Have spent this week conducting testing in Albania, the country just west of Macedonia. While close geographically and in some ways culturally, Albania is a slightly more "western" country than Macedonia, I'd actually wager to say. High mountains separate the countries, but once one is over those the land is quite different. Albania is largely flat from what I've seen, a country at a lower altitude and thus with a warmer, more Mediterranean climate. It's coast is the Adriatic, but with the country extending quite far south--just across from Greece's Corfu--it is rather ClubMed!
But it's more than the seaside, it's also the fact that Albanians have used the sea and their close proximity to Italy for most of the last century (and before) to migrate there for work or a new life. There is in fact an Albanian speaking minority in Italy, the Arbereshe. They are the result of centuries of immigration to southern Italy, but since the 1930s when Mussolini occupied Albania to the present, the country has looked to Italy for its western influence. And it shows.
I've learned this week that far more people than I imagined speak Italian here, and several of the students who I tested have been to Italy (saw their visas in their passports). Italian food and style are everywhere. The capital, Tirana, particularly espouses this. Its grand palm tree lined boulevards and Italian architecture make one wonder whether they're still in the Balkans. There are excellent cafes, restaurants, bakeries; and people just seem more stylish.
The phenomenal thing about Albania is that 25 years ago it was an isolated, communist country of half-starved people who were forced to abandon religion for the sake of worshiping their insane despotic leader, Enver Hoxha. Hoxha was particularly interesting because of his apparent paranoia. He didn't want to be a part of Yugoslavia (no surprise), but had close ties with Soviet Russia for some time. He then broke off those relations and established strong relations with China. Chinese women were brought here, and students could study Chinese (just as they did Russian for quite a while--nearly every post-WWII generation individual I've met this week has said they spoke Russian, having studied it in school.) Anyhow, all well that he had such relations, but he wasn't very good at maintaining them, and from what a colleague here told me, he had a propensity for killing off his ministers and political acquaintances periodically and imprisoning anyone else deemed a threat or spy (including some of those Chinese he'd brought over when times were good). He didn't want anyone getting too close to him, or threatening his power. Further, he feared invasion so built thousands of these little concrete bunkers throughout the country. When one crosses the border from Macedonia, for example, they line the road in the mountains above.
What's really interesting today is that even though Hoxha died (a rich man) in 1985, his wife is still alive and lives here in Tirana. Further, their stolen wealth has made them one of the richest families in Albania, owning businesses and land. Apparently they even put the current prime minister into power, Sali Berisha. (He's been here before though--was the first "democratically elected" president after the fall of communism, then got back into power in 2005 as PM. Sounds very Putin like, in fact...)
So what's really fascinating about this country? It's gone from an isolated authoritarian regime where most everything was produced here (and that was little--many people were nearly starving, waiting hours daily for bread, milk, rice) to this quite well to do land of fancy looking people, clothes, and cars. Speaking of the cars, it is, as one person I met this week said--"where Mercedes come to die". These are mostly stolen from W. Europe (one will be hard pressed to find many dealerships around), but I'd seriously say that 50% of the cars on the road are Mercedes. And there are A LOT of cars on the road (traffic's a nightmare!)
I think what's really interesting is how and why this explosion of development has occurred. It seems that (and what was explained to me) the isolation of communism and Hoxha resulted in this hyper development due to people seeking out all the things they'd been deprived of for decades. They thus went from abject poverty to a rather decent standard of living, but in so doing abandoned for some time many things that were Albanian. Seeing several western, non-Albanian names this week with our students (Jack, Jessica, Robert, Maria Kay, etc), my colleague told me how people just wanted to have something new. She said she felt bad for the generation born after 1991, because their identity was and is in severe flux. How they live compared to their parents and grandparents...it can't even be compared. With a market flooded with goods from around the world, people traveling as well (albeit with still quite a visa regime), and major summer tourism these days, the country is another world compared to the Balkan hinterland is was just a decade or two ago.
For better or for worse, I depart tomorrow. Back east to Skopje for testing there in a week's time. This trip though has made me excited for my visits to Bulgaria and Bosnia. I don't have much time to be a tourist, but by just being in a country, hearing and using the language, and having conversations with some locals, you can pick up a good feel for how things are.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Southern Serbia, Ajvar, Grozdober & the Grape Harvest
Where to begin—life’s been non-stop lately. Autumn is officially here and while the month began grey and cool it’s now southern California like—mostly sunny and in the 80s. I’ve begun my recruiting season with a lot of preparation here in Skopje and a visit to southern Serbia last week. With two colleagues, an American from our Belgrade office and a Kosovar from our Priština office, we met in one of the most southern Serbian towns, Vranje. A town of 55,000 (according to my Lonely Planet), it’s just a half hour over the border from Macedonia and in the Preševo Valley. Its proximity means its dialect its distinctly mixed—predominantly Serbian but with some Macedonian similarities, and famous as a result. Apparently it was used in several films to create a distinct flavor for the characters way of speaking. A “southern accent”, if you will.
The town was cute though—on an incline as it led to a castle and small mountains beyond, but sophisticated enough. Further, its location lends to a diverse lot on the streets. Despite it being inhabited by mostly Serbs, there are several towns and areas around that are in fact predominantly ethnic Albanian. We had several students come to our exams from these areas, but I also heard Albanian spoken on the streets and in the bus. The town of Bujanovac just south is particularly Albanian—all the signs I saw as I went through were in the language, as is the town of Preševo itself. The area, unfortunately, is also well known regionally for conflict between the Yugoslav security forces and Albanian population. Atrocities occurred here and around that are still being resolved, including news this week of two Albanian-American brothers who were killed by Serb forces and dumped in mass graves in 1999, and that those accused were acquitted for it in trial. On a lighter note, I’ll return to Vranje in a few weeks for a few more days and hope to have a closer look around. Next week though I’ll be in Albania for the entire week—in Fier and Tirana. More on that later.
Here in Macedonia, I’ve enjoyed the shift to the autumn season. With more pleasant and hospitable weather, people are out and in neighborhoods, towns, villages, making “zimnici”—jarred winter goods. These include jams, vegetables, and most famous of all, ajvar. Ajvar is a condiment made from roasted red peppers and eggplant, which is then peeled, chopped, and stewed for hours. The process is arduous but the result a delight, and I was fortunate enough to take part in it with my in-laws. As I mentioned that day on Facebook, it was 60 kilograms (130+ pounds) of peppers that we roasted, which was quite time consuming. Stewing and jarring didn’t come until day two, but what’s most glorious in addition to the smell in the air is the cleaning of the pot with a loaf of bread at the end!
Politically, I wanted to mention an interested and overdue change that’s come about this week—the Macedonian government will change the seal of the country. As can be seen, the seal was created in 1946 for a Yugoslav Macedonia and reflects a socialist and agrarian tradition. While the latter may still be the case, the red star will be removed and the imagery may change as well. This makes sense, in my opinion, as Yugoslavia is a country long gone, and Macedonia should (and has already in other ways) re-brand itself for a new era.
Last but not least, I want to build on this agricultural note to mention the grape harvest and changes in the life of grape growers here. As my in-laws live in the wine region and have small vineyards themselves, we spend much time there. The “Grozdober”, or grape picking festival, was thus not to be missed! It is actually a relatively recent affair, but includes parades of schools children, farmers, motorcycles and more, as well as concerts and plenty of barbecue, beer, and wine in the streets and parks of downtown Kavadarci—the “capital” of the Tikveš wine region.
What’s most interesting about Tikveš though, and which I intend to do PhD research in, are the changes that have occurred then since the fall of socialism. Although the country has had relatively significant foreign direct investment (FDI) in recent years with its “Invest in Macedonia” campaign, the privatization of formerly state owned enterprises, entrepreneurship, and increased tourism, the post-socialist transition has created a much greater disparity between rich and poor than existed before. Macedonia’s significant grape and wine industry has not been left aside. Privatization and a changing economy have meant both investment by foreign and domestic interests, and a split between the business-oriented class that benefits from the new economic order and the traditional, land-oriented farmers. In the grape industry, with prices falling along with government subsidies annually, grape collectors and wineries are profiting and growers suffering.
Whereas during the socialist Yugoslav era there were only a handful of public grape collectors (vizbi) and wineries in Macedonia, there are now dozens. With a drive for increased wine-tourism and production, the quality and variety of grapes and wines has improved. Unfortunately, what have not changed for the better are the quantities of grapes produced and the lot of the growers. Unlike in the past when grape growers were paid a guaranteed price for their grapes, they have more recently been left at the whim of wine producers and the market. Although it could be argued that this may be necessary in order to improve grape and wine production, grape growers, their families, and surrounding communities whose lives depend on the vineyards have been marginalized by the shift from a subsidized system to a less regulated, “free market” one. Such as in other countries where protesting farmers can wreak havoc (the dairy protests in Western Europe this week come to mind), there are political ramifications as well: Just this year grape growers have demanded 30% higher prices for their grapes (which is small given the incredibly low price of grapes—approximately $.15/kg), protested, attacked some businessmen affiliated with the Tikveš winery, threatened to leave their grapes unpicked, and some have even abandoned their vineyards and migrated to Italy to work for significantly higher wages (try 2,000 euros a month compared with 200-300 euros in Macedonia).
Combined with increasing prices for food, commodities, and utilities in the country, rural communities feel unable to buy what is deemed necessary to maintain a modern standard of living, and are being forced to change their customs and lifestyles as a result. While the marketplace may be to blame for this, the reluctance or uncertainty of grape growers to change is another aspect to take into consideration; growers seem slow to realize that they must change. Forming strong agribusiness associations, which exist in Greece and other EU countries, would likely improve their lot (though perhaps cause greater protests!). Such associations allow growers to collectively make purchases, lobby for their greater good, and embark on the expansion of their business endeavors. Yet many growers in Tikveš remain too uncertain and perhaps distrusting of each other, and unaware as to how they should go about taking such action. I’m indeed interested in examining further not only how the livelihoods and identity of grape growers in Tikveš are in constant flux as a result of changing economy and competitiveness in the grape and wine industry, but what factors contribute to their inability to better protect themselves and their industry, given how vital it is to the Macedonian economy. One should look beyond economics and the marketplace to the myriad factors that compose the changes occurring in Macedonia as a result of privatization and free market development, as they are in fact a complex web of culture, patronage, and politics.
Friday, September 4, 2009
Back in the Yugosphere
I recently read an Economist article about the thriving “Yugosphere” of trade—commerce minus the ethno-nationalism. Money does make the world go round, but whether post-Yugoslav business has gotten so good as to put aside the 1990s and before, I’m reluctant to believe. Regardless, I like the term and notions of spheres. For unlike the square cut states of the US (admittedly not all) and our predisposition to like things boxy, the notion of overlapping circles of people, society, influence, are much more applicable to the real world. Well, here in the Balkans at least.
Back in Macedonia this last week after nearly a month away, I’ve again felt refreshingly foreign. Having been elsewhere in Europe and home in the US, I’ve been contrasting things again in a “bi-cultural” manner. Primarily, (and stealing another term, though one from an anthro course long ago), it’s the “social life of things” (Appadurai, for anyone who knows him) here that really puts life in contrast to that in the US.
Now don’t get me wrong—people are friendly in the Midwest where I’m from, but the extent to which we socialize and perceive our time as ours is in fact quite different. For example, a large family lunch my wife and I went to when we were visiting Indiana a few weeks ago included a couple of aunts and uncles and some of their kids (all adults though). However, unlike in Macedonia where a family lunch of that nature—a reunion, or just at the weekend—will last hours, if not all afternoon into the evening, my cousins all departed with an hour of arriving, having other things to do (two admittedly have children who they needed to attend to apparently). Yet lunch only then lasted another hour, and things wrapped up—the eating, and moreso, the several concurrent conversations occurring at once. And this is another difference between here and home—in the US we all want to be engaged in conversation, whereas here, unless it’s a very large group, people often sit around listening to one person speak at a time, or a conversation that’s passed off as it changes. “Macedonia, Timeless…”
Thus the social life of things in a general sense is quite different. Even last weekend we spent with my wife’s family at their weekend house, and when her parents departed the evening before us, some neighbors came over and insisted that for us “not to be alone” we should come over to their place. We had to say no a few times for them to back off, as it’s really not a part of Macedonian culture to be on ones own, even a young couple. And independently? Most Peace Corps volunteers here know the feeling of going through culture shock while living with a host family during training and wanting to just be alone, to read or write or think or sleep(!) But it just doesn’t work like that—when you’re awake you should be with other people. It’s not written as such, but that’s largely how it is. It honestly makes me wonder when people have time to reflect. I think the notion of reflection is thus somewhat of a cultural phenomenon. I couldn’t say how many cultures value it, but it seems to be a characteristic of an individualistic society, and thus in the US we tend to consider it a value that we learn and grow from. Americans don’t want unsolicited advice, we want to figure things out for ourselves.
In Macedonia? Society and cultural customs are far more complex. Children are given much more freedom in some regards, but they’re quickly indoctrinated into the family and very much raised by it. These are somewhat of generalizations, but overall, while in the US we consider ourselves to raise our children, they are actually very much raised through their education, extracurricular activities, and things they’re exposed to through extreme exposure to various media. Whereas I’ve always thought “I must return to the US to raise my kids (for the educational system),” I’ve met Macedonians who’d lived abroad and returned here for the opposite reason once their children reached school-age—they want their children around their family and culture (to heck with the school system!) This is without a doubt a reflection of the economic system in which the two countries I write about live under—one is wealthy and one much less so, but it’s also cross-cultural. What is available for consumption in Macedonia pales in comparison to the US, and the notion that good education will always lead to success is not highly considered here, particularly post-socialist and perhaps more among the Albanian minority (who were largely excluded from the benefits of the socialist machine). Less educated (institutionally), their financial success today is evidence of this. But to make my point: it's not all materialism here (or hasn't been in recent decades), and thus I'd wager to say that the family unit and the culture from it is deemed more valuable than in the US, where we cherish the notion of the nuclear family, but have much less of it overall and expect the system and society to be a large part of our lives. Within them is where we live, work, spend, buy...
Yet speaking of the “things” aspect of Appadurai’s statement, it was his economic anthropological work assessing cultural values of commodities that led him to write his book titled as such. His research explored how in one South Pacific island culture TVs were seen as prestigious items, even when there was no electricity to power them. Plastic bags were less prestigious but nonetheless seen as foreign and used in various ways for practical and material purposes.
To this end, while Macedonia is an industrialized country, their poor economy would make one think that consumption and goods might play less of a role in their lifestyle. They admittedly buy fewer new items (does anyone buy more than Americans?), but something that’s long fascinated me here is the prestige associated with commodities, particularly technology. Anyone who knows Mediterranean culture knows that image is an important aspect of peoples’ lives, but Macedonians have several customs associated with products and purchases that seem unusual to Americans at first.
In particular is style over practicality, such as in dressing certain ways and showing off by purchasing expensive items (from new phones to cars) when one truly doesn’t have the money to do so. Their commodities may be being used, but for their intended purpose? What does a barely employed guy need with a Blackberry or iPhone? This happens stateside, but perhaps because of our development of such technology and the technology gap, I would say Americans understand the functionality of the technology and use it as such—sms, email, internet, etc.—and much more frequently.
Technology aside (though I’m always fascinated with our use of it, despite my personal technological ineptitude!), also on my mind recently has been work ethic and moreso behavior within the workplace. As we see when growing up, many Americans work long hours, often being absent from home for at least nine if not ten, eleven, twelve hours a day, merely for their job. In addition to the lengthy workdays, we have a pressure filled work environment where “if there’s time to lean, there’s time to clean [house].” The movie Office Space summed it up well—the busy-ness, bureacracy, and rather beguiling way we’re convinced to work long days (money, but also "team" effort, corporate spirit, "flare"...). Not to mention, it’s a job and without it one's life can be purposeless.
But here, things are very different. A job is valued as something to have which provides income, but once it’s gotten people tend to take it easy. Not to say there are no hard working individuals here, but there’s much more an attitude of “we’ll get the work done when it’s time…in the meantime, let’s drink coffee and shoot the breeze.” And team spirit? Not much. A work environment, in my experience, is more pleasure filled and laidback, but perhaps lacking in advancement—the work may get done, but if everything’s at the last minute there’s not much time to make corrections or revisions. (Perhaps that’s just the writing instructor in me, but this happened today at work…) A lack of incentives to work hard (eg, moving up the "ladder") though is certainly a factor...
Well, must wrap up this note, but wanted to try to post given the swift disappearance of the month of August. A fantastic wedding in Italy, then a visit home, and return via Kyiv kept me quite busy. My job though, with American Councils, will put me on the road a good deal in the coming months, as I travel to Serbia, Albania, Bulgaria, and Bosnia, in addition to throughout Macedonia, repeatedly, so hopefully I’ll have more fodder to share. Thanks for reading and happy Labor Day (and on September 8, Macedonian Independence Day!)
Back in Macedonia this last week after nearly a month away, I’ve again felt refreshingly foreign. Having been elsewhere in Europe and home in the US, I’ve been contrasting things again in a “bi-cultural” manner. Primarily, (and stealing another term, though one from an anthro course long ago), it’s the “social life of things” (Appadurai, for anyone who knows him) here that really puts life in contrast to that in the US.
Now don’t get me wrong—people are friendly in the Midwest where I’m from, but the extent to which we socialize and perceive our time as ours is in fact quite different. For example, a large family lunch my wife and I went to when we were visiting Indiana a few weeks ago included a couple of aunts and uncles and some of their kids (all adults though). However, unlike in Macedonia where a family lunch of that nature—a reunion, or just at the weekend—will last hours, if not all afternoon into the evening, my cousins all departed with an hour of arriving, having other things to do (two admittedly have children who they needed to attend to apparently). Yet lunch only then lasted another hour, and things wrapped up—the eating, and moreso, the several concurrent conversations occurring at once. And this is another difference between here and home—in the US we all want to be engaged in conversation, whereas here, unless it’s a very large group, people often sit around listening to one person speak at a time, or a conversation that’s passed off as it changes. “Macedonia, Timeless…”
Thus the social life of things in a general sense is quite different. Even last weekend we spent with my wife’s family at their weekend house, and when her parents departed the evening before us, some neighbors came over and insisted that for us “not to be alone” we should come over to their place. We had to say no a few times for them to back off, as it’s really not a part of Macedonian culture to be on ones own, even a young couple. And independently? Most Peace Corps volunteers here know the feeling of going through culture shock while living with a host family during training and wanting to just be alone, to read or write or think or sleep(!) But it just doesn’t work like that—when you’re awake you should be with other people. It’s not written as such, but that’s largely how it is. It honestly makes me wonder when people have time to reflect. I think the notion of reflection is thus somewhat of a cultural phenomenon. I couldn’t say how many cultures value it, but it seems to be a characteristic of an individualistic society, and thus in the US we tend to consider it a value that we learn and grow from. Americans don’t want unsolicited advice, we want to figure things out for ourselves.
In Macedonia? Society and cultural customs are far more complex. Children are given much more freedom in some regards, but they’re quickly indoctrinated into the family and very much raised by it. These are somewhat of generalizations, but overall, while in the US we consider ourselves to raise our children, they are actually very much raised through their education, extracurricular activities, and things they’re exposed to through extreme exposure to various media. Whereas I’ve always thought “I must return to the US to raise my kids (for the educational system),” I’ve met Macedonians who’d lived abroad and returned here for the opposite reason once their children reached school-age—they want their children around their family and culture (to heck with the school system!) This is without a doubt a reflection of the economic system in which the two countries I write about live under—one is wealthy and one much less so, but it’s also cross-cultural. What is available for consumption in Macedonia pales in comparison to the US, and the notion that good education will always lead to success is not highly considered here, particularly post-socialist and perhaps more among the Albanian minority (who were largely excluded from the benefits of the socialist machine). Less educated (institutionally), their financial success today is evidence of this. But to make my point: it's not all materialism here (or hasn't been in recent decades), and thus I'd wager to say that the family unit and the culture from it is deemed more valuable than in the US, where we cherish the notion of the nuclear family, but have much less of it overall and expect the system and society to be a large part of our lives. Within them is where we live, work, spend, buy...
Yet speaking of the “things” aspect of Appadurai’s statement, it was his economic anthropological work assessing cultural values of commodities that led him to write his book titled as such. His research explored how in one South Pacific island culture TVs were seen as prestigious items, even when there was no electricity to power them. Plastic bags were less prestigious but nonetheless seen as foreign and used in various ways for practical and material purposes.
To this end, while Macedonia is an industrialized country, their poor economy would make one think that consumption and goods might play less of a role in their lifestyle. They admittedly buy fewer new items (does anyone buy more than Americans?), but something that’s long fascinated me here is the prestige associated with commodities, particularly technology. Anyone who knows Mediterranean culture knows that image is an important aspect of peoples’ lives, but Macedonians have several customs associated with products and purchases that seem unusual to Americans at first.
In particular is style over practicality, such as in dressing certain ways and showing off by purchasing expensive items (from new phones to cars) when one truly doesn’t have the money to do so. Their commodities may be being used, but for their intended purpose? What does a barely employed guy need with a Blackberry or iPhone? This happens stateside, but perhaps because of our development of such technology and the technology gap, I would say Americans understand the functionality of the technology and use it as such—sms, email, internet, etc.—and much more frequently.
Technology aside (though I’m always fascinated with our use of it, despite my personal technological ineptitude!), also on my mind recently has been work ethic and moreso behavior within the workplace. As we see when growing up, many Americans work long hours, often being absent from home for at least nine if not ten, eleven, twelve hours a day, merely for their job. In addition to the lengthy workdays, we have a pressure filled work environment where “if there’s time to lean, there’s time to clean [house].” The movie Office Space summed it up well—the busy-ness, bureacracy, and rather beguiling way we’re convinced to work long days (money, but also "team" effort, corporate spirit, "flare"...). Not to mention, it’s a job and without it one's life can be purposeless.
But here, things are very different. A job is valued as something to have which provides income, but once it’s gotten people tend to take it easy. Not to say there are no hard working individuals here, but there’s much more an attitude of “we’ll get the work done when it’s time…in the meantime, let’s drink coffee and shoot the breeze.” And team spirit? Not much. A work environment, in my experience, is more pleasure filled and laidback, but perhaps lacking in advancement—the work may get done, but if everything’s at the last minute there’s not much time to make corrections or revisions. (Perhaps that’s just the writing instructor in me, but this happened today at work…) A lack of incentives to work hard (eg, moving up the "ladder") though is certainly a factor...
Well, must wrap up this note, but wanted to try to post given the swift disappearance of the month of August. A fantastic wedding in Italy, then a visit home, and return via Kyiv kept me quite busy. My job though, with American Councils, will put me on the road a good deal in the coming months, as I travel to Serbia, Albania, Bulgaria, and Bosnia, in addition to throughout Macedonia, repeatedly, so hopefully I’ll have more fodder to share. Thanks for reading and happy Labor Day (and on September 8, Macedonian Independence Day!)
Friday, July 17, 2009
The Galichnik Wedding & Kriva River Valley
It being a summer of weddings, my own and others, in a travel-blog style I want to elaborate on some of the more interesting things I’ve seen this past week. Trying to avoid sitting around Skopje these hot summer days, particularly given that the city’s relatively dead with high travel season in effect, I’m making sure to skip town come Fridays and even during the week some. Today we’re off for a long weekend with family and friends on the Tikvesh Lake and in the Baba Mountains at Pelister National Park.
Last weekend though we went to a traditional event that I’ve long heard about but always missed. It’s the re-creation of a traditional Macedonian wedding, specifically from the Western Macedonian “Mijachki” region. As each region has its own traditions regarding clothing styles, food and dance, in tribal fashion the “Mijachki” people, known as Mijaks, attempt to maintain their identity through preserving and presenting their customs and culture. Thus in the high altitude village of Galichnik up in the Bistra Mountains, the people there have preserved their wedding tradition in a celebration performed every year on St. Peter’s day.
A growing but still relatively small and undeveloped tourist event, the Galichnik Wedding (“Galichka Svadba”) is a legitimate orchestration of how a traditional wedding might have been up to the mid-20th century. It is legitimate because the bride and groom are real, having been selected via lottery for the honor (though the process of selection, requires that one of the wedding party have Galichnik ancestry), and they wear traditional costumes and partake in some ceremonial traditions long gone.
Beginning on Saturday evening, there are a series of events done at the bride’s and groom’s homes, as well as in the center of the village. They include decorating a flag, firing a rifle, welcoming the musicians, a variety of dances, and the taking of the bride from her house by the groomsmen. Of particular note, the wedding tradition includes:
Riding horses, a practice otherwise quite rare in Macedonia due to, as I understand, Ottoman restrictions on Christians riding any dromedaries (horses, donkeys, etc) for several centuries;
The very traditional and complex “bride’s” (‘nevestinskoto’) and “difficult” (‘teshkoto’) dances, done by female and male groups, respectively. They are a combination of balance, synchronization, and very slow and fast footwork.
The groomsmen and his party then go marching with torches to the bride’s house to take her to the village center for a ceremonial cleansing at the fountain and a dance.
The evening then ends with dancing by all participants in the wedding (several dozen at this event), as they prepare for the last night before the official ceremony.
Sunday’s events began early (9:30am) and lasted several hours. The events, much less visible than Saturday’s events (which were mostly in the village center), included going to the cemetery in order to invite dead relatives to the wedding; inviting the godfather by the groom and his party; shaving the groom in the center; going after the bride by marriage brokers—groomsmen and family; welcoming the bride by the groom’s mother and family; the ceremony in the church; and more dancing in the center by the male and female groups first, then the entire wedding party.
I want elaborate fully as I don’t completely understand, but of particular note, the shaving of the groom is done to separate the groom from his boyhood, and thus from his mother and father.
When the marriage brokers go for the bride, one has run ahead of the others to prepare the family for their arrival, while the others walk behind the groomsmen upon horses.
When the bride is welcomed in the center, she is helped off the horse she was escorted on, but then briefly placed in a horse’s bridle, a symbol that she’s been taken and will be obedient to her husband. She then receives a sieve, cake and goblet of wine from the groom’s mother and is turned around three times.
The church ceremony is not visible to the audience, but the young couple is reportedly splashed with basil water for cleansing. Upon returning to the center, the bride then fills her water jugs and leads a dance.
Altogether, the ceremony lasts several hours and, while changed by the nature of it being a planned tourist event, is a remarkable look at old Macedonian traditions.
Another fantastic experience from this past week was venturing out with a friend and archaeology Fulbright scholar for a little wandering through the Kriva River valley. Within a 20 mile radius there are several spectacular sites that date back millennia. Only one has become a popular tourist site, whereas the others are still under excavation and/or isolated enough that they have not gotten the attention they deserve.
The first place we visited was the more well know ancient observatory and settlement known as Kokino (for the village nearby). Up at over a thousand meters (3,000+ feet) it is a natural rock formation that was used for centuries by Neolithic peoples. They lived near it and used it ceremonially, carving niches in the rock that made it a very accurate observatory.
Another site we went to was the continuously excavated 4-5th century defense settlement near the village of Konjuh. Dating from the reign of Justinian (co-incidentally born not far away near Skopje), it has been under excavation by local and US archaeologists since the late 1990s. Like many of the rock formations in the area (more to come), the fortress atop the hill was carved by human hands and labor into the rock, though no doubt structures were built on top of the rock rooms still visible. Ironically, it was likely built to thwart off the invading tribes, mostly Slavs.
The next site we wandered off to is the less known Neolithic site called Cacev Kamen, or “Cacev’s Stone.” It is obscure because of its being coveted by one archaeologist who has rather wild theories about it. But when we went there it was certainly the most fascinating place we had seen.
My friend Seth was able to give me some idea of how it *might* have been used (according to said archaeologist), but it’s rock rooms—with flat floors and walls, basins, steps and ladders carved out of the stone make one truly wonder what these early people were doing on this rocky outcrop. Surrounded by fertile fields and valley, why would they have taken such time to mould this giant stone? There are far more questions than answers, but the valley has an eerie feel to it. (Adding to this are the natural rock “Kuklica,” or ‘dolls’ nearby. Although we didn’t make it to them on Tuesday, they are a sandy stone worn down into human and animal shapes.)
Our last stop for the day was one of the more unusual towns in Macedonia. Where a Peace Corps friend of mine was stationed many years ago, the medieval feeling town of Kratovo was named as such because it is in fact built into a volcanic rock crater. It is surrounded by mines and under Ottoman and Yugoslav reign relatively prospered from these. It also hosts several interesting Ottoman bridges and towers. We dined there in a restaurant built below one of these towers and atop one of the medieval tunnels in town. It’s now a wine cellar, but testament to the town’s besieged past.
Friday, June 26, 2009
A Bear Got Married
Even though several fortnights have passed since last I wrote, it’s not been for nothing to say rather than for lack of time. I could’ve shared more about my travels and visitors—to Tirana, Prishtina, Belgrade, Halkidiki, and friends from Finland, England, and the US here—but the end of the academic year, and our guests and wedding have swallowed up a couple months of my life! But not to my chagrin; there’s a local proverb said when it’s raining and the sun is out here, which has been the case often this week—“a bear is getting married” (‘mechka se mazi’). More on that momentarily, as a bear indeed got married...
So where to begin? The Balkans live on, and I do too within them. Summer is here and for weeks I got more sun than I needed. A guys getaway of sorts, two friends and I climbed the 3rd highest peak in the country, “Thessaloniki’s Head” (‘Solunska Glava’), and had a blast doing so. We took a train to a small village, a taxi to a smaller one, and then hiked from there to a mountain hut. The next day we did the three hour ascent from the hut, and albeit getting toasted by the sun, had perfect weather and fantastic views along the way.
It’s been a stormy week though this week, which has been cathartic as I try to relax post-wedding and gear up for some summer hobbies and travels. I’ll be local for the next month or so (though with a few adventurous getaways planned), and we’ll then head to Italy for a friend’s wedding and on to the states thereafter. News though is that I’ll return to Europe via Kiev, Ukraine, as I must attend a training there for a position I’ve taken with American Councils. I’ll be their recruiter for the southern Balkan region, so will travel extensively in Albania, Kosovo, Macedonia, Bulgaria, and southern Serbia, from September till December. It’s then off to Canterbury, Kent to commence with my doctoral research after that.
So, despite guests and such adventures having passed or being planned, the big event of the month was my wife’s and my “svadba”—wedding. We were technically already married, but we wanted to have a celebration of it, as most people do, and living locally naturally decided to do it here. Now, I had been to weddings in Macedonia before and had seen the extent to which they're quite different from those in the US. There is no rehearsal dinner, no father walking down the aisle and giving away the bride, no speeches, no buffet dinners, no bad DJ and cheesy dancing, and no time limit. For the most part, it’s quite the contrary, and being fully involved in one made me see all the traditions of my wife’s town, region (Kavadarci, Tikvesh), and the country in general.
Briefly, the wedding events started the evening before the day on which it actually took place. Known as the “bungur,” it was a three or so hour visit by close friends and relatives. The wedding then began for us by late morning the next day, when those same folks returned to the house, along with a group of local musicians, to liven things up as I prepared to take my bride and whisk her away from her family and off to the reception. This began noon-ish, with guests arriving at the reception at 1pm. We were late for it, but got there at quarter after to greet them and welcome others. With appetizers, drinks, non-stop dancing, dinner, and cake, the event then lasted until nearly 8pm.
Yet underneath the festivities lay several long standing and interesting local customs and traditions. To begin, the wedding party is slightly different than in Midwestern America. The main stars of the wedding and sitting at the head table with the bride and groom, include the parents, a best man (“dever”—usually the groom’s brother, other male relative or a close friend), the bride’s best woman (“starosvatica”), siblings, and godparents (“kumovi”). Who chooses these though is gender specific. Whereas the groom chooses the “dever” and “kumovi”, the bride chooses her “starosvatica.” Further, the “starosvatica” is usually accompanied by her husband, who is the “starosvat.” We were this at the wedding of our “starosvatovi” in 2003, thus it was now their turn to reciprocate. Altogether, they play a large role in the wedding preparation and celebration, and receive gifts from the bride and groom for their presence.
The “kumovi,” or godparents, have the most predominant role though. It is an honor to be asked to be godparents, but once that privilege is bestowed upon a couple they are bound to traditions of leadership and what I’d consider power at the wedding. When we asked the couple we did (my Peace Corps training home-stay family), by tradition we brought them sweets and alcohol (in our case, red wine and chocolate covered baklava). However, upon their acceptance they then demanded to pay for several things. One was the wedding cake, as well as the bride’s shoes and material for her dress. Although Irena had already bought both and their cost was beyond that of what our godparents could pay, they went ahead and purchased the latter and gave them as gifts at the Friday evening “bungur.” They then gave us other gifts, and we were bound to respect them and make them feel as godparents should.
Further, the godparents’ role is traditionally one that becomes kin-like, if it was not already. I have always been considered one of theirs, having lived and been reared (in Macedonia) in their village house for several months back in 2002-03. But we should now consider them all the closer, and they should have a right to name our first child. Although our relationship won’t proceed in this fashion due to my opposition, they generally will suggest three names for the parents to choose from. I know many people who were named in this fashion…
But back to the wedding—the “bungur,” or pre-wedding party, was a grand occasion, with one particular custom a large part of it. This was the making, breaking, and distribution of “pogacha,” a traditional bread. We gave this honor to my 17 year-old sister, who was visiting for the wedding, and it went something like this: a small, foot tall table was setup in the living room of the house, upon which my sister was to make the dough for the bread. Surrounded by women and children (though my dad and I couldn’t miss it), she was to mix and knead the flour, oil, water, eggs, and sugar with her hands. All the while, the women sang traditional songs and dabbed my sister’s face with flour, jokingly but customarily to keep her from sweating. A little boy, our nephew, then placed a coin in the dough. The bread was thus placed in a pan and baked, and my sister led a dance in the yard. However, upon being baked came the occasion that associates this tradition with the bride and groom. A towel was placed over our nephew’s head, and the foot in diameter, steaming hot round bread was then broken over his head; one side for the groom’s family, one side for the bride’s. Whoever got the coin (my side) is to have good fortune. Further, however, this tradition—breaking the bread over a young boy’s head—is done to ensure that our first child is a boy. The bread was then broken up and distributed to guests before their departure.
The next day, relatives came early to the house to help prepare for the other guests and groom’s party who were to arrive. Although me and mine slept in the house, we distanced ourselves from the bride, her mother, aunts, and friends, and awaited the arrival of the wedding band. Meeting them on the street at noon, the event began with a flurry of traditional folk songs on brass and clarinet. Although this lasted longer than it should have due to my bride not being ready, we danced and entered the house to greet the other guests already there, eat some and listen to the music.
I, the groom, though was to begin the process of getting my bride from her chambers. This proceeded as such: upon being made aware that she was ready, party and all with myself in the lead and bride’s shoes in hand, went down the hallway to her room. The door was closed though, with her brother guarding it, so I had to pay him for the right to take his sister. (I paid off our nephew as well, asking him if I could take his aunt!) Upon entering the room, I bowed down upon one knee and placed my bride’s foot in her shoe. Customarily, and with the women saying “oh, there’re too big, put some money in,” I then stuffed some cash in the toe of the shoe to win their approval and slip her foot more comfortably in. (*Note, the shoes in fact fit quite well, and I was able to remove that cash and place it back in my pocket before it fell out!)
We then headed to the street for a few dances before we were to ride with the “starosvatici” to the reception. We did so in a decorated car parade, with horns blaring as we made our way the couple of miles through town.
This was the major aspect of the wedding that embodied customs different than our own, as upon arrival at the reception and greeting the guests, we then danced and danced and danced. Indeed, the dancing begins immediately and goes for hours, until the meal is served, but then continues until the guests have departed. Regarding the dances and songs, they are generally stories and requested by members of the wedding party and other guests, and there is even acting in them, such as when several men come to the aid of a supposedly sick man laying on the ground. While the tempo changes, the dance, called the “oro,” is as round as the word sounds, and people hold hands and slowly make rings of dancing guests who are able to casually rotate around the room, gaze at each other, and enjoy the affair.
Altogether, with 160 or so guests, our wedding was small by Macedonian standards, as my side was largely absent. Weddings here often have 300-400 guests, and some up to 600-700. It is a southern European tradition (as well as in the Near East) to have such large communal weddings, but they are a celebration that are deemed to be worthy of the presence of all friends and family.
A few other interesting customs that follow the wedding are the continuous bringing of cakes to the family (I think we have five in the freezer) and the drinking of warm brandy (“topla rakija”) the next day. As family and guests once again visit the house and bestow their congratulations, it is also a time when traditionally, and some families still in fact practice this, the sheets of the newlyweds should be hung outside the house to show that the marriage has been consummated. Being a modern couple, however, I took a bottle of ketchup, gave a squirt, rubbed it into the sheets, and presented it to the family. While laughing, my lovely mother-in-law shamefully jumped up to grab it, then ran out of the room to throw it in the wash!
So where to begin? The Balkans live on, and I do too within them. Summer is here and for weeks I got more sun than I needed. A guys getaway of sorts, two friends and I climbed the 3rd highest peak in the country, “Thessaloniki’s Head” (‘Solunska Glava’), and had a blast doing so. We took a train to a small village, a taxi to a smaller one, and then hiked from there to a mountain hut. The next day we did the three hour ascent from the hut, and albeit getting toasted by the sun, had perfect weather and fantastic views along the way.
It’s been a stormy week though this week, which has been cathartic as I try to relax post-wedding and gear up for some summer hobbies and travels. I’ll be local for the next month or so (though with a few adventurous getaways planned), and we’ll then head to Italy for a friend’s wedding and on to the states thereafter. News though is that I’ll return to Europe via Kiev, Ukraine, as I must attend a training there for a position I’ve taken with American Councils. I’ll be their recruiter for the southern Balkan region, so will travel extensively in Albania, Kosovo, Macedonia, Bulgaria, and southern Serbia, from September till December. It’s then off to Canterbury, Kent to commence with my doctoral research after that.
So, despite guests and such adventures having passed or being planned, the big event of the month was my wife’s and my “svadba”—wedding. We were technically already married, but we wanted to have a celebration of it, as most people do, and living locally naturally decided to do it here. Now, I had been to weddings in Macedonia before and had seen the extent to which they're quite different from those in the US. There is no rehearsal dinner, no father walking down the aisle and giving away the bride, no speeches, no buffet dinners, no bad DJ and cheesy dancing, and no time limit. For the most part, it’s quite the contrary, and being fully involved in one made me see all the traditions of my wife’s town, region (Kavadarci, Tikvesh), and the country in general.
Briefly, the wedding events started the evening before the day on which it actually took place. Known as the “bungur,” it was a three or so hour visit by close friends and relatives. The wedding then began for us by late morning the next day, when those same folks returned to the house, along with a group of local musicians, to liven things up as I prepared to take my bride and whisk her away from her family and off to the reception. This began noon-ish, with guests arriving at the reception at 1pm. We were late for it, but got there at quarter after to greet them and welcome others. With appetizers, drinks, non-stop dancing, dinner, and cake, the event then lasted until nearly 8pm.
Yet underneath the festivities lay several long standing and interesting local customs and traditions. To begin, the wedding party is slightly different than in Midwestern America. The main stars of the wedding and sitting at the head table with the bride and groom, include the parents, a best man (“dever”—usually the groom’s brother, other male relative or a close friend), the bride’s best woman (“starosvatica”), siblings, and godparents (“kumovi”). Who chooses these though is gender specific. Whereas the groom chooses the “dever” and “kumovi”, the bride chooses her “starosvatica.” Further, the “starosvatica” is usually accompanied by her husband, who is the “starosvat.” We were this at the wedding of our “starosvatovi” in 2003, thus it was now their turn to reciprocate. Altogether, they play a large role in the wedding preparation and celebration, and receive gifts from the bride and groom for their presence.
The “kumovi,” or godparents, have the most predominant role though. It is an honor to be asked to be godparents, but once that privilege is bestowed upon a couple they are bound to traditions of leadership and what I’d consider power at the wedding. When we asked the couple we did (my Peace Corps training home-stay family), by tradition we brought them sweets and alcohol (in our case, red wine and chocolate covered baklava). However, upon their acceptance they then demanded to pay for several things. One was the wedding cake, as well as the bride’s shoes and material for her dress. Although Irena had already bought both and their cost was beyond that of what our godparents could pay, they went ahead and purchased the latter and gave them as gifts at the Friday evening “bungur.” They then gave us other gifts, and we were bound to respect them and make them feel as godparents should.
Further, the godparents’ role is traditionally one that becomes kin-like, if it was not already. I have always been considered one of theirs, having lived and been reared (in Macedonia) in their village house for several months back in 2002-03. But we should now consider them all the closer, and they should have a right to name our first child. Although our relationship won’t proceed in this fashion due to my opposition, they generally will suggest three names for the parents to choose from. I know many people who were named in this fashion…
But back to the wedding—the “bungur,” or pre-wedding party, was a grand occasion, with one particular custom a large part of it. This was the making, breaking, and distribution of “pogacha,” a traditional bread. We gave this honor to my 17 year-old sister, who was visiting for the wedding, and it went something like this: a small, foot tall table was setup in the living room of the house, upon which my sister was to make the dough for the bread. Surrounded by women and children (though my dad and I couldn’t miss it), she was to mix and knead the flour, oil, water, eggs, and sugar with her hands. All the while, the women sang traditional songs and dabbed my sister’s face with flour, jokingly but customarily to keep her from sweating. A little boy, our nephew, then placed a coin in the dough. The bread was thus placed in a pan and baked, and my sister led a dance in the yard. However, upon being baked came the occasion that associates this tradition with the bride and groom. A towel was placed over our nephew’s head, and the foot in diameter, steaming hot round bread was then broken over his head; one side for the groom’s family, one side for the bride’s. Whoever got the coin (my side) is to have good fortune. Further, however, this tradition—breaking the bread over a young boy’s head—is done to ensure that our first child is a boy. The bread was then broken up and distributed to guests before their departure.
The next day, relatives came early to the house to help prepare for the other guests and groom’s party who were to arrive. Although me and mine slept in the house, we distanced ourselves from the bride, her mother, aunts, and friends, and awaited the arrival of the wedding band. Meeting them on the street at noon, the event began with a flurry of traditional folk songs on brass and clarinet. Although this lasted longer than it should have due to my bride not being ready, we danced and entered the house to greet the other guests already there, eat some and listen to the music.
I, the groom, though was to begin the process of getting my bride from her chambers. This proceeded as such: upon being made aware that she was ready, party and all with myself in the lead and bride’s shoes in hand, went down the hallway to her room. The door was closed though, with her brother guarding it, so I had to pay him for the right to take his sister. (I paid off our nephew as well, asking him if I could take his aunt!) Upon entering the room, I bowed down upon one knee and placed my bride’s foot in her shoe. Customarily, and with the women saying “oh, there’re too big, put some money in,” I then stuffed some cash in the toe of the shoe to win their approval and slip her foot more comfortably in. (*Note, the shoes in fact fit quite well, and I was able to remove that cash and place it back in my pocket before it fell out!)
We then headed to the street for a few dances before we were to ride with the “starosvatici” to the reception. We did so in a decorated car parade, with horns blaring as we made our way the couple of miles through town.
This was the major aspect of the wedding that embodied customs different than our own, as upon arrival at the reception and greeting the guests, we then danced and danced and danced. Indeed, the dancing begins immediately and goes for hours, until the meal is served, but then continues until the guests have departed. Regarding the dances and songs, they are generally stories and requested by members of the wedding party and other guests, and there is even acting in them, such as when several men come to the aid of a supposedly sick man laying on the ground. While the tempo changes, the dance, called the “oro,” is as round as the word sounds, and people hold hands and slowly make rings of dancing guests who are able to casually rotate around the room, gaze at each other, and enjoy the affair.
Altogether, with 160 or so guests, our wedding was small by Macedonian standards, as my side was largely absent. Weddings here often have 300-400 guests, and some up to 600-700. It is a southern European tradition (as well as in the Near East) to have such large communal weddings, but they are a celebration that are deemed to be worthy of the presence of all friends and family.
A few other interesting customs that follow the wedding are the continuous bringing of cakes to the family (I think we have five in the freezer) and the drinking of warm brandy (“topla rakija”) the next day. As family and guests once again visit the house and bestow their congratulations, it is also a time when traditionally, and some families still in fact practice this, the sheets of the newlyweds should be hung outside the house to show that the marriage has been consummated. Being a modern couple, however, I took a bottle of ketchup, gave a squirt, rubbed it into the sheets, and presented it to the family. While laughing, my lovely mother-in-law shamefully jumped up to grab it, then ran out of the room to throw it in the wash!
Friday, May 1, 2009
The Grass is Always Greener...
I prepare to go to Belgrade for the weekend as it lightning and thunders outside. It’s been a stormy week in more ways than with the weather, as I've had a nasty Spring cold and swine flu's causing a scare. Maybe it’s just been one of those weeks, but I’ve been doing a bit of thinking about home. I can get easily frustrated in Skopje because of the selfish nature of people in this city (such as in many others of course, which is why I'm more of small town boy!) and sometimes allow it to take more of my energy than it should. For example, a lawyer who has his office in our building left a pile of office docs and newspapers outside the front door of our building, when the dumpster’s just 50 feet away. I wrote a note in Macedonian and put it on top of the pile saying “please throw me away!” It was cast aside, I put it back. Cast aside, I’ve put it back. So it goes. It’s such occasions as that though combined with the insane driving, attitude, and pollution of this city that make me long for home. The Hoosier state—a clean place full of hospitable Midwesterners who drive (sometimes unbelievably) slow…Then again, the grass is always greener on the other side.
For I’ve also been reading Richard Rodriguez’s “Brown” recently. It’s a complex free train of thought text on his life as a Latino American and the browning of America through Latinos, blacks, Indians, and moreover, the juxtaposed “white” culture of mainstream America. It’s poignant, provocative, and sometimes offensive, but he makes you think. The thesis is not so much that America has different races but that we have different cultures, and we must behave differently within them. This though is a culture itself, and he writes of our culture: “…we live in a nation whose every other impulse is theatrical, but whose every other impulse is to insist upon “authenticity.”
I would agree. To break it down, Rodriquez is writing about the dual lives that most Americans live. That is, we are expected to be a certain way in school and on the job, but certainly not casual. I was reprimanded last summer when I napped on my break in the company’s lounge, as if napping was out of character, wasn’t allowed. I remember laughing about it, but it’s part of our nation’s conservativeness and Puritanical roots, no doubt, that makes how we act and enjoy life very different from Macedonia.
For the pleasures of life here are many, and people perhaps over indulge in those. Not to put it in religious terms, but it’s easy to be a glutton here—good food and an idle lifestyle is what you see everywhere. People, such as my students of all ages, always claim to be too busy with this or that to do what I ask of them. Yet with adults at least, it is pretty much assured that if you call someone and ask to go for a coffee or drink you’ll be able to make that happen. (On a sidenote and somewhat ironically, however, actually scheduling a time and place ahead of time is nearly impossible. On several occasions I’ve said “ok, meet me here in an hour” and my friend will respond “just call me when you get to the plaza and we’ll figure it out.” And when I thought I’d scheduled a coffee once, after waiting a half hour I called my friend to ask where he was and discovered that he was waiting for me to call him, “just to make sure I was coming.” If I was known for not showing up this would be one thing, but that’s not my character. I show up on time when I schedule things!)
Anyhow, back to my thoughts on life here. It’s as one diplomat I was speaking to recently said to me “it’s as if people here are stuck in the ‘60s, aren’t thinking at all about tomorrow, and are milking what they’ve got for everything it’s worth.” Maybe a bit harsh, but in contrast to the industrious, Midwestern urban America that I grew up in, life and people’s perceptions of what they can do to improve their own and others around them stands in stark contrast to the US. It’s not just that there’s a sense of helplessness and apathy here sometimes, but it’s that people don’t seem to care for anything other than themselves and their families. This is a trait of S. European cultures, to have very strong kinship networks, but the lack of concern for others and for public space and health can be really shocking. It’s just unheard of to see people organize a group for a good cause.
I try to piece together why this might be, and I must admit that there’s some blame to be given to the Turks and then Yugoslav rule. While the latter is far more revered and fondly remembered (not that hardly anyone today could remember the Ottoman empire), both were regimes that imposed rather than fostered rule of law and citizenship. Certainly the economic situation here and a provincial attitude contribute as well, but no matter how long I live here I’ll nonetheless never quite get used to it. Hopefully a weekend away will help cast such thoughts aside.
Happy May Day!
For I’ve also been reading Richard Rodriguez’s “Brown” recently. It’s a complex free train of thought text on his life as a Latino American and the browning of America through Latinos, blacks, Indians, and moreover, the juxtaposed “white” culture of mainstream America. It’s poignant, provocative, and sometimes offensive, but he makes you think. The thesis is not so much that America has different races but that we have different cultures, and we must behave differently within them. This though is a culture itself, and he writes of our culture: “…we live in a nation whose every other impulse is theatrical, but whose every other impulse is to insist upon “authenticity.”
I would agree. To break it down, Rodriquez is writing about the dual lives that most Americans live. That is, we are expected to be a certain way in school and on the job, but certainly not casual. I was reprimanded last summer when I napped on my break in the company’s lounge, as if napping was out of character, wasn’t allowed. I remember laughing about it, but it’s part of our nation’s conservativeness and Puritanical roots, no doubt, that makes how we act and enjoy life very different from Macedonia.
For the pleasures of life here are many, and people perhaps over indulge in those. Not to put it in religious terms, but it’s easy to be a glutton here—good food and an idle lifestyle is what you see everywhere. People, such as my students of all ages, always claim to be too busy with this or that to do what I ask of them. Yet with adults at least, it is pretty much assured that if you call someone and ask to go for a coffee or drink you’ll be able to make that happen. (On a sidenote and somewhat ironically, however, actually scheduling a time and place ahead of time is nearly impossible. On several occasions I’ve said “ok, meet me here in an hour” and my friend will respond “just call me when you get to the plaza and we’ll figure it out.” And when I thought I’d scheduled a coffee once, after waiting a half hour I called my friend to ask where he was and discovered that he was waiting for me to call him, “just to make sure I was coming.” If I was known for not showing up this would be one thing, but that’s not my character. I show up on time when I schedule things!)
Anyhow, back to my thoughts on life here. It’s as one diplomat I was speaking to recently said to me “it’s as if people here are stuck in the ‘60s, aren’t thinking at all about tomorrow, and are milking what they’ve got for everything it’s worth.” Maybe a bit harsh, but in contrast to the industrious, Midwestern urban America that I grew up in, life and people’s perceptions of what they can do to improve their own and others around them stands in stark contrast to the US. It’s not just that there’s a sense of helplessness and apathy here sometimes, but it’s that people don’t seem to care for anything other than themselves and their families. This is a trait of S. European cultures, to have very strong kinship networks, but the lack of concern for others and for public space and health can be really shocking. It’s just unheard of to see people organize a group for a good cause.
I try to piece together why this might be, and I must admit that there’s some blame to be given to the Turks and then Yugoslav rule. While the latter is far more revered and fondly remembered (not that hardly anyone today could remember the Ottoman empire), both were regimes that imposed rather than fostered rule of law and citizenship. Certainly the economic situation here and a provincial attitude contribute as well, but no matter how long I live here I’ll nonetheless never quite get used to it. Hopefully a weekend away will help cast such thoughts aside.
Happy May Day!
Friday, April 17, 2009
TGI(G)F
I’ve been way to busy lately to blog, but “Thank God it’s (Good) Friday.” At least for Orthodox Christians. Indeed, today marks the beginning of the Easter weekend here in Macedonia and throughout the Orthodox Christian world. Personally, it’s a much needed break from my teaching, particularly as Monday’s my busiest day and I usually spend half the weekend preparing for it.
Naturally, I’ve been doing plenty of Easter activities this week with my younger language students, something one can do in an all-Macedonian school, where being Christian is just part of the culture and thus assumed. I’ve been sharing what I perceive to be American and my family’s traditions, such as what we eat, Easter egg hunts (which they don’t have here), and dyeing eggs. However, I’ve also spoken to some adult students and friends to gain a better understanding of the rules and rites of this time of the year, and have been interested to hear a few things in particular.
For one, dyeing eggs should only be done on the Thursday or Saturday before Easter, and must be done before sunrise. Thus many of my students yesterday told me how their mothers arose at 4am to dye eggs. Further, the color of the eggs may run the gamut, but it will primarily be a dark red, representing the blood of Christ. The eggs are decorative until Sunday, when everyone takes one in hand and breaks it over another person’s egg. Of the two eggs clashing, the one with that which doesn’t break is brought good luck and fortune. (Several egg salads and sandwiches follow, of course!) Further, young children should have a red egg in the bath with them on Easter, as it’s believed to bring health and prosperity.
I’ve asked several students what a traditional Easter lunch is, and this is something that’s not dictated by any rite necessarily. Some said they would eat pork or chicken or lamb, the latter being the traditional Easter meal in previous times. However, only a small minority of students said they would eat lamb, though one was rather looking forward to slaughtering a lamb in her family’s village!
One unique thing about the period before Easter (“Post”—our Lent) is that those who practice here will fast (“posti”). Well, I haven’t quite determined if fasting is exactly what it is, as they restrict their diet by not eating oil, meat, and eggs, for example, but they do still eat. And they may do this for 40, 14, or 7 days. It seems that the idea of Lent is thus a bit different, as instead of giving up something for 40 days they have options of for how long and what it is they give up (though it is usually one if not more of the aforementioned; and in the sandwich shops & bakeries recently there has been the option of bean sandwiches...)
What occurs in churches here is another ballgame as well. Whereas Orthodox view the role of the church/temple differently (see below) and don’t attend church in the same fashion as most church-goers in the US, this weekend is a time when many will gather in mass for ceremonies. These are today, tomorrow evening before midnight, and Sunday’s Easter mass. However, the notion of a priest addressing his parishioners and giving a spoken Easter mass is less likely to be seen than the priest chanting and swinging an incense holder while the former stand in quiet contemplation (hesychasm). As in the US, on Easter the priest will say “Hristos voskrese”—‘Christ is risen’. However, in Macedonia people will actually greet each other in and outside of church on Easter saying this, to which one should reply: “Navistina voskrese”—‘Indeed he has risen’. One last rite I heard of is that those attending midnight mass tomorrow evening will enter the church and crawl under a decorated table, which is to represent the grave/tomb of Christ (And interestingly, in some towns people will then go in droves to the local cemetery to light candles for their deceased loved ones.)
Anyhow, it’s a fascinatingly more complex array of traditions than most Americans have, and I would now like to share what I wrote to my family last year after attending an Easter mass at a Serbian Orthodox Church in Indianapolis. Having had more time on my hands then, I did some research into the history of the Orthodox and Catholic churches and wrote about the former specifically.
“Historically, the [Orthodox] Church was the earliest form of Christianity. Its saints were apostles and disciples of Christ who spread his message of goodwill towards mankind. The religion slowly spread into Europe, the Near East, and N. Africa in the first millenium AD with the growth/affluence of the Byzantine and Roman Empires. Until 1054 the Church was a unified hierarchy of councils and patriarchates, with major seats in cities such as Rome, Constantinople (modern Istanbul), Antioch, Jerusalem, and Alexandria (Egypt).
In 1054, however, the Great Schism occurred and Christianity branched for the first time. Rome split from these ecumenical councils and declared itself autonomous, having papal supremacy, and thus all powerful. Crusades ordained by the Pope, particularly the 4th (which was the insanely bloody sacking of Constantinople [today’s Istanbul] by French and Italian Catholics pillaging and plundering Orthodox Christians in 1204) cemented the schism.
The Roman Catholic Church was therefore established in the west (and dominates in W. Europe), and the Orthodox Church in the east. Since then, Catholicism has spread to represent half of the world's Christian population (ie, there are approximately one billion Catholics), whereas Orthodoxy is in a distant second place behind it (as there are approximately 150 million Orthodox Christians).
What is fascinating to me is that the Orthodox church is not a church with a strong political voice, such as the Vatican. The head of the Church is not an all powerful figure with “papal infallibility” like the Catholic Pope (this is in fact explicitly rejected by the Orthodox Church), but a spiritual and administrative leader. And thus the traditions of the Church are left very much as I experienced them yesterday, and which I did on several occasions in Macedonia: they are seance like in the monotone chanting, singing, and incense burning of the priest, and the followers are present to share in the hesychasm—the meditative closing off of the outside world in order to allow the introspective, hermit-like self-analysis that includes digesting the original message of Christianity: that being selfless is always better than being selfish.
Thus the brief voiced message of the priest at the end of the introspective, hour long ceremony yesterday was that we as a human race are in a critical time, with war and hatred being perpetuated, people starving and dying of disease, and globalization destroying our planet. There was little talk of "God" or of morals, an afterlife or missionizing, and the anti-globalization message is very much in line with modern liberal thinkers such as Howard Zinn (he has actually has a new book out on this).
Therefore, the joy of Orthodoxy is the joy of celebrating humanity and equality; appreciating all life & nature, friends and family. To them Christ is a symbol of that positiveness that humans *can* embody and act on. This is what I wanted to share, and what I hope you will better understand in differentiating (as they do in the rest of the Judeo-Christian world) the difference between Protestant Christians/Lutherans, Catholics, and Orthodox Christians.”
СРЕКЕН ВЕЛИГДЕН!—Sreken Veligden!—Happy Easter!
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