22 June 2009
It is raining. And cold. And raining. I’ve missed the morning bus to Dubrovnik and the afternoon bus is at 2.45.
A lot of things had to go right for me today, and no rain was the first step. As far as I know, it’s rained all night. I had planned on going to Herzeg Novi this morning (effectively ridding myself of George and the Woman in Red.)
And they all know I’m leaving this morning. They all asked. And none of them were satisfied with “the morning.” They all wanted a time.
Great. It has just started raining harder.
It seems that my choices are going to be: go to Herzeg Novi anyways in the pouring rain (I’m not talking about drizzle here), 2. stay here until the afternoon bus, trapped inside this hostel with all those that drive me insane.
I think the pouring rain is preferable.
I must go - it’s 8.01 and I told George I would leave at 10 or 11 which means he may be here at 9.30... I really don’t want him to walk me to the bus station.
10.30 AM
I am sitting in the restaurant/internet cafe sipping cold coffee and checking my email. I've instructed the girls at the hostel to tell George that I left awhile back (so he won't try to go find me at the bus station).
The Woman in Red just walked in! Seriously. She is here. She didn't see me (thank you J-Man!), but she's only about 5 feet away from me. I have no hope of escaping without being forced to talk to her. There goes my relaxing morning at the internet cafe.
I was forced into a few minutes of awkward conversation... but she's gone now.
I'll let you know the rest of the story when I know myself...
Showing posts with label George. Show all posts
Showing posts with label George. Show all posts
Monday, June 22, 2009
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Morning Montenegrin Madness
21 June 2009
It’s not even 10 AM yet and they’ve already busted through the door. Pero, The Woman in Red, and George. They are asking us if we want coffee and if we slept okay (I say yes although the answer is no).
Me, the special favorite, am asked twice more if I want coffee and once more if I slept well and where I went while in Montenegro and was I okay and a thousand other things. I started to make French toast and then there were a whole host of other questions, “Do you have oil?” and “What are the ingredients?” and “Do you need a pan?” and so many other unnecessary questions. 
I did need a pan and had actually gotten one out. The Woman in Red put it away, and then realizing I would need a pan, got out the same pan. She showed me how to make coffee the Bosnian way. It looked a lot like the American instant way, but whatever. 
The kitchen... yes, seriously, it is built to look like a boat. I was told that this is a typical Montenegrin kitchen...
I finally finished making my French toast and sat down to eat. I didn’t allow myself to be trapped physically this time, but I was still definitely trapped. I ate quickly, but not quickly enough unfortunately. George told me about going to dinner at his sister’s house in Herzeg Novi. I politely said that it was nice he will get to see his sister. He hasn’t seen this sister in a year and a half.
Then, the worst thing possible happened. George asked me to go to his sister’s house with him for dinner. What could I do? I did the only thing I could think of to do, I said that I wasn’t sure, but I thought I had plans with the Serbian sisters. They kindly backed me up, but George didn't back down. He tried to convince me to go with him, telling me that it would be an excellent opportunity to experience traditional Montenegrin hospitality. That may be true, and I am sure his family is nice, but I don't think I am willing to be trapped on a bus next to George for an hour, then at his sister's house for a couple more hours, and then an hour on the returning bus. I think I would lose my mind. In fact, I know I would. I was desperately close this morning. I considered jumping out the window to escape him. I knew I would break myself, but breaking myself may be preferable to going insane. And besides, if he hasn't seen his sister in a year and a half and the only others at this get together are going to be family members, then I would not only feel awkward, but intrusive as well.
He asked again, insisted really, and again I said I thought I had plans. The Serbian sisters backed me up again saying I would see them off (they leave today). George, feeling trapped I suppose, invited them too. "I guess you can come too." As in, if he couldn't separate me from them, he would invite them too, but only if he had to and not because he wanted to.
Fortunately, the Woman in Red told him to go to the other hostel. I was safe for the moment. I left the hostel soon after and came to the restaurant (where I can connect for free). I must remain hidden for a few more hours. I want George to be safely on his way to his sister's. He can't find me, or else he will force me to go with him. He said we could go at 4 (it's 3.10 now), but when I told him I had plans at 4 he said we could go another time... whatever time is good for me.
I have every intention of leaving Kotor as early as I can in the morning, preferably before the workers barge in.
From Kotor, I'm off to Herzeg Novi for a few hours, and then back to Dubrovnik, Croatia to the airport. Tomorrow night, I'm flying to London, will stay until Wednesday, and then fly back to Austin. I am ready. I wasn't ready a week ago, but because of my insane experiences here, I'm totally ready.
It’s not even 10 AM yet and they’ve already busted through the door. Pero, The Woman in Red, and George. They are asking us if we want coffee and if we slept okay (I say yes although the answer is no).
Me, the special favorite, am asked twice more if I want coffee and once more if I slept well and where I went while in Montenegro and was I okay and a thousand other things. I started to make French toast and then there were a whole host of other questions, “Do you have oil?” and “What are the ingredients?” and “Do you need a pan?” and so many other unnecessary questions. 
I did need a pan and had actually gotten one out. The Woman in Red put it away, and then realizing I would need a pan, got out the same pan. She showed me how to make coffee the Bosnian way. It looked a lot like the American instant way, but whatever. 
The kitchen... yes, seriously, it is built to look like a boat. I was told that this is a typical Montenegrin kitchen...I finally finished making my French toast and sat down to eat. I didn’t allow myself to be trapped physically this time, but I was still definitely trapped. I ate quickly, but not quickly enough unfortunately. George told me about going to dinner at his sister’s house in Herzeg Novi. I politely said that it was nice he will get to see his sister. He hasn’t seen this sister in a year and a half.
Then, the worst thing possible happened. George asked me to go to his sister’s house with him for dinner. What could I do? I did the only thing I could think of to do, I said that I wasn’t sure, but I thought I had plans with the Serbian sisters. They kindly backed me up, but George didn't back down. He tried to convince me to go with him, telling me that it would be an excellent opportunity to experience traditional Montenegrin hospitality. That may be true, and I am sure his family is nice, but I don't think I am willing to be trapped on a bus next to George for an hour, then at his sister's house for a couple more hours, and then an hour on the returning bus. I think I would lose my mind. In fact, I know I would. I was desperately close this morning. I considered jumping out the window to escape him. I knew I would break myself, but breaking myself may be preferable to going insane. And besides, if he hasn't seen his sister in a year and a half and the only others at this get together are going to be family members, then I would not only feel awkward, but intrusive as well.
He asked again, insisted really, and again I said I thought I had plans. The Serbian sisters backed me up again saying I would see them off (they leave today). George, feeling trapped I suppose, invited them too. "I guess you can come too." As in, if he couldn't separate me from them, he would invite them too, but only if he had to and not because he wanted to.
Fortunately, the Woman in Red told him to go to the other hostel. I was safe for the moment. I left the hostel soon after and came to the restaurant (where I can connect for free). I must remain hidden for a few more hours. I want George to be safely on his way to his sister's. He can't find me, or else he will force me to go with him. He said we could go at 4 (it's 3.10 now), but when I told him I had plans at 4 he said we could go another time... whatever time is good for me.
I have every intention of leaving Kotor as early as I can in the morning, preferably before the workers barge in.
From Kotor, I'm off to Herzeg Novi for a few hours, and then back to Dubrovnik, Croatia to the airport. Tomorrow night, I'm flying to London, will stay until Wednesday, and then fly back to Austin. I am ready. I wasn't ready a week ago, but because of my insane experiences here, I'm totally ready.
Saturday, June 20, 2009
More Man Problems
20 June 2009
Another day destined to be boring that turned into anything but.
The day began ordinarily enough with a trip to the restaurant and to the beach and then to the supermarket. That’s when things got weird (weird seems to follow me).
I was with my Serbian partner in crime, sitting on a bench underneath a tree when a stringy old man joined us. He was approximately 60, but perhaps he just looked that old because of the missing teeth and stringy hair. He was incredibly skinny and wrinkly, his skin leathery from too much sun for too many years. He wore blue, sporty beach shorts with red on the side and nothing more.
We were speaking about airports when he interrupted.
First, he wanted to know if we were speaking German. My Serbian friend replied in Serbian that no, we were not. He then asked if we were speaking English. She responded in Serbian that in fact we were. He replied that no wonder he didn’t know we were speaking English; he doesn’t speak English!
Then he started asking about our nationalities, if we were Serbian or American.
I realize that none of that is particularly interesting. The interesting bit is coming:
“Is she single?” he asked my friend.
She said I have a boyfriend.
“How old is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is he from and how old is he?
She replied, “I don’t know.”
Then he asked her a few questions about where she was from in Serbia.
I couldn’t quite bare to look at him, so I didn’t. I let her do all the talking (not like I could communicate with him anyway).
At the time, I had no idea what he was asking her (the conversation was translated for my benefit later), but decided that she had been talking to him long enough and declared that we were late for meeting her sister.
We walked quickly, but not too quickly. We didn’t want to raise suspicion.
In a few minutes, we were at the hostel. I unlocked the front door and we walked upstairs to the second door.
I turned the handle. It was locked. I tried both of my keys without luck. We decided to see if we could find Pero. We found him and he made a few phone calls. We returned to the hostel.
Pero joined us a few minutes later.
We took turns ringing the bell, yelling out “Mack!” and knocking on the door. The three windows in the hostel were open, so my Serbian friend (NOT my special Serbian George) walked around front and started throwing things through the window trying to hit Mack (the Singapore dude that was in the hostel sleeping). We yelled and yelled and threw everything we had (including several pairs of shoes and a pair of flippers that had been in a hall closet). Finally, Pero scaled the wall, climbed through one of the open windows, and tried to unstick the door from the other side. After trying 3 or 4 keys and almost tearing the handle off the door, he was able to open the door and we were able to get in to survey the destruction.
Notice the yellow flippers and water bottles and random shoes...
Funny enough, Mack wasn't even in the hostel... no one was. We thought Mack (the newest arrival from Singapore) had locked us out, but it turns out that the door stuck on its own.
George arrived a few minutes later. Our afternoon wouldn’t have been complete without him! He is my most favorite Special Serbian, you know. He exhausts me. I have to focus so hard on what he is saying, and to be polite I look at him. I am completely exhausted even now writing this post.
George spent hours at the hostel today. He is actually staying at the 2nd hostel, but for some reason spent the whole day sitting on the bed in the common room (yes, there’s a large bed in there, bigger than the room itself!). I was trapped at the dining table between George on the bed on my left and another Serbian man sitting on the couch on my right.
Can you tell how I feel from the expression on my face??
I was trapped. I had started making my dinner minutes before George arrived, so during the cooking, eating, and cleaning portions I was obliged to remain in the dining area.
To amuse ourselves, we took photos of George without him knowing to try to capture the popping eyeballs.
I must be an excellent conversationalist because as soon as he walked in, he started talking to me and didn’t stop until I finally was able to leave after about three hours or so.
I typed an SOS into my keyboard. “My eyes are glazing over.” No one answered my cry for help. I’m not sure they knew what to do or how to go about rescuing me from his clutches.
George and his sister discuss me often apparently. Did I already write about how George told me he talked about me at dinner with his sister? Apparently, they talked about me again today. They came to the conclusion that I appear more European than American. And his sister sends her regards (which is nice, especially seeing as I still like her and George has become overwhelming). I think he would be a decent guy in small doses, but he doesn’t understand when enough is enough and that sometimes, space is a good thing.
Pero had misplaced his keys (I have since found them), so he asked George for his key. I am sure he was sad that his hard-earned key disappeared before he’d had it in his hot little hand for than 20 minutes.
At about 10PM, I escaped. Several of the hostel guests were leaving to take walks, so I slipped out the door.
I walked around town taking photos in the dark playing with the exposure time. I think the hpotos I took the night I arrived turned out better, but these are good too.
I felt safe to return an hour later. I hate how I have to calculate when I can return. I hate how nervous and jumpy I am here in Kotor. I should be calm and relaxed, but I am so stressed all the time and it’s most definitely because of the workers.
Off to bed. I’m exhausted. You have no idea how tiring it is to avoid someone so… frustrating. And how awful it is to be trapped by said person for multiple hours and be forced to converse.
Another day destined to be boring that turned into anything but.
The day began ordinarily enough with a trip to the restaurant and to the beach and then to the supermarket. That’s when things got weird (weird seems to follow me).
I was with my Serbian partner in crime, sitting on a bench underneath a tree when a stringy old man joined us. He was approximately 60, but perhaps he just looked that old because of the missing teeth and stringy hair. He was incredibly skinny and wrinkly, his skin leathery from too much sun for too many years. He wore blue, sporty beach shorts with red on the side and nothing more.
We were speaking about airports when he interrupted.
First, he wanted to know if we were speaking German. My Serbian friend replied in Serbian that no, we were not. He then asked if we were speaking English. She responded in Serbian that in fact we were. He replied that no wonder he didn’t know we were speaking English; he doesn’t speak English!
Then he started asking about our nationalities, if we were Serbian or American.
I realize that none of that is particularly interesting. The interesting bit is coming:
“Is she single?” he asked my friend.
She said I have a boyfriend.
“How old is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“Where is he from and how old is he?
She replied, “I don’t know.”
Then he asked her a few questions about where she was from in Serbia.
I couldn’t quite bare to look at him, so I didn’t. I let her do all the talking (not like I could communicate with him anyway).
At the time, I had no idea what he was asking her (the conversation was translated for my benefit later), but decided that she had been talking to him long enough and declared that we were late for meeting her sister.
We walked quickly, but not too quickly. We didn’t want to raise suspicion.
In a few minutes, we were at the hostel. I unlocked the front door and we walked upstairs to the second door.
I turned the handle. It was locked. I tried both of my keys without luck. We decided to see if we could find Pero. We found him and he made a few phone calls. We returned to the hostel.
Pero joined us a few minutes later.
We took turns ringing the bell, yelling out “Mack!” and knocking on the door. The three windows in the hostel were open, so my Serbian friend (NOT my special Serbian George) walked around front and started throwing things through the window trying to hit Mack (the Singapore dude that was in the hostel sleeping). We yelled and yelled and threw everything we had (including several pairs of shoes and a pair of flippers that had been in a hall closet). Finally, Pero scaled the wall, climbed through one of the open windows, and tried to unstick the door from the other side. After trying 3 or 4 keys and almost tearing the handle off the door, he was able to open the door and we were able to get in to survey the destruction.
Notice the yellow flippers and water bottles and random shoes...
Funny enough, Mack wasn't even in the hostel... no one was. We thought Mack (the newest arrival from Singapore) had locked us out, but it turns out that the door stuck on its own.George arrived a few minutes later. Our afternoon wouldn’t have been complete without him! He is my most favorite Special Serbian, you know. He exhausts me. I have to focus so hard on what he is saying, and to be polite I look at him. I am completely exhausted even now writing this post.
George spent hours at the hostel today. He is actually staying at the 2nd hostel, but for some reason spent the whole day sitting on the bed in the common room (yes, there’s a large bed in there, bigger than the room itself!). I was trapped at the dining table between George on the bed on my left and another Serbian man sitting on the couch on my right.
Can you tell how I feel from the expression on my face??I was trapped. I had started making my dinner minutes before George arrived, so during the cooking, eating, and cleaning portions I was obliged to remain in the dining area.
To amuse ourselves, we took photos of George without him knowing to try to capture the popping eyeballs.
I must be an excellent conversationalist because as soon as he walked in, he started talking to me and didn’t stop until I finally was able to leave after about three hours or so.I typed an SOS into my keyboard. “My eyes are glazing over.” No one answered my cry for help. I’m not sure they knew what to do or how to go about rescuing me from his clutches.
George and his sister discuss me often apparently. Did I already write about how George told me he talked about me at dinner with his sister? Apparently, they talked about me again today. They came to the conclusion that I appear more European than American. And his sister sends her regards (which is nice, especially seeing as I still like her and George has become overwhelming). I think he would be a decent guy in small doses, but he doesn’t understand when enough is enough and that sometimes, space is a good thing.
Pero had misplaced his keys (I have since found them), so he asked George for his key. I am sure he was sad that his hard-earned key disappeared before he’d had it in his hot little hand for than 20 minutes.
At about 10PM, I escaped. Several of the hostel guests were leaving to take walks, so I slipped out the door.
I walked around town taking photos in the dark playing with the exposure time. I think the hpotos I took the night I arrived turned out better, but these are good too.
I felt safe to return an hour later. I hate how I have to calculate when I can return. I hate how nervous and jumpy I am here in Kotor. I should be calm and relaxed, but I am so stressed all the time and it’s most definitely because of the workers.Off to bed. I’m exhausted. You have no idea how tiring it is to avoid someone so… frustrating. And how awful it is to be trapped by said person for multiple hours and be forced to converse.
I've managed to avoid terror today... (George stopped by the hostel earlier - he still has no key so he buzzed up), but who knows how long that will last. My Serbian partners in crime leave tomorrow, and I will have a full day and a half alone....
I am thinking about taking some recreation photos to better depict what happened yesterday and the day before. It's one thing for me to describe what happened... it's something different to actually SEE what happened.
Alas, I better go... I've outgrown my welcome here (at this restaurant) and I must accomplish something today not blog related.
As a side note, there are 677 steps to the second tier of the Eiffel Tower (there are more than twice as many to the top of the fortress here in Kotor).
later!
I am thinking about taking some recreation photos to better depict what happened yesterday and the day before. It's one thing for me to describe what happened... it's something different to actually SEE what happened.
Alas, I better go... I've outgrown my welcome here (at this restaurant) and I must accomplish something today not blog related.
As a side note, there are 677 steps to the second tier of the Eiffel Tower (there are more than twice as many to the top of the fortress here in Kotor).
later!
Thursday, June 18, 2009
to the top of the fortress and back in 2.5 hours OR El hombre de la guitarra le gusta a cantar a mí
18 June 2009
“He’s gaining on us!”
“I see his guitar wobbling”
“Faster, faster! Run faster!”
I was almost scared. We left before he did. Why was he so close to us? How could he be getting closer?
It had started out innocently enough. I had recognized him from the bus returning from Budva so I asked, “Did I see you on the bus yesterday?” That one statement led to the crazy events that followed and trust me when I say I regretted ever uttering those eight words.
As a side note, George is still stalking me. I think it’s karmic payback for taking those stalker photos of random strangers.
Back to the story:
“I can’t run down these steps any faster.”
“Watch out! There’s a step missing.”
“I need to rest a minute.”
“Ok, but only one. I see him coming.”
“He told me he was going to practice some.”
Pause.
“We’ve got to go! NOW!”
“All right, all right.”
A few more slippery steps and we would be there. We later told our feat to a guy from Singapore. He was impressed (or maybe he had thought that we were stupipd, but I‘m going with impressed here). He said that the 1,500 steps to the top of the fortress were slippery and he was shocked that we ran down them (without falling).
He didn’t have a singing guitar man chasing him.
Reflecting on the feat, we were pretty awesome. Some of the steps were out and the sun had set long ago, leaving only shadows and darkness.
And at least I wasn’t alone on that nighttime run. I had company, a friend from the hostel. She understood my plight and my apprehension.
The fortress itself was amazing.
Ruins covering the side of the mountain, most of which were climbable. And the views from the fortress were even better.
Sometimes I’m too nice. The guy asked if I would take his picture since he had forgotten his camera. I obliged. My faithful hostel buddy was on the other side of St. John’s fort (at the top of the fortress) and couldn’t see my distress.
To thank me, he said he would sing me a Texas song (since I am from Texas). What could I say?
I said, “sure.”
And he proceeded to sing me a Texas song. Unfortunately, he didn’t remember the words or the chords and couldn’t reach that upper octave, but he tried. Fortunately, by that time, my hostel friend had realized that I needed assistance and was there to my rescue, pulling me away from the grips of this 40-year-old wannabe guitarist and down 1,500 steps to safety at the bottom.
He must have run as well. He kept coming closer and closer. The faster we ran, the closer he edged. He could not possibly walk that fast. He must have been running, chasing, trying to get closer…. Oh the thought is numbingly scary.
Now, when I roam the streets of Kotor, I have to be very careful to not run into George OR Guitar Man. Fortunately, Guitar Man is going to Tivat tomorrow, so I won’t have to worry about him until the day after.
“He’s gaining on us!”
“I see his guitar wobbling”
“Faster, faster! Run faster!”
I was almost scared. We left before he did. Why was he so close to us? How could he be getting closer?
It had started out innocently enough. I had recognized him from the bus returning from Budva so I asked, “Did I see you on the bus yesterday?” That one statement led to the crazy events that followed and trust me when I say I regretted ever uttering those eight words.
As a side note, George is still stalking me. I think it’s karmic payback for taking those stalker photos of random strangers.
Back to the story:
“I can’t run down these steps any faster.”
“Watch out! There’s a step missing.”
“I need to rest a minute.”
“Ok, but only one. I see him coming.”
“He told me he was going to practice some.”
Pause.
“We’ve got to go! NOW!”
“All right, all right.”
A few more slippery steps and we would be there. We later told our feat to a guy from Singapore. He was impressed (or maybe he had thought that we were stupipd, but I‘m going with impressed here). He said that the 1,500 steps to the top of the fortress were slippery and he was shocked that we ran down them (without falling).
He didn’t have a singing guitar man chasing him.
Reflecting on the feat, we were pretty awesome. Some of the steps were out and the sun had set long ago, leaving only shadows and darkness.
And at least I wasn’t alone on that nighttime run. I had company, a friend from the hostel. She understood my plight and my apprehension.
The fortress itself was amazing.
Ruins covering the side of the mountain, most of which were climbable. And the views from the fortress were even better.
Sometimes I’m too nice. The guy asked if I would take his picture since he had forgotten his camera. I obliged. My faithful hostel buddy was on the other side of St. John’s fort (at the top of the fortress) and couldn’t see my distress.To thank me, he said he would sing me a Texas song (since I am from Texas). What could I say?
I said, “sure.”
And he proceeded to sing me a Texas song. Unfortunately, he didn’t remember the words or the chords and couldn’t reach that upper octave, but he tried. Fortunately, by that time, my hostel friend had realized that I needed assistance and was there to my rescue, pulling me away from the grips of this 40-year-old wannabe guitarist and down 1,500 steps to safety at the bottom.He must have run as well. He kept coming closer and closer. The faster we ran, the closer he edged. He could not possibly walk that fast. He must have been running, chasing, trying to get closer…. Oh the thought is numbingly scary.
Now, when I roam the streets of Kotor, I have to be very careful to not run into George OR Guitar Man. Fortunately, Guitar Man is going to Tivat tomorrow, so I won’t have to worry about him until the day after.
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