I don't know if it's just me, but I see cathedrals, churches and holy places everywhere I go in Zagreb--some have been preserved from the stamps of youth culture and others not so much.... Regardless of whether these holy sites are covered in graffiti or not, they remain beautiful and, at the very least, meaningful.
Below, you will see pictures of Gornji Grad, Zagreb's upper town--the old town. The cobblestone road that leads up to the old town and the baroque structures, juxtaposed with cafe's, graffiti and galleries symbolize a meeting place of the new, the old, and everything in between.
The pictures of the ornate cathedral is the Cathedral of the Assumption of the Virgin Mary. The twin peaks of the Cathedral hover over Zagreb, and you can see them from miles away, behind the huge bright blue billboard in the middle of Trg Bana Jospia Jelacica--the main square. I hear that this Cathedral has been through hell and back: an earlier version of the Cathedral was destroyed in 1242 by an invasion and an earthquake caused some major damage in 1880. You get the feeling that this place has been carefully preserved...
You will also see pictures of Kamenita Vrata and the Chapel of God's Mother, which is revered as a holy ground for many visitors. Why? Rumor has it that the painting of the Virgin Mary that you'll see in the pictures survived a fire.
Needless to say, being from a protestant/evangelical background and playing with anglicanism and eastern orthodoxy, I had many thoughts and, thankfully, lots of time for reflection today... about history, church bureaucracy, spirituality, encounters with the divine, diversity of perspective and where people find their hope.
You will also see pictures of St. Mark's church here. Enjoy!
Oh, and the first picture is on Franko Panska--funny to find a Mexican restaurant--with the most stereotypical name-- in Zagreb.
Subscribe To
Posts
All Comments
Friday, June 26, 2009
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Here's to my friend, Job, Part II
Suitcases rush past,
And fingers type quickly
job searches are gifted
with business casual uniforms so swiftly
And your slow walk
interrupts the rushed day
And your tears make everyone uncomfortable today
and the fact that we lay
in ashes that we pray
in the middle of the business day--no production
Interrupts
Your pain
interrupts
their day
Your quivering hands and lips
interrupts their
constructs
of how sane
they think they are
so that you become "other"
and they became scared
by their illusion
and surprised by
crisis,
unaware
And you,
calm
when crisis strikes
because crisis is the norm
and you learn to pace your fears through the ever-present storm
while former experts at life panic
you remain calm in the crisis,
--expert
while everyone is manic
And fingers type quickly
job searches are gifted
with business casual uniforms so swiftly
And your slow walk
interrupts the rushed day
And your tears make everyone uncomfortable today
and the fact that we lay
in ashes that we pray
in the middle of the business day--no production
Interrupts
Your pain
interrupts
their day
Your quivering hands and lips
interrupts their
constructs
of how sane
they think they are
so that you become "other"
and they became scared
by their illusion
and surprised by
crisis,
unaware
And you,
calm
when crisis strikes
because crisis is the norm
and you learn to pace your fears through the ever-present storm
while former experts at life panic
you remain calm in the crisis,
--expert
while everyone is manic
Here's to Job
Your needy.
And have lost all of your friends as a result.
You're shaky and no one wants to be around,
you.
Because it's awkward and it makes them look bad
and they just don't know what to do
with someone so sad
or...
weird.
With words reminiscent of middle school exclusion they describe you
weird.
uncool.
And we're adults now...
Supposedly.
Your face is markedly,
depressed.
But your soul is obviously,
underfed.
Or...not so obviously...
to your "friends"?
So I sit with you,
with ashes on my head
and there we lay
with discipline.
Not because I'm saintly
Not because I'm holy,
but precisely
because I identify with how lonely
one gets
when one's soul is underfed
And we connect
at this one spot,
with all else qualifying as "extra"
our brokenness is where friendship begins
And funny, my brokenness, is where relationship
with Jesus lives
And have lost all of your friends as a result.
You're shaky and no one wants to be around,
you.
Because it's awkward and it makes them look bad
and they just don't know what to do
with someone so sad
or...
weird.
With words reminiscent of middle school exclusion they describe you
weird.
uncool.
And we're adults now...
Supposedly.
Your face is markedly,
depressed.
But your soul is obviously,
underfed.
Or...not so obviously...
to your "friends"?
So I sit with you,
with ashes on my head
and there we lay
with discipline.
Not because I'm saintly
Not because I'm holy,
but precisely
because I identify with how lonely
one gets
when one's soul is underfed
And we connect
at this one spot,
with all else qualifying as "extra"
our brokenness is where friendship begins
And funny, my brokenness, is where relationship
with Jesus lives
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Practicing my finitude is liberating
I set three alarms for 6am almost every night in 15 minute intervals since my freshman year of college. My freshman year: Completely successful, but it's been downhill from there on after. For the last five years, I've managed to wake up to the second of these three alarms maybe 10 times, and I'm starting to believe that it has nothing to do with my will power, and everything to do with the fact that I just can't. That, contrary to the American dream mentality, sometimes we can't just do anything [we dream of] if we would only put our minds to it; that sometimes, we actually can't fly, and that most always, we are far from omnipotence (with the possible exceptions of Martin Luther King Jr., Ghandi and my two friends who both share a type A personality in common).
That, too often, we put our minds to doing thousands of tasks, because we were told we could do anything. That, too often, we live in guilt because we spent an hour or two of our day lying around. That, too often, we spend our lives wanting--wanting to be like my friend who's a type A--wanting to backpack through Europe by ourselves even though we, unlike our introverted friends, know that we need to have a community around us. That even though we know that not everyone is the same, we don't actually know it, and spend our lives wanting to live up to the same homogenizing standard that we were informed about when we were 5.
What if all I was meant to do in this life is write poetry, love people in my life, actually receive the love others are trying to give me [without trying to be self sufficient for once], and to be a good steward of the things I already have? What if this means filling my day with coffee dates, listening, writing letters and being thankful for my job just so that I don't go hungry and have to live in a cardboard box? What if, ultimately, the lesson I was meant to learn is that I am not a god, and the salvation of the world does not come from my productivity or my efficiency? What if it--changing the world-- actually doesn't come from me, and that life, is actually about more than flying?
That, too often, we put our minds to doing thousands of tasks, because we were told we could do anything. That, too often, we live in guilt because we spent an hour or two of our day lying around. That, too often, we spend our lives wanting--wanting to be like my friend who's a type A--wanting to backpack through Europe by ourselves even though we, unlike our introverted friends, know that we need to have a community around us. That even though we know that not everyone is the same, we don't actually know it, and spend our lives wanting to live up to the same homogenizing standard that we were informed about when we were 5.
What if all I was meant to do in this life is write poetry, love people in my life, actually receive the love others are trying to give me [without trying to be self sufficient for once], and to be a good steward of the things I already have? What if this means filling my day with coffee dates, listening, writing letters and being thankful for my job just so that I don't go hungry and have to live in a cardboard box? What if, ultimately, the lesson I was meant to learn is that I am not a god, and the salvation of the world does not come from my productivity or my efficiency? What if it--changing the world-- actually doesn't come from me, and that life, is actually about more than flying?
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Regina Spektor
"http://www.theworldforgot.com/twf/mp3/Regina%20Spektor%20-%20Laugh%20With.mp3
LAUGHING WITH
no one laughs at god in a hospital
no one laughs at god in a war
no one's laughing at god when they're starving or freezing or so very poor
no one laughs at god when the doctor calls
after some routine tests
no one's laughing at god when it's gotten real late
and their kid's not back from the party yet
no one laughs at god when their airplane
starts to uncontrolablly shake
no one's laughing at god when they see the one that they love
hand in hand with someone else
and they hope that they're mistaken
no one laughs at god when the cops knock on their door
and they say we've got some bad news sir
no one's laughing at god when there's a famine or fire or flood
but god can be funny
at a cocktail party when listening to a good god themed joke
or when the crazies say he hates us
and they get so red in the head you think they're about to choke
god can be funny
when told he'll give you money if you just pray the right way
when presented like a genie
who does magic like houdini
or grants wishes like jiminy cricket and santa claus
god can be so hilarious haha
haha
no one laughs at god in a hospital
no one laughs at god in a war
no one's laughing at god when they've lost all they got
and they don't know what for
no one laughs at god on the day they realize
the last sight they'll ever see is a pair of hateful eyes
no one's laughing at god when they're saying their goodbyes
but god can be funny
at a cocktail party when listening to a good god themed joke
or when the crazies say he hates us
and they get so red in the head you think they're about to choke
god can be funny
when told he'll give you money if you just pray the right way
when presented like a genie
who does magic like houdini
or grants wishes like jiminy cricket and santa claus
god can be so hilarious
no one laughs at god in a hospital
no one laughs at god in a war
no one laughs at god in a hospital
no one laughs at god in a war
no one's laughing at god in a hopital
no one's laughing at god in a war
no one's laughing at god when they're starving or freezing or so very poor
no one's laughing at god
no one's laughing at god
no one's laughing at god
we're all laughing with god
LAUGHING WITH
no one laughs at god in a hospital
no one laughs at god in a war
no one's laughing at god when they're starving or freezing or so very poor
no one laughs at god when the doctor calls
after some routine tests
no one's laughing at god when it's gotten real late
and their kid's not back from the party yet
no one laughs at god when their airplane
starts to uncontrolablly shake
no one's laughing at god when they see the one that they love
hand in hand with someone else
and they hope that they're mistaken
no one laughs at god when the cops knock on their door
and they say we've got some bad news sir
no one's laughing at god when there's a famine or fire or flood
but god can be funny
at a cocktail party when listening to a good god themed joke
or when the crazies say he hates us
and they get so red in the head you think they're about to choke
god can be funny
when told he'll give you money if you just pray the right way
when presented like a genie
who does magic like houdini
or grants wishes like jiminy cricket and santa claus
god can be so hilarious haha
haha
no one laughs at god in a hospital
no one laughs at god in a war
no one's laughing at god when they've lost all they got
and they don't know what for
no one laughs at god on the day they realize
the last sight they'll ever see is a pair of hateful eyes
no one's laughing at god when they're saying their goodbyes
but god can be funny
at a cocktail party when listening to a good god themed joke
or when the crazies say he hates us
and they get so red in the head you think they're about to choke
god can be funny
when told he'll give you money if you just pray the right way
when presented like a genie
who does magic like houdini
or grants wishes like jiminy cricket and santa claus
god can be so hilarious
no one laughs at god in a hospital
no one laughs at god in a war
no one laughs at god in a hospital
no one laughs at god in a war
no one's laughing at god in a hopital
no one's laughing at god in a war
no one's laughing at god when they're starving or freezing or so very poor
no one's laughing at god
no one's laughing at god
no one's laughing at god
we're all laughing with god
Sunday, June 14, 2009
A Hungarian Rapper in a "Wife-Beater" and an Accordion
Budapest. Global backpacker destination.
I walk out of the train in Budapest after a 7 hour trip from Zagreb, and I am welcomed by what seems like thousands of guys in dreds, cargo shorts and birkenstocks. White American 20-somethings, perfectly matching every characteristic found in "Stuff White People Like;" with great hatred for their own country oozing out of their oriental scarves and nose rings.
And they leave their mark in Budapest, as evidenced by the tea-shops, organic and whole food stores and the alternative cafe's. Yet, don't be fooled. This is Budapest. It's edgy with a personality as large as the city itself.
Some of the funkiest hairstyles I've ever witnessed (I'm thinking of the rainbow colored dreds I saw in particular), some of the largest attitudes and so much diversity! I met a British Malaysian tour guide (of Budapest) with the thickest British accent--almost un-inetelligible to my American ears-- an Irish jewelry and ceramics student, who was studying in Hungary, a Finnish girl, a student from New Jersey and two French guys all in the same night. I should also note that I discovered that while I find the f word extremely uncouth, for some reason, coming from the mouth of a British Malaysian, I found the thousands of cuss words he uttered kind of hilarious. There was something formal about it....
After watching the gypsy festival together, we headed over to a club. Coolest thing ever! Court yards all over Budapest are being turned into clubs and pubs. So we walk in, there's this synthetic looking plant in the room highlighted by pink lighting. People are sitting in Middle Eastern style seats---real low. We chatted about our lives, our studies and our travels to the soundtrack of what sounds like French music played to an arabic beat . And there we have it: an upside-down room! A small sofa, a lamp and a small table on the ceiling. Next room, a large blue zipper playing the role of the room's spine, as it covered the back wall and curved up to the ceiling. Every room had a theme--newspaper filled bathroom with black and white pictures, the dentist room-- all of them filled with young hipsters, travelers, backpackers and locals--people from all over the world talking.
Then, the main attraction: We go downstairs to the basement--all in stone. And lo and behold, on the stage we have a thin-oriental looking man with baggy jean-shorts and a wife beater, smoking a cigarette while playing the accordion. Can you say bad ass? The main singer, a large middle eastern looking woman dressed in conservative clothing--a long skirt and an oatmeal colored sweater (Imagine people grinding to this woman's song!). A DJ in the background was re-mixing all of this sound with his mac. My first impression: How the hell do you dance to this? According to the French guy, it involved spinning me so much that the necklace I bought in Sarajevo flung off of me, the contents of which landed all over the dance floor. BOO! I loved that necklace!
Towards the end of the night, I had a cigarette burn on my stockings (as a result of the guy in front of me who didn't care to apologize), a broken necklace, a few lost items, and a taste of Budapest.
Sunday, June 7, 2009
Treba dobar tus!
R&B meets Fat Joe meets Latin America in Croatia
So after two and a half weeks of fun, people were beginning to worry. Is she not home sick? Atleast a little bit? Well today, after a sketchy experience at an "alternative" night club in Croatia, I slept all day, pretty much, and woke up....homesick. Being the dramatic person that I am, I was so homesick that I was considering the possibility of buying my ticket home early and working it out with my department. However, good thing I was homesick! Because I learned some valuable lessons about homesickness that I'd like to pass on. Here's the equation:
Homesick-enjoying yourself= leaving the house
In other words, the difference between homesickness and enjoying yourself is DON'T STAY COOKED UP IN YOUR APARTMENT!
The night started off anxiously. I went to Boban (a restaurant/cafe I highly recommend if you're ever in Zagreb) and read, ate my chicken penne--reluctantly. When I was tired of Volf, the war, exclusion and embrace, I journaled about how I felt, realized that was only making me sink deeper into myself...so I journaled about things I was learning, seeing, observing, laughing about...And finally remembering, that today was the only day here that I felt this way, as Zagreb had caused me much laughter, fun and learning. But I was still not cured. I believe the music playing at Boban was even evidence of the fact that Zagreb was trying to hard to cheer me up, as they played three consecutive Alicia Keys songs and some 90's R&B throwbacks--which if anyone knows how to cheer me up, they know to play R&B throw backs. But even that, was not working. I was alone in a foreign city in Eastern Europe.
So I sit in the square, and of course [since all of those who know me know that I have a sign on my head inviting sketchy personas to talk to me and pursue me] a man approaches me and says, "you look like a woman with a strong character," I laugh. Yes, indeed. How can you tell? I ask. And I can go on and on about the conversation we proceeded to have, the coffee shop we went to and the jazz club he tried to accompany me to that we never found....but that is not the most interesting part of the night. As I am trying to get away from him by walking quickly to the station, I receive an incentive to walk even faster. I hear: "Lean back! Lean back!" There it is again. Zagreb is making me feel welcome.
I proceed to the crowd of people surrounding the performance. It's 10 dancers dressed in "wife beaters" and baggy jeans dancing to American hip hop and American club music. I laugh to myself. I couldn't figure out whether the guys dancing were flamboyant or whether this was just standard choreography in Croatia.
But just as I was walking away and about to take the tram home, I hear salsa.
WAIT!
There are people dancing salsa in the main square in Zagreb in front of Trg Ban Jelacic! Ok Zagreb loves me and wants me to feel like I'm home. So I had to check it out. I laugh to myself and then find my feet moving towards the dancers. I ask them where I can dance salsa and I receive the most friendly responses ever, meet a half Sudanese/half Croatian [fine] man, and before I know it I'm headed to their salsa dancing head quarters to witness some of the most elegant dancing I've ever seen.
Picture this: DLG's Quimbara Quimbara is playing, followed by Marc Anthony's Valio La Pena [which, by the way, is my favorite song] and Croatians--who have no idea what the songs are saying or what they mean--are doing some bad ass 3-step New York and Cuban salsa dancing.
Needless to say, I had the time of my life, will be taking salsa lessons from Robi, the salsa teacher this week, and am learning Croatian words with him and his crew of young people and older people--an inter-generational crowd, as I teach them Spanish words. I was invited to this salsa festival on the coast where people from Cuba, Spain and Croatia will be having a dance off, and I was asked to come and monitor the salsa students who will be learning bachata tomorrow.
Jesus heard my prayer today. I told Him, thank you for the opportunity to know how finite I am, help me. Help me to not feel alone. I believe He heard me, so I thank Him.
Only down side to this shin dig is that Treba dobar tus! I sure need a shower now from all that dancing--interestingly, the Spanish translation of Treba dobar tus is closer than it is in English, as it literally means, I need a good shower! Necesito un buen ban~o!
So after two and a half weeks of fun, people were beginning to worry. Is she not home sick? Atleast a little bit? Well today, after a sketchy experience at an "alternative" night club in Croatia, I slept all day, pretty much, and woke up....homesick. Being the dramatic person that I am, I was so homesick that I was considering the possibility of buying my ticket home early and working it out with my department. However, good thing I was homesick! Because I learned some valuable lessons about homesickness that I'd like to pass on. Here's the equation:
Homesick-enjoying yourself= leaving the house
In other words, the difference between homesickness and enjoying yourself is DON'T STAY COOKED UP IN YOUR APARTMENT!
The night started off anxiously. I went to Boban (a restaurant/cafe I highly recommend if you're ever in Zagreb) and read, ate my chicken penne--reluctantly. When I was tired of Volf, the war, exclusion and embrace, I journaled about how I felt, realized that was only making me sink deeper into myself...so I journaled about things I was learning, seeing, observing, laughing about...And finally remembering, that today was the only day here that I felt this way, as Zagreb had caused me much laughter, fun and learning. But I was still not cured. I believe the music playing at Boban was even evidence of the fact that Zagreb was trying to hard to cheer me up, as they played three consecutive Alicia Keys songs and some 90's R&B throwbacks--which if anyone knows how to cheer me up, they know to play R&B throw backs. But even that, was not working. I was alone in a foreign city in Eastern Europe.
So I sit in the square, and of course [since all of those who know me know that I have a sign on my head inviting sketchy personas to talk to me and pursue me] a man approaches me and says, "you look like a woman with a strong character," I laugh. Yes, indeed. How can you tell? I ask. And I can go on and on about the conversation we proceeded to have, the coffee shop we went to and the jazz club he tried to accompany me to that we never found....but that is not the most interesting part of the night. As I am trying to get away from him by walking quickly to the station, I receive an incentive to walk even faster. I hear: "Lean back! Lean back!" There it is again. Zagreb is making me feel welcome.
I proceed to the crowd of people surrounding the performance. It's 10 dancers dressed in "wife beaters" and baggy jeans dancing to American hip hop and American club music. I laugh to myself. I couldn't figure out whether the guys dancing were flamboyant or whether this was just standard choreography in Croatia.
But just as I was walking away and about to take the tram home, I hear salsa.
WAIT!
There are people dancing salsa in the main square in Zagreb in front of Trg Ban Jelacic! Ok Zagreb loves me and wants me to feel like I'm home. So I had to check it out. I laugh to myself and then find my feet moving towards the dancers. I ask them where I can dance salsa and I receive the most friendly responses ever, meet a half Sudanese/half Croatian [fine] man, and before I know it I'm headed to their salsa dancing head quarters to witness some of the most elegant dancing I've ever seen.
Picture this: DLG's Quimbara Quimbara is playing, followed by Marc Anthony's Valio La Pena [which, by the way, is my favorite song] and Croatians--who have no idea what the songs are saying or what they mean--are doing some bad ass 3-step New York and Cuban salsa dancing.
Needless to say, I had the time of my life, will be taking salsa lessons from Robi, the salsa teacher this week, and am learning Croatian words with him and his crew of young people and older people--an inter-generational crowd, as I teach them Spanish words. I was invited to this salsa festival on the coast where people from Cuba, Spain and Croatia will be having a dance off, and I was asked to come and monitor the salsa students who will be learning bachata tomorrow.
Jesus heard my prayer today. I told Him, thank you for the opportunity to know how finite I am, help me. Help me to not feel alone. I believe He heard me, so I thank Him.
Only down side to this shin dig is that Treba dobar tus! I sure need a shower now from all that dancing--interestingly, the Spanish translation of Treba dobar tus is closer than it is in English, as it literally means, I need a good shower! Necesito un buen ban~o!
Friday, June 5, 2009
Gdje se nalazi mjenjachnica za strane valute?
So I'm living in an apartment in Novi Zagreb (New Zagreb), the part of town where many students and young people live. Trams are filled with skinny jean-wearing Croatian hipsters, with stripes, huge sunglasses and all-together stylish ensembles. Things were going pretty naturally, as I figured out the tram system with little to no difficulty and can get to and from the main square. So today, in all of my confident glory, I go to the market, as I would in the States. Wonderful! No one speaks English here. Ok, so I struggle to ask for ham and cheese, but we work it out. I go to the cashier and lo and behold, I thought I had more kunas than I did. The nervousness/anxiety/embarassment associated with such encounters kicks in.... Thankfully the guy behind me in the line spoke English and was able to say, "She left her money elsewhere. She'll come back." How was I supposed to say I didn't have enough Kunas? So I frantically walk to the apartment, call my roommate, who tells me to take the tram three stops down to the mall to find a mienjachnica--an exchange office.
I get to the bank and exchange my money. Still feeling a little anxious, drop my money on the ground. And when I finally return to the store they have my groceries packed away nice and neatly while saying something about la Inglesa (the English-speaker?). But no! I'm a Spanish-speaker too, darnit! Oh yea, I forgot, that doesn't count for anything here.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
Leaving Sarajevo
It’s raining here in Sarajevo. The morning reminds me of 8am’s in Boston, with the rush of the people going to work. Driven. Open shop! Gates opening and people waiting for buses.
Except there’s music playing in Downtown Sarajevo. Yes, music—on a Monday--early afternoon. And the Bosnian-British accent of the tour guide resounds, “We Bosnians love our coffee, and you just have to sip it for half an hour. Oh and, you never sip coffee alone. Always with friends.” “We can’t afford to be psycho here,” she says, “so our friends are our psychiatrists over coffee.” My racing heart, desperate for some slowing down, eats it all up; breathes the fresh air of slow pace and slows….
Except there’s music playing in Downtown Sarajevo. Yes, music—on a Monday--early afternoon. And the Bosnian-British accent of the tour guide resounds, “We Bosnians love our coffee, and you just have to sip it for half an hour. Oh and, you never sip coffee alone. Always with friends.” “We can’t afford to be psycho here,” she says, “so our friends are our psychiatrists over coffee.” My racing heart, desperate for some slowing down, eats it all up; breathes the fresh air of slow pace and slows….
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)