Soup. Meat. Cheese. Bread. Vegetables stuffed with meat. Butter seeping out of everything. Meat stuffed with Meat.
Welcome to Bosnian cuisine! In my attempt to figure out how to correctly spell an amazing meat thing I found a quote that describes it perfectly "No country grills up ground cow better than Bosnia". So true.
So, because the beginning of the week is a little fuzzy, seeing as how it was a week ago, I will be working backwards from my weekend to the beginning of last week. Be prepared, it could get a little scattered.
Sunday: Spent the day laying around watching Netflix and NOT eating and pretending to read about Vikings.
Saturday: Woke up from the best sleep I've had in a very long time. Laid around. Looked at my bags and contemplated unpacking and then decided that was silly and watched a movie instead. Made plans with people to go out...and then discovered that most of my class got sick from Bosnian food. Not meeee. This stomach is a tank. And as my professor stated this morning in class as I ate the free pastries that no one else could eat, "It's actually a new statistic, 4 out of 5 times when looking at Callie, she will be stuffing her face." Thank you Ulrik. Thank you.
Anyway, so those plans turned into plans with Sam, Brooke, Kate, and some of their friends who were studying abroad. We went to the Ice Bar. Which turned out to be a very cold, small, middle aged touristy bar with overpriced not so great drinks. So glad I paid an arm and leg to get that great experience. Oh well. I got to wear a huge parka thing with gloves attached. However, the bartender had a very hard time believing I was 18...and an even harder time believing I was almost 21.
Then we went to Night Fever, which is a bar that plays old school music. Once again, the bouncer questioned my age and asked for ID and patted me on the head and said I could pass for 15.
We did the 8th grade girl thing and circled up and sang backstreet boys, Michael Jackson, and Spice Girls while we drank cheap beer. Sam and I loose the group to exhaustion and make our way to A Bar where they are apparently hi-tech and put you in their system. I was a mix of impressed and nervous about having my picture taken and my id scanned...
We decided after a while to call it a night, especially after Heineken started tasting like water. So what do Sam and I bolt for? Mcdonald's my friends. Mcdonalds. I'm not even going to embarrass myself by telling you the amount of food we consumed as we sat there waiting for the train to come at 5am. I will just tell you this. I'm still full. or "mit" in Danish.
Friday: Woke up too early smelling like a cigarette from the previous night and Catie and I packed up our hotel room that had our belongings scattered all over the place. I hastily consume two rolls with chocolate on top for breakfast and we run off to have a lecture from a media NGO that tries to give Bosnia unbiased news, which is a rare occurrence. Come to find out our lecturer was hungover from the night before. I wish I could preform half that well hungover.
We then had a lecture from Nato. I had to do my best to focus on his words rather than his beautiful Australian accent and his adorable turtle neck. What can I say, it's a weakness of mine. No, really though. He was so extremely interesting and it really sparked an interest for me to get involved in Nato or the UN (even though the UN is a joke for the most part) after Law School. He discussed Nato's role in Bosnia during the war as well as their role in Bosnia today in the post-war conflict. He was brilliant. Alright that's enough about my creepy love for a middle aged Australian man.
After that we ate at a historical house/restaurant where yes, we ate soup, bread, meat, and cheese! And of course desert. Back to the hotel. Wait on the elevator for years. Ride in a cab for more years. Cab driver gets angry because we don't have enough to tip for him putting our bags in the car. Run away. Rush through security. Try to use up the remaining Marks in a duty free store which I was amazed with. Flight to Vienna. Go through security again. Forget I have a mini body wash in my backpack and the security guy and I go round and round about if I have liquids or not...He cursed ( or so I am assuming) at me in German and I slink away after putting everything back in my backpack. Flight back to Copenhagen where I sat awkwardly next to a Danish man who smelled of alcohol and a cologne that made me want to have the reaction that resembled the scene in Anchorman. (For my older generation of readers, it's not important.) Land in Copenhagen. The baggage thingy breaks and we wait for over an hour on our bags. My host dad graciously picks me up at the airport after I pay 12 dollars for a coffee at starbucks. I chatter away as the caffeine rushes through my exhausted body. Go home. Eat steak and chatter more about Bosnia. PASS OUT.
Thursday: MOSTAR. The place that comes up when you google Bosnia. It was by far the most beautiful place I've ever been. We started the morning early on the bus and were given interesting breakfast sandwiches that ended up making the entire bus smell funny for the rest of the day as the sandwiches sat on the hot bus all day. After a long drive we arrive in Mostar where we take a short walking tour through the city with the destination being of course, the famous bridge. Mostar was one of the most effected cities in Bosnia by the war. It was amazing how beautiful a place could still be even with shelled buildings all around.
We met with an NGO whose goal was to create relationships between children of different religions and ethnicities in Bosnia. On a daily basis, Bosnians, Serbs, and Croats are segregated in schools by "shifts" and floors. There history books typically end at the fall of the Berlin wall and the history of the war that is told is left up to individual teachers. So they are all taught different and obviously biased historical accounts making the divide between them resemble the divide between their parents and grandparents. It's a vicious cycle but their are NGO's like the one we met with who are dedicated to trying to bridge this gap with after school activities that will create communication between the youth.
We then had a lot of free time to to explore the old city which was covered in shops and photo ops. (As you can see from my Facebook pictures.) A few of us went to lunch that in Copenhagen would have cost me my budget for a month. It was mouthwatering good. More sightseeing and posing. Then we went to have coffee, wine, tea, and beer by the water. Then. MORE FOOD. I had my first experience with a whole fish. Cutting off the head and tail was a little strange. Good conversations. Good company. Life is good. Back on bus. Alexis and I spend the entire bus ride talking, making the trip seem like 5 minutes.
Get back pretty late. But it's our last night so we decide to make the most it. La Hacienda here we come. I became popular with the middle aged bartender after I ordered a drink called "adios mothaf..." yea. "Sucha big drink vor sucha vittle girl. Buct my most vaforite things come in de smallest sizes." (read in slovak accent...or if you're reading and know Sarah's Russian accent..insert it here.) After drinking said drink, I become a little worried about my tolerance level as I watch the boys in my class get drunk. No fair. We decide to bar hop a little and make our way to a bar called "Cheers" where the bartenders whistle obnoxiously and wear interesting hats. Which I decided I wanted to wear. So I took one.
Back to La Hacienda. Bosnian guy offers to buy me a drink. Culturally naive me sees no problem with this, however, I'm informed by his friend that I need to go sit with him. So I decide to follow the rules as to not be rude. I sip on my drink and we awkwardly chat and try to make the best of our language barrier. Now, it is the end of the night and I have bad eyes. I ask " So you are Jewish?" Him: "Vat?" Me: "You're head thingy" ( ah so politically correct I am) Him: "It's a tobagan" Me: Wow, I'm so sorry..."
I proceed to make my exit...and take my second drink with me even after he offers to take me home with him and make me breakfast. Again, culturally naive, because I later find out that accepting a drink is basically accepting the invitation to a good time and breakfast. Whoops.
Alright. That tis all for now. I know, I know, you can't wait to read more about my very nerdy visits with the EU and my walking tour of Sarajevo where I could barely contain my excitement as I stood where Franz Ferdinand was shot which "started" WWI. But I can only blog for so long and you're attention spans can only take so much. I must now go pretend to read more about Vikings and eat my butter and ham sandwich. mmmm.
Wish you were here.
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