After a couple of days of hard work and rewarding effort a visitor from the UK and I enjoyed a bit of cultural exploring around the centre of Novi Sad. I introduced him to my favourite statue in the entrance of the Gallery of Matice Srpske. The blind guslar Filipović, a spirit caught in bronze, solemnly beckons us to an older age when Serbian mythology and national identity were carried by such wandering musicians from mountain chieftain's hearth to monastery konak, from summer fair to winter stronghold, during times of plenty and times of hunger and war. Such was the guslar's calling to recite and compose to the one stringed gusle the epic poems of an oral tradition as old as the Slavs' Balkan wanderings. And a blind musician! Such epic song can still be heard.
We only walked out of the museum to find the sunburnt gajdaš, or gajde player, Voja Stanković from Titel, playing in the Trg Slobodna (Square of Freedom). Although the gajde are the Serbian bag pipes, Voja also sings epic songs. On this occasion however he was between tunes and chasing away gypsy children who were enjoying their own entertainment and much less trouble than Turkish cavalry. He seemed to have sold a few CDs and looked well. Thank you travelling musicians and poets! Incidentally Slobodan Trkulja is one of Serbia's most versatile and exciting young musicians who filled the Sava Centre in New Belgrade with his band and an orchestra from Holland where he studied jazz. He plays the gajde and traditional flutes, he sings the old songs echoing from Byzantium, and central amongst his musicians are monks who chant the hymns of praise at the heart of the nation's identity.
25 October 2008 – To be content
The good news about recession is that it might just alert our deep and buried fears of cataclysm. Economic recession and hardship is a small price to pay if it helps us face the really unavoidable fact that our high energy carbon-fuel life styles have to change. Climate change will continue and as Professor Stern put it this week, food insecurity and large scale migrations of peoples are inevitable. If governments would grasp the opportunity while we are all worried we really could change direction now building a more sustainable economy on renewable energy. According to bloggers this is pie in the sky and in no way will (or should?) people change. That is the depressing bit; but change they will, even if it is left to our children and their children to face these challenges.
A country like Serbia just at the start of market economic development has a fantastic opportunity to concentrate on high-tech development, renewable energy and efficient transport. But one fears they will be chasing yesterday's economy; will they really benefit from new ski developments in pristine nature reserves? Are these huge SUVs costing the price of 5 village houses or 25ha of the finest arable farmland in Europe about anything other than ego? For which we know there is little remedy but nemesis. I wish my student friends God speed; plenty of them want something more wise and much more exciting.
We who have lost our peasant culture have much to learn. My village neighbours have just about finished storing the yellow hard cobs of maize into their čardak, the corn cribs found in every yard in the village. All day long I can hear the sound of geese and turkeys. Soon it will be time to kill the pig and prepare a winter's worth of ham, bacon and sausages. Winter preserves of fruit and vegetables are being prepared. Tubs of lard are taken down the cellar. Sacks of beans are stored out of the reach of rats. I don't view this as something charming and quaint. I observe with admiration and delight. We can live more frugally and sustainably, and we can do it well. This was Socrates' “city” were citizens would be content with what they produced without waging wars to steal from others. Thanks to high-tech I can access the whole web whilst listening to my neighbours pass the window with horse and cart. And its not all miserable slog. On Sunday we paused to listen outside a window to Hungarian folk music and the squeals of delighted children learning to dance. As Saint Paul says to the Philippians, “I have learned .....to be content.” But as he makes clear, sufficiency and contentment first acknowledge God at the centre of our lives.
22 October 2008 – For three slices of bread
I thought I should record this small piece of evidence that the global credit crunch may finally be making itself felt in the Serbian economy, which it has to be said has up till now robustly ignored the sound of collapsing banks all around its borders. It is a tiresome domestic saga of the telephone which is endlessly being cut off. We are advised by neighbours in the village that Telekom Srbija often allocate a shared line; that would explain why the phone is inexplicably engaged on occasions. Or, alternatively in our case it often seems, when there is little traffic they simply turn us off. However when I called to complain I discovered that I had an unpaid bill from months previous. Said bill was then paid, plus a fine plus interest, but still no connection. To a polite letter with proof that I had paid the bill I received a solemn reply informing me that I was still in debt to the tune of 12 Dinara (£0.12) which is less than half the cost of the stamp or say 3 slices of bread. After much fuss and another letter the debt has finally been cleared, hopefully before the interest overtakes the post again. We await the excitement of being able to phone the outside world again by land-line. At the same time I received a Foreign Investors' Guide in which I am breathlessly informed that the “integrated strategy of Telekom Srbija will enable its' customers to enjoy the benefits of a convergent offering, combining the best information and telecommunication technologies etc”.
I don't think I am being unfair if I say that a small investor faces a nightmare of inconsistent pedantry and bureaucracy. The potential is great but the practice is dismal. I can't find a way of blaming the Turks on this occasion. The Austrians and their efficiency are prime culprits but maybe its the Communist command system that made it risky to use your initiative. But a small price to pay for the beauty of hearing each other's voices. The Little owl spoke from a nearby roof in this morning's finishing darkness. So I am grateful!
3 October 2008 – Corn cobs and credit crunch
I have long railed against the Serbian love affair with Western consumer culture. “We just want to be a normal country!” they say. I can't blame my friends for wanting that, but what an opportunity to learn from our mistakes. Pink TV is a “red top” hedonistic kitsch-fest, quite fun in small doses, but a bit sad if this represents the aspirations of a society with so much ahead of it. Every billboard and every shopping basket reflects this consumerism; there don't seem to be many eccentrics choosing packaging that can be used to light the fire rather than dumped on the edge of the village. Now, thanks to the Credit-crunch, perhaps Serbia has another chance to take note. Judging by a casual look at newspapers and news sites, the financial meltdown has hardly been noticed. Eastern European bourses dipped a little, but there have been no cliff falls. This probably reflects both under-capitalization and a low cost base. Recession in the West may actually encourage more investment in Serbia where costs are lower and only a day's truck-drive away. The credit balloon has only just got under way, causing city centre flats to double in price as buyers fall over themselves to buy new properties yet to be built. Thank you banks. Fortunately household debt is still tiny or non-existent and family members are more likely to be your creditors.
As I write with a chill October breeze outside I can hear my neighbour filling up the čardak with hard bright yellow corn cobs, turkeys discuss farmyard affairs, a row of pale yellow apples sits on the window sill and a heap of walnuts needs sorting. Learning to live simply will be hard work, and if we can live sufficiently we should be very content.
29 September 2008 – Looking up
There can't be many corners of Europe where the crumbling and gracious 19th Century hasn't yet been swept away by development. The old Hungary of Northern Vojvodina, locked away in strife-torn Serbia is one of those places. We visited both beautiful tree-lined Sombor, a small town cast up on a deserted beach of history, and the much larger Subotica on the main route from Central Europe to the wild Balkans, Turkey and Asia beyond. Stopping first at the vast market on the south side of Subotica one was reminded what all these Turkish trucks are doing on the road from the South-east. This was a labyrinth of stalls selling “textiles”, that is to say clothes, unbranded or pirate branded, in unlimited quantities. No time for research I am afraid but when prices are offered in Hungarian Forints as readily as Serbian Dinars one recognizes the economic pull for shoppers from Hungary. Looking around at the stall holders one saw the same economic forces at work. Gypsies there were aplenty, always traders; but why so many Asian faces? It seems that during the time of sanctions there was a strong trade with China along with so many immigrants to this “doorstep of Europe” that there is hardly a village or town in Serbia and Vojvodina without a Chinese shop or stall-holder. Ignoring all this I headed for the green market and found some Šumski med (forest honey) from the wooded banks of the Danube. It is dark and thick and rather scarce since the bees need the right conditions to send them collecting the aphid sugar found in the late summer forest canopy. You can also see what is in season: apples, pears, very sweet grapes, pumpkins and squash, roots. A time to avoid things that have travelled up on those Turkish trucks. Better to look forward to next season's fresh soft fruit.
Subotica is an extraordinary architectural gem, thanks partly to the tides of wars flowing around it rather than over it. But you don't need to wander far to read the signs, recent and past, that tell a city's story. Subotica boasts a truly monumental war memorial to the Second World War, perhaps more a Partizan monument. Large numbers of Vojvodina's Germans fought and died for the Nazis in the Balkan mountains, but their names are not to be seen. One day I must find the memorial to the First World War; surely that will have a long and sad list of names, the beginning of many troubles for the Hungarians. Near the centre there still stands the huge deserted synagogue; certainly no names there, but the tiny and insignificant memorial in the corner of the unkempt yard had the distinction of having been raised by one race in memory to a disappeared race; “To the 4000 Jews with whom we lived and built Subotica, who disappeared in the Fascist death camps in the Second World War.” But memories are short. On the wall nearby graffiti with a swastika said “Death to gypsies”. No memorial for the gypsies who also died. At about that moment Colin looked up and gave a bird alert. A flock of 27 migrating Black storks flew right over the synagogue; such uncommon, shy and beautiful birds seemed to be reminding me to keep looking up.
The good news about recession is that it might just alert our deep and buried fears of cataclysm. Economic recession and hardship is a small price to pay if it helps us face the really unavoidable fact that our high energy carbon-fuel life styles have to change. Climate change will continue and as Professor Stern put it this week, food insecurity and large scale migrations of peoples are inevitable. If governments would grasp the opportunity while we are all worried we really could change direction now building a more sustainable economy on renewable energy. According to bloggers this is pie in the sky and in no way will (or should?) people change. That is the depressing bit; but change they will, even if it is left to our children and their children to face these challenges.
A country like Serbia just at the start of market economic development has a fantastic opportunity to concentrate on high-tech development, renewable energy and efficient transport. But one fears they will be chasing yesterday's economy; will they really benefit from new ski developments in pristine nature reserves? Are these huge SUVs costing the price of 5 village houses or 25ha of the finest arable farmland in Europe about anything other than ego? For which we know there is little remedy but nemesis. I wish my student friends God speed; plenty of them want something more wise and much more exciting.
I thought I should record this small piece of evidence that the global credit crunch 
I have long railed against the Serbian love affair with Western consumer culture. “We just want to be a normal country!” they say. I can't blame my friends for wanting that, but what an opportunity to learn from our mistakes. Pink TV is a “red top” hedonistic kitsch-fest, quite fun in small doses, but a bit sad if this represents the aspirations of a society with so much ahead of it. Every billboard and every shopping basket reflects this consumerism; there don't seem to be many eccentrics choosing packaging that can be used to light the fire rather than dumped on the edge of the village. Now, thanks to the Credit-crunch, perhaps Serbia has another chance to take note. Judging by a casual look at newspapers and news sites, the financial meltdown has hardly been noticed. Eastern European bourses dipped a little, but there have been no cliff falls. This probably reflects both under-capitalization and a low cost base. Recession in the West may actually encourage more investment in Serbia where costs are lower and only a day's truck-drive away. The credit balloon has only just got under way, causing city 
centre flats to double in price as buyers fall over themselves to buy new properties yet to be built. Thank you banks. Fortunately household debt is still tiny or non-existent and family members are more likely to be your creditors.
There can't be many corners of Europe where the crumbling and gracious 19th Century hasn't yet been swept away by development. The old Hungary of Northern Vojvodina, locked away in strife-torn Serbia is one of those places. We visited both beautiful tree-lined Sombor, a small town cast up on a deserted beach of history, and the much larger Subotica on the main route from Central Europe to the wild Balkans, Turkey and Asia beyond. Stopping first at the vast market on the south side of Subotica one was reminded what all these Turkish trucks are doing on the road from the South-east. This was a labyrinth of stalls selling “textiles”, that is to say clothes, unbranded or pirate branded, in unlimited quantities. No time for research I am afraid but when prices are offered in Hungarian Forints as readily as Serbian Dinars one recognizes the economic pull for shoppers from 
Hungary. Looking around at the stall holders one saw the same economic forces at work. Gypsies there were aplenty, always traders; but why so many Asian faces? It seems that during the time of sanctions there was a strong trade with China along with so many immigrants to this “doorstep of Europe” that there is hardly a village or town in Serbia and Vojvodina without a Chinese shop or stall-holder. Ignoring all this I headed for the green market and found some Šumski med (forest honey) from the wooded banks of the Danube. It is dark and thick and rather scarce since the bees need the right conditions to send them collecting the aphid sugar found in the late summer forest canopy. You can also see what is in season: apples, pears, very sweet grapes, pumpkins and squash, roots. A time to avoid things that have travelled up on those Turkish trucks. Better to look forward to next season's fresh soft fruit.
Subotica is an extraordinary architectural gem, thanks partly to the tides of wars flowing around it rather than over it. But you don't need to wander far to read the signs, recent and past, that tell a city's story. Subotica boasts a truly monumental war memorial to the Second World War, perhaps more a Partizan monument. Large numbers of Vojvodina's Germans fought and died for the Nazis in the Balkan mountains, but their names are not to be seen. One day I must find the memorial to the First 
World War; surely that will have a long and sad list of names, the beginning of many troubles for the Hungarians. Near the centre there still stands the huge deserted synagogue; certainly no names there, but the tiny and insignificant memorial in the corner of the unkempt yard had the distinction of having been raised by one race in memory to a disappeared race; “To the 4000 Jews with whom we lived and built Subotica, who disappeared in the Fascist death camps in the Second World War.” But memories are short. On the wall nearby graffiti with a swastika said “Death to gypsies”. No memorial for the gypsies who also died. At about that moment Colin looked up and gave a bird alert. A flock of 27 migrating Black storks flew right over the synagogue; such uncommon, shy and beautiful birds seemed to be reminding me to keep looking up.