You know you are in the Balkans when...

Europe » Serbia
September 20th 2009

Published: September 20th 2009

The horn he is blowing on, they sold them all over the festival.Annoying- especially when people tried to compete with the real instruments.

The train you are on starts heading in the wrong direction;already an hour past its expected arrival time.
You look up the menu to see what your options are-Meat..bread...Meat..bread... some cheese.....Meat..bread...
You see buses with rosary beads hanging from the rear-view mirror and images of Jesus and the whole gang staring down at the vehicle's occupants.Gripping on to the seat in front of you, driver hooting his horn.. making yet another unsuccessful attempt at hurdling his way past a group of motorists;you start to think his fondness for all things religious, is less about faith and more about necessity- as he,and the rest of the crazy balkan drivers, need all the help they can get.

Yes,I know,it's been awhile.

Expensive internet cafes; overcoming 'bloggers block';trying to avoid the impatient glares of fellow travellers the second I go over my 15 minutes, on the annoyingly common, single hostel computer-these are just a few reasons why I haven't been able to put finger to keyboard in recent weeks.

But in such a prolonged absence of printed word- I have been advised, that all I have seen/experienced/witnessed may just slip outside the boundaries of my conscious memory.That may just

Lady and child, Romania

What's that saying about a picture and a thousand words?

be true. But I'm hoping at such a point, if that were to happen, my subconscious could pick up the slack.Whether it be today, tomorrow, or ten years from now, when I walk by a taxi, and suddenly remember that time in Romania, when a taxi driver picked up a couple of worn out, penniless hikers who were heading for a small village ,insisting he didn't want any money for his troubles, and who would later,again, come across those same hikers, this time hoping to catch a bus to the big town- and in seeing that the bus had already left, he preceded to chase said bus across town.Pulling up in front of the bus, just in time, before its next designated stop- still,he wanted nothing in return.
It's a seemingly insignificant anecdote like this one that I truly want to remember.Picturesque valleys,ancient architecture and rolling landscapes..well, I figure my camera has all that covered.
It's the moments that are hard to capture on camera that I want imbedded into every inch of my being,so it makes forgetting them, an inconceivable notion.Moments that make me want to wrap them up into little parcels, to be nestled safely away into the

Guca

corner of my thoughts, until the day comes for their unravelling;as the grandkids sit down to hear Grandma's obligatory tales of her worldy escapedes, loves,trials and tribulations of the life that has passed before her.

So, to give voice to those memories that are currently jumping up and down in my thoughts wanting to be heard,I will let my 'stream of consciousness' do the talking.

• Bus ride south, Krakow to Bratislava- Passing through the Tatra Mountains.First 'oh my god' moment in response to Eastern Europe's beautiful landscapes.Wanting to jump off of the bus to go and explore the little villages flying past the window.First instance of many instances to come where all I could do was fight that urge to jump, as my intercity transport would take me past numerous villages that seemed to be beckoning me towards them;to go on in;to explore their people, their daily rituals and the whole community that moulds their character into being.

• Bratislava-yet another castle residing on the edge of town. Could I ever get used to such grandstanding of opulence? Considering that back home, in the land down under,that the only building that has such reverential standing amongst its

Brasov,Romania

people, is the local pub...I should think not.

• First stop in Romania.Timisoara.Watching a local youth, with plastic bag in hand,stumble across a bridge that takes her into the city, where all the tourists migrate.Chroming is rampant on the streets here;I see this same girl three days in a row, always with a firm grasp around her plastic bag-stumbling towards the city. The tourists won't notice;they'll look right through her to get a snapshot of that pretty building that apparently says more about the place they are in then its people ever could.

• Waking up at five in the morning to the unmistakeable rumblings of an approaching thunderstorm,knowing I had at least a 20 minute walk (now a really fast one) ahead of me to catch my 6 o'clock train to Belgrade.Today was not the day I was going to overcome my fear of thunderstorms. Beginning to think this fear of mine isn't so irrational when I arrive under shelter,only to hear the crack of lightning strike just outside the station-consequently putting any attempt at overcoming that fear, on hold, for at least another ten years.

• Meeting up with Dutchman, Aike,my travel buddy of ten days.Making

Another cute kid

As soon as he saw me taking this photo, he asked for some $$.Cute, but no muso.

our way to the usually quaint, Serbian village of Guca.Normal population, around 2000.Population when we would be there-a few hundred thousand. Over 5 days in August ,Serbians and an ever growing number of foreigners,annually make their way to this small scope of land to shake their rumps to the balkan beats of Eastern Europe. Strolling on into the makeshift bars and restaurants, over to the diners tables,the bands would belt out a tune,hoping that their music would be the one to really make the people shake it;and shake it the people did- on top of chairs and tables being the favoured option for their shaking.To turn 25 years young at a festival like this..in Serbia..well there is just one word-unforgettable.
Naturally, I did my own booty shaking at such a realisation.

• Guca-pitching our tent atop of one ridiculously steep hill. Being a music festival, with drunken jolly people and all, it should come as no surprise that some of those drunken jolly people would look up at that hill and think 'gee I would really love to roll down that right now'. So, surprised I shouldn't have been, when I was to wake around 5 one morning to the

Guca

Just another band waiting for their turn in the limelight

sounds of people giggling just outside the tent,then to be followed by dead silence;just before a whoosh of air was heard rushing straight down,towards our tent,only to skim past taking one of the tent pegs out on its way. I can only presume a good time was had by all,as I was to find no dead bodies at the bottom of the hill, when I was to wake a few hours later to a brass instrument sounding out its morning call, somewhere in the village below.

• Arriving in Brasov, Romania; to be found by one very special elderly man.
Radu.
Radu spends every day,religiously going to the Brasov train station keeping an eye out for backpackers who are looking for a place to stay. But he doesn't just give you a bed and some space to put your bags like the average hostel does. Radu will make you feel at home,giving you a private room at the same rate as a hostel room, while you'll come to notice as you walk past his room that he sleeps in a room not much bigger than a closet,and a bed not much bigger than a toddlers.He will cook you

Meeting a shephard and his apprentice on the beginning of our hike

Even though these two appeared to be quite drunk,slurring their Romanian words and all..the sheep,goats and donkeys were the best trained herd I had ever seen. It seems getting drunk,while moving your cattle,works. Maybe you should give it a go Dad.

breakfast,take you to the train station,come to tell you all about the strange and wonderful people he has had stay with him over the 30 years he has been doing this for.
But the most special encounter you may have with Radu is when he sees that you are alone after you and a travel buddy have parted ways. He might invite you to sit with him at his kitchen table that night while he feeds you copious amounts of food, and too much local brew while you share words and laughter about the absurdities of life.
The next morning he might see you off at the station, giving you a big bear hug while telling you he hopes you two meet again,wherever and whenever that may be.
I know that Radu will continue to be a special memory for me,not just from Romania,but hopefully through all my years of travel to come.Because he performed the most simple,but often looked over, action, a human being can perform.He reached out when he thought somebody needed it.
So, if you ever jump off of the train in Brasov, wanting a place to stay, look out for Radu. He's the short,round,glasses wearing, 70

Serenade

No one would give this poor guy a chance. Aike did. Paying, to hear his tunes. You can see by the condition of his violin that he was no Andre Rieu.Sweet, and sad.

something year old man, of Mexican appearance.Oh and wearing an Australian cap. No,he's not Australian.Somebody just gave it to him.Which makes him even more special in my eyes.

• Going hiking in the Romanian Mountains.
Unfit for such a thing? Yes. Crazy? Yes. But am I being given the opportunity to go hiking in the beautiful Romanian mountains,and for that reason should I just shut the hell up and do it? Once again, yes.
After being warned about bears, not once,not twice,but many many times(yes,bloody bears!)...we thought 'hey we'll still give it a shot'..More Aike's thinking than mine to be honest,by that stage I didn't know whether the locals were more into fact telling or fairytales. Waking up,on the first morning of the hike, I started to think I should never doubt the locals again as I heard the growling from unidentified animals coming from just a few metres away. Poking his head out the door,Aike spotted a pack of stray dogs having a bit of a tiff, who in turn, decided he was more interesting then their little misunderstanding and came sprinting towards the tent..Rolling up into fetal position and squealing like a girl, I didn't know which

Nationalism,Guca

Popular in Serbia. Particularly in the young. He held his flag up like a badge of honour when he saw me taking a photo.

was worse at that point, a bear or a pack of dogs , just as one landed on my head, only for them all to run off and to never be seen again.
A few nights later- again, I was wondering if the bear deserved its tag as 'the animal you should feel most threatened by when camping in the Romanian mountains' as I went back into my now common fetal position,squealing like a girl, as a horse galloped (ok,probably cantered) towards the tent.By chance, or from the horse simply realising at the last minute, it would look like a massive dickhead running over a couple of hikers in a tent-our lives were spared.

• The feeling of elation as we made it to our destination just on dark after having walked uphill for the last two or so hours.The split decision on my behalf to attempt such a walk in the late hours of the day was probably a bit stupid,but god damn worth it for the view outside the tent door the next morning.

Ok, I've decided to cut it off here for now and to do this in two parts. Who knew I