It was while crossing the Bulgarian border when we met our first Serbians. The backseat of the bus contained four young men who understood English, happy to speak with us about their country. We heard Serbians were warm, and twenty minutes in, we found this to be true. I learned how to say hello, thank you, please, and good-bye, only to promptly forget. I was going to have to study.
In the evening we arrived in Nis, Serbia's third largest city and the birthplace of Emperor Constantine. We took our numerous backpacks to the apartment, then went in search of Pljeskavica, Serbia's version of the hamburger. We heard they were delicious, and to us, nothing sounded better; our last meal was twelve hours earlier. My daughter is a vegetarian though, so while Adam awaited our order, I took her to purchase a salad next door. When we joined the boys five minutes later, there was much to tell. “A small Roma boy asked me for my hamburger,” Luke related. “The largest rat I have ever seen just ran into the restaurant - but the owner chased him out with a broom,” Adam added. I pulled my food out of its wrappings only to catch the eye of a stray female dog, her underbody heavy with milk for a litter she likely had secreted nearby. We gave half our french fries to the Roma boy and his siblings, and bits of hamburger to the dog.
It would be unfair, however, if you had the wrong impression of Nis due to my first few minutes there. Nis is a college town, and college towns are always vibrant, the youth creating a positive and modern environment. The streets were orderly and well maintained, and that rat was not indicative of low standards - we never saw another. The area near the medieval fortress has a lot of hip cafes and bars with a variety of cuisines. While we were visiting, basketball games were being aired on large outdoor screens, people of all ages gathered to watch with a milkshake in hand. Popcorn vendors are on every corner selling inexpensive bags of the salty treat, and we all enjoyed strolling while munching away.
When we arrived in Serbia, I knew very little about its history, including the civil wars which led to the break up of Yugoslavia. Within one day of being in the country, I was fueled with a fervent desire to understand more. I had been afraid that mentioning we were Americans would result in faint disapproval at the best, and animosity at the worst. America led NATO bombings of Belgrade in the 90's, claiming it was to stop the genocide of Albanians in Kosovo. Ask a Serbian, and they will respond that entering Kosovo was because the Serbs there were being slaughtered by the Albanians. Of course this is a gross over-simplification, but no matter how you view it, our government had a part to play, and there were atrocities on all sides. The only thing I was certain of was that these kind and elegant people were NOT what the media portrayed them, and my heart was greatly stirred. Enter a restaurant or store and the Serbians smile and look you in the eyes. Try and use their language while failing, and they will pleasantly grin and help you over your blunders. They caress Serenna's cheeks and play with her hair with nothing more between us than a hello. In short, they make us feel at home here, and not at all because we bring tourist dollars (something common in other countries). If Serbians view Americans negatively, then that grieves me and is something I want to change via our interactions. I think most Serbians feel the same way. They don't want to be viewed negatively either, and are also eager to change misconceptions. The history of the Balkans is too varied and deep for me to take any stance, but please know that this is a place where you will feel both safe and welcomed when visiting.
We did not go to Nis to sightsee. There are Roman ruins there, important monuments, and an interesting fortress, and I'm certain they deserve to be visited. We went to work and rest while enjoying local customs. My favorite activity in Nis was walking the open air vegetable market two minutes from our apartment. The produce was organic, and as we shopped, grocers handed out taste tests of their produce. We purchased the absolute best grapes any of us has ever tried, for their juices simply sparkled. After we paid for our selections, one of the vendors even insisted on stuffing additional peppers and tomatoes into our bags. After one of these visits, we were peering at a menu in the window of a restaurant when a local policeman and his cronies drew us in and insisted we stay. They were a loud, laughing group, smiling encouragingly as we tried new foods, and filling us in on local lore and attractions.
Our apartment was basic but clean, with only one real flaw. It is very common to smoke in Serbia, and like most establishments there - it stunk. This was to be a problem everywhere we stayed, but after twenty four hours of having the windows open, the smell was greatly diminished. Our patio overlooked a partially destroyed tower of sorts, one that I unfortunately never found out the story behind. I enjoyed sitting on the small balcony, watching the drivers and pedestrians pass by this tower. The Serbian Air Force is stationed nearby, so throughout daylight hours fighter jets in training would swoop through the sky, startling the daylights out of me. On average, every fifteen minutes a horse-drawn wagon would pass by, many times manned by a young Roma boy. Communist era trucks delivered fresh wood for winter fires, and vans with loudspeakers announcing news or political statements made me wish desperately for a translator. It was all so interesting to me, and I could have sat there all day chronicling.
Our final day we visited the nearby Red Cross Concentration Camp. The camp held about 30,000 Serbs, Roma, Jews and Partisans during the German occupation of Serbia. It was also one of the few camps where an organized breakout occurred, resulting in the murder of most remaining inmates. This was the first concentration camp the kids and I had been to, and it was a quite sobering experience, especially after having read "The Hiding Place" by Corrie Ten Boom a year ago. I shared my thoughts on Facebook, and leave them here with you.
"I just finished reading "The Hiding Place," an accounting of the life of Corrie Ten Boom, first a leader of the Jewish underground, and then a concentration camp survivor of WWII. I do not know why up until this point I thought the book meant for youth, but it's probable that this incorrect assumption was to keep me from reading it until the proper time in my life, which I believe was now. The sincerity in which she tells her story, the honesty about her own shortcomings, and her spiritual journey through her sufferings had me nodding in understanding, crying with compassion, and rejoicing over the great "good" that resulted from such evil. Please read this book if you haven't. I'm afraid of crying, but I promise that there will be so much more joy than tears, and so much more inspiration than you may guess. These have ALWAYS been "dark and troubled times," but there is great hope for those who believe.
*Planning a trip to Serbia? Feel free to check out our Serbia board on Pinterest!
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