It’s Sunday morning. We are due to leave for Croatia tomorrow morning. My main concern is that we get there safely, and hopefully without a long wait at the border. And I have my list of usual hopes/preferences- that the car keeps working, that we stay healthy, that the apartment we’ve chosen is comfortable, that the town is nice…that I will stay present in the moment, not stress about things, that I will see the Divine in everyone I interact with, that I will breathe well, that I will notice what is trying to catch my attention, and that I will respond well rather than being reactive when something disturbs me…
But in the moment I am savoring this beautiful place where I am. I am sitting in the bedroom because the light is better here. And the couch I have mostly been sitting on in the kitchen/living area during our stay seems to have aggravated my neck.
From this cozy bed, legs covered by a white duvet with red hearts, and a wool blanket on top of that, I turn my head slightly to the right and see (through the sheer lacy curtain) the trees across the street at the base of the mountain lit up in the morning sun. I almost wrote ‘joyously lit up’ but I’m not sure if trees feel joy. I believe it’s possible. They certainly respond positively to the sunlight. I feel joy seeing them. I feel joy simply seeing, period.
Aside from the view out the big window the rest of what I see in this room is not especially lovely. The walls are painted a dull dingy grey (why, why, why does anyone choose this color for any room anywhere when there are thousands of other colors to choose from?). The purely functional furniture is only that. And at times I smell hints of mold in this (and other) rooms in this house and I think I am reacting to it a bit. The thing in this room that makes me most happy, aside from the view, is the ceramic smiling snail that sits on top of an old (non functioning) heater. It looks like something a young teenager might have made in an art class.
..
I’ve moved to the covered porch. I haven’t sat out here in the early mornings because it has been too nippy. But today I bundled myself up and will see how long I can be out here before I get too chilly. I brought Merlin with me (meaning, I brought out my phone so I can use the bird ID app). We have heard far fewer birds on this trip than we heard last year. Or rather, fewer varieties. This morning the app is only identifying the Great Tit and Hooded Crow although I know I am hearing others, as well as a rooster in the distance.
From this spot on the porch, in addition to seeing the ‘joyous trees’ across the little road I also see the side of the neighbor’s house to the right, maybe 12 feet away from where I sit, (but the porch is elevated so I am at the bottom of their roof level), with its plaster wall and orange tiled roof. Their bathroom window, always open, affords a perfect avenue for hearing all the sounds one might hear emanating from a bathroom.
In front of the porch is Dule’s old shed, recently replastered and a new metal roof placed on top of one part of the shed. We asked if he did the work and he said, ‘no, I old man.’ He said winter is coming and he is preparing the house. His stove was broken and he needed it to be fixed.
To the left of the shed is Dule’s driveway and part of his garden, and then left of that is his little house with its white plastered wall and orange tiled roof. The sight in front of me is not tidy, new, or uniform and would not be tolerated in an American suburban neighborhood, but I enjoy seeing it. I find so much beauty and things to wonder about. I certainly appreciate neatness, order, and structures built to code for safety’s sake, but if my choice was to live with this view of lovingly tended disarray, or a neatly manicured lawn, I would choose this view (I am not dissing those who prefer the neat look!I find much beauty there too, and there are definitely some types of neighborhood disorder I don’t like- junky cars and car parts, plastic toys, RV’s, etc). There is so much to look at in the scene before me- odd juxtapositioning of things, little surprising details, and a comforting scale of things. I get a sense of the people who live here, and the realities they deal with. That said, I would prefer a house built to code, and without mold. But our little house back home has mold too.
I wonder if we will return to Serbia. If we do I promise (really! Truly!) that next time we will stay in only 3-4 places, for at least a week or two in each. We have said that every year, but I really mean it this year, especially now that Zoran gave us a great idea yesterday of renting a larger place and inviting friends from Serbia to come visit us for a few days rather than us driving all over the country to see all of them.
But…who knows what next year, or even tomorrow will bring. May I meet whatever comes with grace, gratefulness, faith and peace.
…
Now it is Sunday evening. The temperature drops fast when the sun goes behind the mountain. It will likely go down to 40 tonite. There are an assortment of heating units in this odd apartment but still the hosts have not offered to turn any on. Luckily our blankets keep us warm at night. It’s just showering that can be a little chilly. But we have hot water so can’t complain!
After writing this morning, and after Jim returned from lifting weights in the forest gym, Dule invited us over for coffee, this time inside his house, and this time he actually made us (Serbian) coffee (on this whole trip nobody has ever served us anything but Serbian coffee. You can buy an espresso or cappuccino in some cafes but next to never do you seen brewed coffee).
His house was cluttered but not unclean. He apologized and said no house is good without a woman. We entered through a long enclosed porch filled with all sorts of ‘stuff’ (tools, buckets, gardening stuff, etc), and from there into a small room with a couch, coffee table, tiny desk, and shelves with books and at least 17 clocks (we counted what we could see). His Dell computer is small and dated. Actually everything was pretty dated. He said for some reason he has been collecting clocks for a long time. Dule served us coffee but asked me to pour it. His hands are not obviously shaky but I think he feared spilling. Then he brought out rakija, given to him by a friend. He also brought out a special glass specifically used for rakija and gave it to Jim to drink from and said once we drink this rakija we will truly be Serbs. He also brought out concentrated raspberry juice and a cold bottle of water to mix with it. However, the rakija and water looked the same and he unknowingly poured the rakija into our juice. A moment later he poured Rakija into the other glasses. There was no way we wanted to drink both the spiked juice and the rakija, so we reluctantly and gently pointed out that he had put rakija in the juice. He apologized and threw it all out and poured more juice but this time added water. Even with 3/4 water and one part juice it was too sweet for me. But Jim likes it.
We had a good chat, some in Serbian, some in English, and a good bit using the translating app. He reiterated he knows Russian and some Italian. He brought out photos of his daughter and granddaughters (he has 6 grandkids, all girls). He also brought out a trade journal and opened it to the page with a photo of the fighter plane he, as an engineer, provided technical support for. At least that was how we interpreted what he said. He also showed us a newspaper article from 1981 with a picture of him doing something with radar. He asked about my ancestors, where they were from as well as where Jim’s people were from. I asked how he met his wife. He said she worked at a shop that sold sweaters and he was immediately drawn to her. She was a very good woman, he said. He again indicated he has little reason for living without her. As we were getting ready to leave he said we must come back next year, however, he is an old man…and implied he might not still be alive. But he again proudly called us his good friends.
After a brief stop back home we walked to the spa grounds and bought another gift from a vendor. We always come with the intention of buying good gifts for people, but the best stuff to give is either food, which is too heavy to carry home, or hand made sweaters and other large items, which also don’t fit in our suitcases. Aside from magnets, or icons or soaps sold at the monasteries, there is not a lot to choose from. There are made in China touristy things but we don’t like buying that stuff.
We sat by the fountain until it was time to go into the spa for our massages. There is a long menu of options to choose from but the woman at the desk recommended the therapeutic relaxation full body message. Fifty minutes for $50. The price had doubled in ten years but is very cheap by American standards. The woman gave us each a key and showed us to our respective changing rooms. In each locker was a long thick waffle cotton robe, slide on sandals, and a towel. We emerged looking chic, and she showed us to our massage room. Both of us had men as our therapist. They were friendly but didn’t speak English. There was no health intake other than we had to sign a page saying we are healthy.
Being a massage therapist myself I was tuned into details, especially things that are different from how we do things in Seattle. First off, the therapist told me to hang my robe on the hook, leaving me naked except for underpants to turn toward him and lie face down on the table. I’m not very modest, and he was in no way creepy, but I was surprised he did not turn his back toward me when I took the robe off. Next difference- the massage table had a sheet on it but it was covered by disposable paper like one sees at a doctor’s office. It was not uncomfortable to lie on it but when I got up I saw it had torn and shifted in several places. I assume they change the sheet under it…but don’t know for sure.
The room was pleasant and simple. Nondescript repetitive boring music was playing softly. The part of the soundtrack I liked best were the birdsongs mixed in. There was no face cradle, just a hole in the table- not the most comfortable but not too bad. As soon as I laid down the guy drizzled a lot of warm oil on my back. I mean, a lot! I never use oil myself and don’t prefer it as a client, but I went into this session with an open curious mind. He started doing long firm strokes up and down my back. It was not unpleasant, and in fact just for a moment I felt I could cry if I allowed myself to, just a cry of relief and release of tension. He spent much of the time on my back but also did arms, legs, stomach, chest, neck and head, but almost all of his strokes were effleurage, but with firmness. He asked twice if it was ok. I told him in Serbian I will sleep well tonite, and I told him my left shoulder was more sore than the right. And that I enjoyed it very much. I did enjoy it. I would do it again. It has been ages since I’ve had a full body massage. That said, I still prefer slow deep tissue and neurofascial work. My chronic bad neck spot is still sore, but everything else feels a bit better.
Jim emerged from his room at the same time as me. Two glasses of lemonade (unsweetened) were waiting for us. We got dressed, gave the desk person some cash to give as a tip (we asked if tipping is expected and they said no, but we could if we wanted).
We walked home, then went out soon after to have dinner one more time at Contact. I finally ordered spaghetti, something I’ve been threatening to do since we started this trip. We paid cash and came close to using up all our Serbian money. We can’t exchange it for dollars in the U.S.
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