Most people would not plan a trip into a war torn country in the Balkans for their first experience in Europe but here I am in a car waiting to get through the border as I leave Croatia and enter Bosnia. The excitement of being here is defeating my body’s desire to give in to the effects of jet lag. Not only did I travel 10 time zones to the east, but I also left the sunny winter days of Southern California and arrived in the dull frigid days in East Central Europe. Remnants of a recent winter storm still whiten the plains and add a contrasting background for the gray barren trees and the golden winter grasses.
The devastating war ended a few years ago but I could easily be convinced that it was last week. The town of Bosinski Brod lies in complete ruins. Rooftops along the river facing Croatia are all caved in and the crumbled brick walls of what I assume were houses is all I can see. The bridge into Bosnia looks completely untouched by the war but that is because the old bridge was bombed and the new one recently arrived courtesy of the United Nations. The road is filled with holes from what is sure to be a combination of Bosnian winters and three years of war. Burned cars still line the roadway reminding all that pass through that much work is still needed to restore any sense of order. Yellow tape displaying the word, “mine” litters the countryside and surrounds nearly every house. No, these are not selfish people declaring what property belongs to them, this is a warning that active land mines are still in the area and will need to be removed.
Entering Bosnia, I feel like I have traveled back in time at least 50 years. Horse drawn wagons loaded with freshly cut firewood pass by on the only road through town. Tired looking elderly men hardly notice our car as they steer the wagon through the brisk winter air. Their eyes are cold and the deep wrinkles hide the stories of pain from the brutal conflicts that fill this land’s history. Think of every major empire that has ruled the world and you will find the Balkan region on the list of conquered lands. From the Greco Empire of Alex the Great, to the oppressed lands of Communist Russia, the people of this region have endured them all. And with each empire, the people of this region adopted new ideologies and new ways of living. As a result, division and conflict is the way of life.
I continue to head south through Bosnia in the region known as Srbska Republica (Republic of Serbia) not to be confused with the present day country of Serbia. I am amazed at the vast amount of destruction throughout the land. We drive on and on and are hard pressed to find any houses fit for living. House after house lie in ruins from the brutal conflict that pitted neighbor against neighbor with nothing other than religion serving as the dividing line. The landscape is beautiful as densely wooded hills slope carelessly into a meandering river valley. It is hard to believe that this land that seems so peaceful could have been wrapped in a conflict so fierce. The landscape continues like this throughout the better part of the country with only occasional towns to break the monotony of the scenic drive.
In each town I see evidence of new beginnings but I also see evidence of lessons unlearned as newly constructed mosques and churches stand face to face across the town. It is almost as if each religion is more concerned that the church buildings survived the war than the people who will fill those buildings. It is not uncommon in Bosnia to see a mosque across the street from a Catholic church or an Orthodox church. Each religion insisting that the actions of their people were justified throughout the war. It is important to know that in Bosnia, one’s religion is equal to one’s nationality. Orthodox Christianity is a Serbian religion, Catholicism is synonymous with Croatian, and Bosnian means Muslim. One can imagine the dilemma when one’s parents each represent a different religion.
On my journey to Bosnia, I traveled with a man whose mother was a non-Muslim Bosnian married to a Serb. She served in the Yugoslavian National Army during Croatia’s war for independence, but when that war ended and the struggle in Bosnia began, she had to leave the army and live separated from her husband. At the time of this journey, she lived in central Bosnia, and he still lived in Belgrade (Serbia). Their son, my friend, split time between living with his mother and father. This perfectly healthy marriage is just one of the many unnoticed casualties of the war.
Another more obvious casualty of this war was the reason for this visit. Over the next week, I would establish connections with a state run orphanage that housed hundreds of children, many of whom survived three years of brutal conflict. One boy, who I will write about more in detail at a later time, lost his younger brother in the war so his mom brought him to the orphanage as she fled to Macedonia. He was just 5 years old and still recalls in vivid detail how he felt as he watched his mother drive away leaving him to his new home. I would soon learn that stories like this were hidden deep in the eyes of everyone I would meet. Each person had stories of how the war changed their lives. Elderly couples recalled “the good o’l days” of life under the dictatorship of Joseph Tito, young kids dreamed of life on “the outside”, and those in between stared blankly as if the past few years of war wiped any sign of life that once flourished in their eyes.
One U.N. worker I met warned me that Bosnia has a strange appeal to it and that after visiting most people find that they need to return. My experience in Bosnia was just beginning, but with new friendships and plenty of work to do this attraction would set in and I would become a regular visitor of this mysterious land.
Monday, October 16, 2006
Thursday, October 12, 2006
On Riding the Bus
Sometimes we don't have to travel to find adventure.
One day I had the great fortune of waking up too early. By too early I mean before the sun. Many great men have done well by living by the proverb, “the early bird gets the worm”, but I am no great man. I prefer giving the sun some time to chase off the devils and to warm the air. One who believes he must be ahead of the schedule set by the sun is too ambitious to really live. But this is not the point. The point is one day I rose too early.
Because I rose before the sun I was in no state to think clearly. So without thought I left my house into the cold and the dark of morning. For no particular reason I walked to a coffee shop. In a moment of temporary insanity I even thought of jogging. But even with the delirium of morning and the trickery of night demons, I resisted the temptation and continued at a casual pace.
When I reached the coffee shop I met many others who were either too ambitious or, like myself, too tired to remain in bed. Apparently a whole sub group of people denies the sun each day to gather at the local coffee shop. It is amazing what problems are solved and what philosophies are made by a group of people surviving on caffeine and cigarettes. I have seen these people in the heat of day, but I had no idea that they began their process of sitting outside of coffee shops so early. I was so impressed that they were not in bed that I sat down with them to discuss life.
We talked about politics, religion, and even important things like sports. To my amazement this group of people were able to formulate an opinion on each subject. I even thought of bringing up imaginary theories to hear their opinion. I was certain that given the opportunity to talk about fairies, this group could discuss the pros and cons of their existence. At least someone would relay a personal account of an interaction with a fairy. The ability of these people to talk about any and everything was inspiring. Perhaps I too should leave bed too early each day.
When the sun was fully at work and the air reached a comfortable temperature, I decided to walk to the bus stop. I never ride the bus and don’t even have a need to do so, but this day was different. Perhaps it was because I rose too early and was still feeling the ill effects of this decision, or maybe it was the inspiration of the morning’s dialogues. Whatever the reason, there I was waiting for the bus.
When the bus arrived I asked the driver where he was heading and if he wouldn’t mind if I came along. The driver said that for a dollar I may ride as long as I desired, or as long as the bus was in service. So I boarded the bus and took a seat next to a rather large woman. It was not because it was the only available seat; in fact most seats were available. I was feeling a sense of new life and adventure so why not continue the adventure with another new acquaintance. If she cursed and threw me into the aisle my life would grow to new depths. If she opened up in conversation, I would find myself on the edge of a great new adventure. If she simply ignored me, I would still get to where I was going, even if I had yet to determine this destination.
My heart skipped with excitement when she asked if I would mind sitting in a new seat. It was not exactly a perfect conversation starter, but it was successful nonetheless. I kindly consented and asked if she was saving the seat for someone else. Looking rather shocked she said, “no, but there were plenty of other seats open for you to use.”
“But what if those seats belong to someone else? Do you know if anyone rides the bus and has a seat they prefer?”
Again looking shocked she said, “Well, a young lady and her baby sit in those seats right over there. And an elderly man usually sits behind me. He likes to go to the mall to walk and to watch people. Oh… and a very nice looking man gets on in a few stops on his way to work. He drives a delivery truck and is always very friendly.”
On and on she described a bus full of people all of whom join her on the daily ritual of sitting in silence as a stranger drives to different locations throughout town. I was so excited about my new adventure that I paid no attention to where I was going. My new friend and I talked and talked as the bus lumbered through the hills of our quiet town. Our conversation abruptly ended as she informed me that this was her stop so we said “goodbye” and we were on our way.
The fortunes of the day’s events were almost too much to handle. Purely by accident I rose early, discussed new philosophies, met new friends, and just when I couldn’t expect another thing I glanced out the window and realized the bus driver took me straight to my workplace. He politely stopped the bus for me, I thanked him for the ride, and headed off to work. I was so excited of how this day was proceeding that I was no longer bothered that I woke up so early.
My co-workers must have noticed a spring in my step as I greeted them with a smile. When asked why I was so cheery I told them it was because I rode the bus to work. When asked why I rode the bus to work I could only respond, “because if I rode the bus to the beach I might lose my job”. That would be another adventure worth trying. Maybe tomorrow…
One day I had the great fortune of waking up too early. By too early I mean before the sun. Many great men have done well by living by the proverb, “the early bird gets the worm”, but I am no great man. I prefer giving the sun some time to chase off the devils and to warm the air. One who believes he must be ahead of the schedule set by the sun is too ambitious to really live. But this is not the point. The point is one day I rose too early.
Because I rose before the sun I was in no state to think clearly. So without thought I left my house into the cold and the dark of morning. For no particular reason I walked to a coffee shop. In a moment of temporary insanity I even thought of jogging. But even with the delirium of morning and the trickery of night demons, I resisted the temptation and continued at a casual pace.
When I reached the coffee shop I met many others who were either too ambitious or, like myself, too tired to remain in bed. Apparently a whole sub group of people denies the sun each day to gather at the local coffee shop. It is amazing what problems are solved and what philosophies are made by a group of people surviving on caffeine and cigarettes. I have seen these people in the heat of day, but I had no idea that they began their process of sitting outside of coffee shops so early. I was so impressed that they were not in bed that I sat down with them to discuss life.
We talked about politics, religion, and even important things like sports. To my amazement this group of people were able to formulate an opinion on each subject. I even thought of bringing up imaginary theories to hear their opinion. I was certain that given the opportunity to talk about fairies, this group could discuss the pros and cons of their existence. At least someone would relay a personal account of an interaction with a fairy. The ability of these people to talk about any and everything was inspiring. Perhaps I too should leave bed too early each day.
When the sun was fully at work and the air reached a comfortable temperature, I decided to walk to the bus stop. I never ride the bus and don’t even have a need to do so, but this day was different. Perhaps it was because I rose too early and was still feeling the ill effects of this decision, or maybe it was the inspiration of the morning’s dialogues. Whatever the reason, there I was waiting for the bus.
When the bus arrived I asked the driver where he was heading and if he wouldn’t mind if I came along. The driver said that for a dollar I may ride as long as I desired, or as long as the bus was in service. So I boarded the bus and took a seat next to a rather large woman. It was not because it was the only available seat; in fact most seats were available. I was feeling a sense of new life and adventure so why not continue the adventure with another new acquaintance. If she cursed and threw me into the aisle my life would grow to new depths. If she opened up in conversation, I would find myself on the edge of a great new adventure. If she simply ignored me, I would still get to where I was going, even if I had yet to determine this destination.
My heart skipped with excitement when she asked if I would mind sitting in a new seat. It was not exactly a perfect conversation starter, but it was successful nonetheless. I kindly consented and asked if she was saving the seat for someone else. Looking rather shocked she said, “no, but there were plenty of other seats open for you to use.”
“But what if those seats belong to someone else? Do you know if anyone rides the bus and has a seat they prefer?”
Again looking shocked she said, “Well, a young lady and her baby sit in those seats right over there. And an elderly man usually sits behind me. He likes to go to the mall to walk and to watch people. Oh… and a very nice looking man gets on in a few stops on his way to work. He drives a delivery truck and is always very friendly.”
On and on she described a bus full of people all of whom join her on the daily ritual of sitting in silence as a stranger drives to different locations throughout town. I was so excited about my new adventure that I paid no attention to where I was going. My new friend and I talked and talked as the bus lumbered through the hills of our quiet town. Our conversation abruptly ended as she informed me that this was her stop so we said “goodbye” and we were on our way.
The fortunes of the day’s events were almost too much to handle. Purely by accident I rose early, discussed new philosophies, met new friends, and just when I couldn’t expect another thing I glanced out the window and realized the bus driver took me straight to my workplace. He politely stopped the bus for me, I thanked him for the ride, and headed off to work. I was so excited of how this day was proceeding that I was no longer bothered that I woke up so early.
My co-workers must have noticed a spring in my step as I greeted them with a smile. When asked why I was so cheery I told them it was because I rode the bus to work. When asked why I rode the bus to work I could only respond, “because if I rode the bus to the beach I might lose my job”. That would be another adventure worth trying. Maybe tomorrow…
Monday, October 02, 2006
Skydiving
My first jump out of a plane happened in small town of Chehalis in the State of Washington. This old logging town had a bar, a bowling alley, and an airport. Any town that considers these three amenities as the top three in priority obviously has an aggressive vision for future town growth so needless to say this place was happening.
My adrenaline was already boiling over by the time I arrived at the airport hangar with my friend who happened to be a jumpmaster in this boomtown. It was early morning and a gathering of about five other skydiving junkies was already formed. They all stood drinking their coffee and talked endlessly about skydiving stories that are sure to have been told to the same few friends many times before. Stories of chute malfunctions and close calls echoed through the lofted tin ceiling of the hangar. When I arrived they sensed the smell of “first timer” blood and on cue the stories became more harrowing but I was determined to show no sign of fear and smiled as I listened as if to say, “bring it on”.
The time had come to get dressed and to head out to the plane. Putting the parachute on for the first time brings a feeling of finality to the whole process. At this point there is no turning back. For me, I had dreamed of joining the birds and the bugs as they float weightlessly above the busyness that happens on the earth so I found myself more impatient than hesitant to board the plane.
Along with my jumpmaster and one other “newbie” we took the stroll from the hangar to the plane. The beautiful thing about skydiving in Chehalis, Washington is that even the planes feel no pressure to impress you with their looks. The little Cessna that would usher me into this new chapter in my life looked like it would fit in parked next to the cars at the local bar. The paint was old and chipping off and the front propeller honestly had duct tape wrapped around one of the blades. I think this was to add to the charm more than to serve a function but either way it was fun to see.
We climbed into the plane that had all but the pilot’s seat removed and sat crowded on the floor. As our pilot strolled out I was shocked to find that he was one of the skydive junkies standing around and telling stories. He wasn’t wearing his captain uniform and had no captain’s hat upon his head. There was no brief case containing important documents that I expect all pilots to carry before boarding the plane. He was a scruffy faced guy with torn blue jeans and a faded blue baseball cap. The look in his eye was one that welcomed adventure and risk.
He smiled and introduced himself and explained that he would take us up but we would be responsible for getting ourselves back down. He strapped on his parachute (which didn’t seem like a good sign) and proceeded to start the plane. Again, as if it was planned to breed fear into the lives of the newbies, the plane engine would not start. With a smile and a laugh our pilot ran into the hanger and returned holding an extension cord and a battery charger. He looked into the plane and told us, “Don’t worry. We need electricity to get the plane going, but not to keep it going.”
Although his statement was true, it didn’t feel right. For the first time in my life I would throw myself into the air in hopes of floating gently down under a nylon canopy but now I had doubts that my plane could get me high enough for the process to begin. Right on cue the plane engine started and soon we were in the air.
As we approached the drop zone the jumpmaster opened the sliding door of the plane and looked over the edge. Just as we practiced on the ground, he asked me to move over and sit in the doorway with my legs hanging out. Then I had to hold on to the wing and step out on a platform just outside the door. At this point I was standing outside a plane several thousand feet above beautiful downtown Chehalis. I looked over at the pilot and with a huge smile he gave me the thumbs up sign. I know it is commonplace for people to ride outside on the wings of airplanes so I need not bore you with the description of exhilaration and joy that I felt. You already know how amazing it is for a moment to feel like superman and feel the wind brush pass your face but in case you have never experienced this, allow me to tell you that there is nothing like it.
Then the time had come. In seconds my jumpmaster would tell me to let go and to leave the safety of this tin flying machine. I was already warned on the ground that many people freeze up on their first jump so I had determined that when my time came I would have no hesitation and will immediately take the plunge. He looked over at me and said, “Let Go”. As promised I did not hesitate and I lunged away from the plane. The first few seconds are a bit surreal and I don’t really remember anything but just hoped that what we practiced would work out. I would jump and take the proper arched position and the chute would soon deploy.
Everything went as planned and I found myself floating peacefully back to earth. With my chute deploying somewhere around 3000 feet, I had around one minute to take in the sights, smells, and sounds of this new dimension of the earth. Never before was I able to hear the noise of stillness and feel the rush of absolute calm that happens up there. I floated over houses, a river, and of course the town bowling alley and soon saw the ground approaching. I landed more smoothly than I had expected and quickly found myself back in the airport hangar.
The same crowd was still standing and talking about their lives but now they were drinking beer instead of coffee as the day began winding down. They all welcomed me into the club of people who discovered the most peaceful place on earth. A place that I would travel to several more times in the course of that year. A place that I miss and hope to one-day return.
My adrenaline was already boiling over by the time I arrived at the airport hangar with my friend who happened to be a jumpmaster in this boomtown. It was early morning and a gathering of about five other skydiving junkies was already formed. They all stood drinking their coffee and talked endlessly about skydiving stories that are sure to have been told to the same few friends many times before. Stories of chute malfunctions and close calls echoed through the lofted tin ceiling of the hangar. When I arrived they sensed the smell of “first timer” blood and on cue the stories became more harrowing but I was determined to show no sign of fear and smiled as I listened as if to say, “bring it on”.
The time had come to get dressed and to head out to the plane. Putting the parachute on for the first time brings a feeling of finality to the whole process. At this point there is no turning back. For me, I had dreamed of joining the birds and the bugs as they float weightlessly above the busyness that happens on the earth so I found myself more impatient than hesitant to board the plane.
Along with my jumpmaster and one other “newbie” we took the stroll from the hangar to the plane. The beautiful thing about skydiving in Chehalis, Washington is that even the planes feel no pressure to impress you with their looks. The little Cessna that would usher me into this new chapter in my life looked like it would fit in parked next to the cars at the local bar. The paint was old and chipping off and the front propeller honestly had duct tape wrapped around one of the blades. I think this was to add to the charm more than to serve a function but either way it was fun to see.
We climbed into the plane that had all but the pilot’s seat removed and sat crowded on the floor. As our pilot strolled out I was shocked to find that he was one of the skydive junkies standing around and telling stories. He wasn’t wearing his captain uniform and had no captain’s hat upon his head. There was no brief case containing important documents that I expect all pilots to carry before boarding the plane. He was a scruffy faced guy with torn blue jeans and a faded blue baseball cap. The look in his eye was one that welcomed adventure and risk.
He smiled and introduced himself and explained that he would take us up but we would be responsible for getting ourselves back down. He strapped on his parachute (which didn’t seem like a good sign) and proceeded to start the plane. Again, as if it was planned to breed fear into the lives of the newbies, the plane engine would not start. With a smile and a laugh our pilot ran into the hanger and returned holding an extension cord and a battery charger. He looked into the plane and told us, “Don’t worry. We need electricity to get the plane going, but not to keep it going.”
Although his statement was true, it didn’t feel right. For the first time in my life I would throw myself into the air in hopes of floating gently down under a nylon canopy but now I had doubts that my plane could get me high enough for the process to begin. Right on cue the plane engine started and soon we were in the air.
As we approached the drop zone the jumpmaster opened the sliding door of the plane and looked over the edge. Just as we practiced on the ground, he asked me to move over and sit in the doorway with my legs hanging out. Then I had to hold on to the wing and step out on a platform just outside the door. At this point I was standing outside a plane several thousand feet above beautiful downtown Chehalis. I looked over at the pilot and with a huge smile he gave me the thumbs up sign. I know it is commonplace for people to ride outside on the wings of airplanes so I need not bore you with the description of exhilaration and joy that I felt. You already know how amazing it is for a moment to feel like superman and feel the wind brush pass your face but in case you have never experienced this, allow me to tell you that there is nothing like it.
Then the time had come. In seconds my jumpmaster would tell me to let go and to leave the safety of this tin flying machine. I was already warned on the ground that many people freeze up on their first jump so I had determined that when my time came I would have no hesitation and will immediately take the plunge. He looked over at me and said, “Let Go”. As promised I did not hesitate and I lunged away from the plane. The first few seconds are a bit surreal and I don’t really remember anything but just hoped that what we practiced would work out. I would jump and take the proper arched position and the chute would soon deploy.
Everything went as planned and I found myself floating peacefully back to earth. With my chute deploying somewhere around 3000 feet, I had around one minute to take in the sights, smells, and sounds of this new dimension of the earth. Never before was I able to hear the noise of stillness and feel the rush of absolute calm that happens up there. I floated over houses, a river, and of course the town bowling alley and soon saw the ground approaching. I landed more smoothly than I had expected and quickly found myself back in the airport hangar.
The same crowd was still standing and talking about their lives but now they were drinking beer instead of coffee as the day began winding down. They all welcomed me into the club of people who discovered the most peaceful place on earth. A place that I would travel to several more times in the course of that year. A place that I miss and hope to one-day return.
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