplicity of her beauty gets lost under familiarity and personality. Cheesy didn't think that familiarity and personality were bad things, or were impossible to love. On the contrary, after many years love re-directs itself to precisely those things. But still there was real truth to the saying, "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder." The Balkans were beautiful to Cheesy, and more so because Cheesy was not Balkan. Cheesy had the privilege of watching the world from without while living within. She was the starry-eyed beholder, and to her there was no beauty like those simple autumn mornings in Split.