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!

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.

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….

Anmelden

I assume that "anmelden" means "sign in" in German because it was on the same side that "sign in" and "entre la contrasena" appears on the top of my blog page.
See, I'm bilingual, so I have not had a real incentive to pay more attention to my love for languages. But here I find myself, not being able to hide under the cover of Latino bilingualism or slip under the radar as a member of the Latin American diaspora. I am foreign here. For the first time. I am completely foreign. And I'm American. So for the first time, I'm forced to squint at these words and handle the interesting looks and grapple with what seems like a whole bunch of consonants jumbled together.
Now where is the sign out button?
Abmelden.....

Silvio Rodriguez_Sueno con serpientes

Wow. This is beautiful.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=88kZIM6zXn0&feature=related

I am in love with this song for so many reasons. [If you don't read Spanish, enter these words on google translator]

Sueño con serpientes
(Silvio Rodríguez)

Hay hombres que luchan un día
y son buenos.
Hay otros que luchan un año
y son mejores.
Hay quienes luchan muchos años
y son muy buenos.
Pero hay los que luchan toda la vida:
esos son los imprescindibles.
Bertolt Brecht

Sueño con serpientes, con serpientes de mar,
con cierto mar, ay, de serpientes sueño yo.
Largas, transparentes, y en sus barrigas llevan
lo que puedan arrebatarle al amor.

Oh, la mato y aparece una mayor.
Oh, con mucho más infierno en digestión.

No quepo en su boca. Me trata de tragar
pero se atora con un trébol de mi sien.
Creo que está loca. Le doy de masticar
una paloma y la enveneno de mi bien.

Ésta al fin me engulle, y mientras por su esófago
paseo, voy pensando en qué vendrá.
Pero se destruye cuando llego a su estómago
y planteo con un verso una verdad.


(Note: this is the best I version I could find sound-wise..Disregard the fact that its dedicated to survivors of snake bites... Unless you're down with that cause... That's not the reason this song is meaningful to me... No disrespect to snake bite-survivors)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=88kZIM6zXn0&feature=related

Weird..

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_pictures/7937483.stm

WAT?
"Receptionist robot, Saya, has her first proper day at work after testing in a real Tokyo classroom earlier this year"

So this is what my grandmother was talking about when she would make her predictions for the millenium....

Who knew?

If you would have known me as a freshman and if you would have told me, 

"Annery, you're going to spend an extra year at Gordon, and by the end of your time there, you're going to love it." 

I would have either a. cried or b. looked at you like you had ten heads. 

But its the truth! I am sitting here, during spring break, sitting in Lane--the student center. 

Yes. It's lame. And no, I'm not actually here because I want to be, but because I had to make up an exam. But the point I'm trying to make is that this is the second day I've been at the North Shore during my spring break. I actually hung out in the North Shore last night, for most of the day. And what does that mean? It means that my primary community is here. 

Weird. 

P.S. Since I've given up facebook for a month, I'm totally using this blog as a substitute.